Seven Daze_Redneck Rendezvous

by Margaret Lashley

  “Chief Collins, if I’d been trying to escape, do you really think I’d have parked at Walmart? Or stayed overnight?” My stomach growled like an angry grizzly. “Or eaten dinner at Tito’s Tacos?”

  He looked me over. “I’ve seen stupider moves by people on the lam.”

  “I’m not on the lam, sir. I just...well...kind of wore out my welcome at the Hell’ammo.”

  Chief Collins smiled with one side of his mouth. “Knowing those folks, I guess I can understand that. But what I don’t get is why your friend there thought it was okay to impersonate an officer.”

  I looked back to see Goober being led out of the RV in handcuffs. “He just –”

  “If you don’t mind, I’d like to hear it from his own lips.”

  The officer shoved Goober up beside me.

  “What’s your name, son?” Chief Collins asked him.

  “Jonohhovitz.”

  “Can you spell that?”

  “Yes. But it might take a while.”

  “Sense of humor, huh? Well, you might need that where you’re going.” He turned to me. “But first, I’m gonna need that computer of yours, Ms. Fremden.”

  I looked over at Goober.

  “I’ll get it,” he said.

  “Follow him in,” Chief Collins said to the officer. “If he tries anything funny, punch him in the gut. From the looks of it, knocking him on the head is ineffective.”

  I bit my lip and held my arms behind my back.

  For the second time in less than twenty-four hours, I was being cuffed and hauled away.

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  “Says here she’s been researching poisons online,” Detective Rogers said as he pecked through my computer’s browser. “Cyanide, mostly. But took herself a good, long gander at arsenic, too.”

  “You don’t say,” Chief Collins said, swiveling in his chair. He leaned his elbows on his desk and looked me up and down.

  “It was a class assignment,” I offered weakly.

  “Let me guess. From Angela Lansbury, right?”

  I grimaced. “Langsbury.”

  “Uh-huh.” He turned back to Rogers, who was still pecking away at my laptop. “When we getting those toxicology reports back?”

  “Any time now, Chief.”

  Chief Collins shook a toothpick out of a silver container on his desk. “Well, Ms. Fremden, I don’t have to tell you that this isn’t looking too good for you. Why don’t you just save us all some trouble and confess.”

  “To what? I didn’t kill Woggles!”

  He bit down on the toothpick and grinned. “Then why was his blood found in your RV?”

  “Uh, Chief,” Rogers said, looking up from my computer. “The blood type didn’t match Woggles. It matched her, though.”

  “Hmmm.” Chief Collins made a steeple with his fingers. “Pray tell, why were you bleeding, Ms. Fremden? Injure yourself struggling with Woggles?”

  “Wha –?”

  Chief Collins leaned in closer. “What’s the matter? Did Mr. Wallace refuse to eat your poisonous cookies...so you shoved them down his throat?”

  “No! That’s not what happened!”

  “Then enlighten me, Ms. Fremden. How’d your blood come to be on that table?”

  “I...I stuck my finger on something.”

  “What?”

  I bit my lip. “Hand me my purse and I’ll show you.”

  Chief Collins eyed me sideways as he reached for my handbag. “Don’t try any monkey business.”

  He hesitated a moment, then handed me my pocketbook. I pulled out my silver badge.

  “Impersonating an officer,” he said dryly. “Seems to be a rash of that going on lately.”

  “No sir. It’s a Donut VIP badge.” I held it up for his inspection. “See?”

  “So, you think law enforcement’s nothing but a joke, do you?”

  “No! That’s not what I meant at all!”

  The Chief’s eyes shifted from hard to frosty. “Well, while we’re waiting on the coroner’s report, I suggest you stay at the Polk Regency.”

  “Uh...thank you, Chief.” I stood up to leave. “How do I find it?”

  “Don’t worry. You’re already here. Rogers, put her in cell seven.”

  “My pleasure, sir,” Detective Rogers said. He shot me a sneer and took me by the arm.

  As he tugged me toward the door, I turned back toward Chief Collins. “I really need to talk to you, sir. I have an idea –”

  Chief Collins chewed his toothpick and leaned back in his chair. “Yeah? Well don’t we all.”

  Rogers yanked me out of the office. As he led me down the hall toward the holding cells, I caught a glimpse of Goober walking out the front door, a free man!

  “You released him, but not me?” I asked, bewildered.

  “Well now, we can’t always get what we want, can we, sweetheart?” Rogers gave me a push. His lips formed a sarcastic smile, and he slammed the cell door shut between us.

  “WAKE UP. YOU GOT A visitor,” Detective Rogers barked.

  With much effort, I cracked open an eye. I’d passed out on the cot. I could have slept another two days.

  “Who? Where?” I mumbled. I tried to sit up, but gravity felt a lot stronger inside a jail cell.

  “Me. Here,” a voice said. A diminutive man in a sharp suit stepped from behind a corner. The sight of him renewed my energy like a gallon of Red Bull.

  I sat up and cried, “J.D.!”

  Rogers snorted. “Let’s hope his bark is bigger than his butt.”

  J.D. looked up at the detective and smiled. “Say something like that to me again and I’ll be the new owner of every last one of your worldly possessions.”

  Rogers dried up and blew away like a snot flake in a sandstorm.

  J.D. watched him go, then turned to me and said, “I gotta retire.”

  “SO HOW’S MY CASE LOOKING?” I asked from between the bars in my holding cell.

  “Not good,” J.D. admitted. “Do you have any new information you want to share with me?”

  “I dunno. I know this sounds crazy...”

  J.D.’s silver eyebrows ticked upward, but his expression remained as unchanged as a stone. He looked like a man who’d heard it all before, because mostly thanks to me, he had.

  “I keep thinking about raccoons. Woggles wore a coonskin cap, you know. And I think his belt was made from a possum pelt.”

  “Woggles? Raccoons? Possums?” J.D. shook his head. “I’m from D.C., Val. The only vile creatures I’m familiar with have elected positions.”

  A hearty laugh rang out from around the corner. Chief Collins stepped into view.

  “Sorry, buddy,” J.D. spat. “Freak show’s over.”

  Chief Collins’ jovial expression evaporated. “My apologies, Mister Attorney Man. I already spoke to Detective Rogers about his unfortunate remark. Some folks around here don’t have any manners to mind.”

  “I appreciate that,” J.D. countered, “but I would like to exercise my client/attorney privilege now, if you don’t mind.”

  “I don’t mind at all,” Chief Collins said, and took a step closer. “But earlier today, Ms. Fremden said she wanted to talk to me. I thought maybe the three of us could kill two birds with one stone.” Chief Collins scowled and his ears turned red. “Pardon me. That was an ill-thought out analogy.”

  J.D. turned and looked me in the eye. “What do you think?”

  “He knows more about varmints than you do.”

  “What’s a varmint?” J.D. asked.

  Chief Collins grinned. “I believe the little lady just proved her point.”

  “FUNNY YOU SHOULD MENTION raccoons,” Chief Collins said. “Rogers found a dead one in that RV that belongs to your friend Johna.... Johova.... Gerald.”

  “That explains the smell,” I said.

  “Gerald?” J.D. asked.

  “Goober,” I explained. “He drove Cold Cuts’ RV over here to bring me the spare keys to Maggie.”

  “Maggie?” Chief
Collins asked.

  “My car,” I said.

  “Oh,” the Chief replied, and chewed his toothpick.

  J.D. cleared his throat. “Now that all that’s been cleared up, can we get back to the raccoons?”

  “Right.” I leaned back in the comfy chair in the Chief’s office and tried to appear as if I had something very, very worthwhile to say. I didn’t. All I really had was a nagging suspicion. It wasn’t even a full-fledged hunch. “Woggles really seemed to like raccoons,” I began.

  “Well, there’s no accounting for taste,” J.D. said.

  I pursed my lips, hoping to increase the strength of my telepathic message to J.D.; You’re not helping. I directed my words to Chief Collins. “Besides his hat, Woggles made Elmira a purse out of a raccoon hide.”

  “Elmira Hassloch,” the Chief said her name as if it tasted bad. He blew out a breath and continued. “Yes...I believe she and Woggles were...uh...close. I do have some concerns about her. She’s one jealous woman. I can see where she might have seen you as a threat.”

  “But why would she kill Woggles if she didn’t like me?”

  Chief Collins looked me in the eye and spoke slowly. “Not every aimed arrow flies true.”

  My forehead went slack to match my jaw. “Oh.” I looked over at J.D. He was on his knees in the chair beside me, busily scribbling in a notebook he’d perched on the armrest like a makeshift desk.

  “Detective Rogers searched Woggles place after he died,” Chief Collins continued. “His RV was loaded with raccoon pelts. I believe you were trying to make a point about that?”

  I swallowed hard, trying to digest my own bull-crap. “I dunno. Do you think maybe they...you know...the raccoons could have killed him? You know, like they...you know...ganged up on him while he was in the truck-bed pool? Could they maybe have drowned him...out of revenge?”

  J.D. put his head in his hands.

  Chief Collins didn’t take it so hard. “Hmmm,” he said, and leaned back in his chair. He chewed on his toothpick enthusiastically as he contemplated my idea.

  “I once saw a raccoon drown a hound dog that was chasing him across a river,” he said, and sat back up in his chair. “You could be on to something there, Ms. Fremden. I believe if Woggles had been drinking...I mean, well, I’ve lived in Florida long enough to know that darn near anything’s possible.”

  “Chief Collins,” J.D. asked, tapping a pen on his notebook. “Can you tell me how it was possible for Mr. Woggles to capture so many of these raccoon animals?”

  Chief Collins leaned back again and squeezed his chin between his thumb and index finger. “Now that’s a good question. I don’t recall the report saying anything about any traps being found around his place.”

  By some miracle, my random, bull-crap thoughts formed into a fully-formed cow patty of an idea. I bolted upright in my chair. “Chief Collins!” I said. “That dead raccoon you found in Goob...Gerald’s RV. Could we get it tested or autopsied or whatever you do to figure out why an animal died?”

  “I suppose so. I think it’s still in the dumpster out back. Why?”

  “Well, I’m not sure. But maybe whatever killed it, might hold a clue about how...or who...killed Woggles.”

  “It’s worth a shot,” Chief Collins said, and reached for his desk phone. “And I got the perfect detective for the job.”

  Chapter Thirty

  “Thanks for posting my bail,” I said to J.D. as my butt sank into the luxurious softness of the white-leather seats in his Mercedes Benz.

  “That’s what I came here for,” he said, and mashed the raised gas pedal designed to accommodate his small frame. “Glad we could work it out.”

  “I couldn’t have done it without you. You’re a miracle worker. Take a left out of the parking lot.”

  J.D. turned the steering wheel and adjusted the rearview mirror. The sunlight caught one of the huge diamonds on his gold watch and laser-beamed me in the retina. “Actually, you deserve the credit,” J.D. said. “Chief Collins was impressed with your cooperation.”

  “Really?” I said, blinking back the orange dots dancing around in the air. “So he believes me? That I’m innocent, I mean?”

  “Well, I wouldn’t go that far. It’s more like he can’t believe anybody could be so dumb as to incriminate themselves as thoroughly as you have.”

  “What?” I plastered on my best scowl, but J.D. wasn’t paying any attention. He was too busy watching the traffic whizzing by on SR 60.

  “Do I turn left or right here?” he asked.

  I traded my wasted scowl for a sulking pout. “Take a right. Does this mean I can go home now?”

  “Well, not exactly.” J.D. mashed the gas and took off like Mario Andretti. I gripped the cushy armrest. My fingers sunk into it like it was made of marshmallow fluff.

  “Oooh,” I cooed. J.D. eyed me up and down. I stopped squeezing the fancy merchandise.

  “As part of your bail agreement, you need to stick around town until the coroner’s report comes back. You’re not quite off the hook yet, Val. But at least you’re no longer the only bait in town. Not where Chief Collins is concerned, anyway.”

  “Thank goodness for friends in high places.”

  J.D. gave me another quick study. “I don’t know how ‘high’ either of us are.”

  “You’re both higher than me. I mean, I feel like I should be riding in a tow trailer behind you. Look at my clothes. I’m probably ruining your leather seats as we speak!”

  J.D. looked horrified for a split second, then caught himself. “You don’t look that bad.”

  “Turn here,” I said. “J.D., I’ve been in these shorts and t-shirt for two days.”

  J.D.’s lips pursed into a twisted grin. “I thought it was the raccoon.”

  “You jerk!” I teased, and bopped him on the arm. “Turn in here. Drop me off at the front of the store.”

  “Okay. But listen. I’m heading back to civilization. Lay low for the next day or so. Don’t do anything stupid, okay?”

  “Me? Do something stupid? Not a chance.”

  J.D. stopped his Mercedes, temporarily blocking the pedestrian cattle-crossing leading up to the entrance of Walmart. I cracked open the passenger door, letting in the oppressive heat. I stuck a foot out onto the half-melted asphalt.

  “Thanks again for the ride...and everything.”

  “So, you’ll be all right, on your own?” he asked.

  “I’m part redneck, J.D. Who says I’m on my own?” I grinned and tilted my frizzy-haired head toward the storefront.

  J.D. leaned over and peeked out my side window. “What?”

  “Look closer.”

  J.D. pulled off his expensive sunglasses and strained his eyes toward the Walmart entrance. To the left of the sliding glass doors, a shabbily dressed old man was dancing for tips. He suddenly stopped, tipped his top hat and smiled. As he did, a shiny gold tooth glinted in the midday sun.

  “Argh!” J.D. groaned. “Don’t tell me.”

  “It’s –” I began.

  J.D. stuck his fingers in his ears. “If that’s Goober, I don’t want to know.”

  “I THOUGHT I TOLD YOU to ditch the gold tooth,” I said as Goober picked up his Starbucks tip cup.

  He shrugged. “I dunno. It’s kind of growing on me.”

  “Like mold?”

  “Look who’s talking. Those clothes should be burned at the stake.” Goober grinned. “You as hungry as you look?”

  “Now that you mention it, I’m starved.”

  Goober rattled the change in the paper coffee cup. “Where can a recently cashed up fellow take a girl out around here?”

  I peeked in the cup. “Just how cashed up are you?”

  Goober poured the change into his hand. “Dang. A dollar thirteen.”

  I shrugged. “Not bad for a few minutes work.”

  Goober slid the change into his pocket. “I’ve been here three hours.”

  “Oh. Well, with that kind of money, we could split a Yoo Hoo.�
�

  “Geeze. Don’t tell me you’re as broke as I am.”

  “No,” I shrugged. “Just kidding. Dinner’s on me. It’s only fair. You’re paying for lodging tonight.”

  I nodded my head in the direction of the old Minnie Winnie still parked out in the back forty of Walmart’s blacktop oasis.

  “Right. Thanks. Tell you what, Val. You can have the bed tonight.”

  I took my top-hatted friend by the arm. “Such a gentleman.”

  He grinned. “I do my best.”

  “You up for tacos again?” I asked as we strolled through the crowd spilling out of Walmart.

  Goober raised his head high and put a hand on my forearm. “Always, m’ lady.”

  TITO’S TACOS SMELLED like lard mixed with cumin and desperation. I felt right at home.

  “How’d you get released so fast?” I asked Goober as I slid into the greasy booth.

  Goober shrugged and took a seat across from me. “I made a phone call. Pulled a few strings.”

  “I bet you did. What kind of strings?”

  Goober shot me a look.

  “I know. I know. You can’t tell me. Well, let me tell you this. The Chief seemed really pissed about you walking out the door.”

  Goober sighed. “I wasn’t put on this Earth to make everybody happy.”

  “What were you put on this Earth to do, Goober? I have a feeling being a fartist isn’t your only major skill.”

  “Don’t worry about that, Val. Save your worrying for yourself. You’re the one who needs it at the moment.”

  “Why did you have that dead raccoon in the RV?”

  “I thought it might come in handy.”

  “Come in handy? For what? Dinner?”

  Goober shrugged.

  “Wait a minute. You had your suspicions, too, didn’t you?”

  “Raccoons don’t generally up and die. Not in public, anyway.”

  “I asked Chief Collins to have it tested.”

  Goober smiled at me softly. “Then you did good.”