Seven Daze_Redneck Rendezvous

by Margaret Lashley

  “Yes, I’m aware of that.”

  “Woggles trapped raccoons for their skins to make hats and stuff.”

  “Ms. Fremden, we’ve already gone over this. Is there a point to all this?”

  “Yes. Please just bear with me just a moment longer. The first night I was at the Hell...Shell Hammock, raccoons got into my car and ate some of the cookies I’d brought with me. Woggles must have chased them off and took the rest back to his place.”

  “So you think the poison that killed him was in the cookies you brought? Be careful. You’re treading on thin ice....”

  “Yes and no. I think that night Woggles was out baiting traps...putting rat poison out for the raccoons. The raccoon I found in my trunk was loaded with it. My theory is, Woggles saw the coons in my car and chased them away. While he was doing that, the poison he was using got onto the cookies. Either that or he didn’t wash his hands very well. He took the cookies home, ate them, and...well, you know the rest. I think through his own carelessness, Woggles poisoned himself. Accidentally, of course.”

  “Well, that’s an interesting theory. But Rogers already said the report showed that Elmira poisoned him.”

  “Not exactly. As I recall, Rogers said that Woggles and the raccoons died from ‘the same agent.’”

  “Hmmm. I believe you’re right. ‘Agent’ could mean anything. Now why would Rogers say such a thing?”

  “I don’t know. I just don’t want Elmira to go to jail for a crime she didn’t commit.”

  “That’s pretty nice of you, considering what went down between you two. She thinks you’re a witch, you know.”

  “Yeah. I had a feeling.”

  Chief Collins laughed. “Who knows? Maybe you are. This idea of yours, if it was true, would have been magic to her ears.”

  “What do you mean, if it was true?”

  “Well, you’re not the only one who put on their thinking cap, Ms. Fremden. I got to ruminating over the whole thing myself, and decided to peruse the coroner’s report one more time. Turns out nobody poisoned Woggles. Not even himself. He didn’t have a trace of anything in his system.”

  “But why did Detective Rogers –”

  “Rogers confessed to me that he lied about the poison results. He was just trying to protect his best buddy Woggles from going down in history as an illegal poacher.”

  “But doesn’t that mean that Rogers tried to frame Elmira?”

  “I guess you could see it that way. But if we locked up everybody who made a mistake around here, there’d be nobody left to unlock the jail cells. And Miss Elmira wasn’t totally innocent herself. She did try to poison Woggles. She just got lucky she’s illiterate and can’t count past thirty.”

  “But still...”

  “Believe you me, Ms. Fremden, Detective Rogers isn’t going unpunished. He’s learning his lesson as we speak. Washing the inside of a dumpster is never any fun. Scrubbing every one within a mile of here in the stifling heat of summer makes it, as you can imagine, even more unpleasant.”

  “Country justice, Chief Collins?”

  “Poetic justice, more like it.”

  “So then, Chief, if nobody poisoned Woggles, what did he die from?”

  “Turns out, according to the coroner’s report, Mr. Wallace Walters was a ripe ninety-four years old. He died of old age.”

  “You don’t say.”

  “Listen, I kept Elmira in the slammer for a week so she could ruminate on her evil ways. I’m releasing her as we speak. Hold on a second.”

  I heard the Chief’s muffled voice over the speaker. “Elmira, it’s that Val Fremden lady. She called trying to clear your name. I think you owe her an apology.”

  “Chief!” I hollered into the phone. “That’s not necessary!”

  “Ms. Fremden, I just want to say thank you,” Elmira’s voice cracked over the phone. “I read you wrong. Seems like it’s hard to know who to trust no more. That rascal Woggles told me he was seventy-four. Soon as I get home, I’m gonna shut down my profile on MatchMate. The internet is nothin’ but a pack of lies!”

  I stifled a laugh. “I couldn’t agree with you more, Elmira. I wish the best of luck to you and your sister Charlene.”

  “Thanky.”

  Chief Collins took the phone. “Well, I guess that about sums it up, Ms. Fremden.”

  “I’d say so. Thanks for giving me the benefit of the doubt, Chief Collins.”

  “I find it almost always pays to do so. Take care, young lady.”

  “You too, Chief.”

  I clicked off the phone.

  Poor Woggles. His last meal was Laverne’s cookies. No matter what, that was a crummy way to go.

  I heard the familiar sound of Tom’s SUV pulling up in the driveway. I’d never been so glad to be in a relationship in all my life. I ran to the door and opened it.

  “Hi, there. I’m glad you’re home.”

  Tom grinned. “I’m glad to be home. Home with you, that is.”

  I gave Tom a kiss to build a dream on.

  “Dang. Too bad we’ve got a prior engagement.”

  “I know. But you’ve got a raincheck. Get changed while I call Laverne. Chez Winky awaits.”

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Laverne’s stork legs picked their way across the strip of lawn between our houses. In her hands rested a batch of lemon bars set to launch a thousand trips to the toilet. But, I suppose, that was better than to the grave.

  “Let me get those for you,” Tom said. He took the plate from Laverne and handed it over to me like it was a ticking time bomb. He spoke more for Laverne’s benefit than mine. “Here, take these, Val, while I get the door for Ms. Cowens.”

  Laverne beamed at both of us like a country porch light. As her strawberry-blonde curls ducked into the SUV, I pitched her tray of lemon bars into the bushes and picked up a double batch I had ready and waiting in the driveway at my feet.

  “All tucked in?” I asked, using Tom’s and my secret code for ‘All’s clear.’

  “Yes,” Tom said and winked. “I’ll put those in the back.”

  “Y’all take such good care of me,” Laverne said as I handed Tom the counterfeit lemon bars. I climbed into the SUV. “We take good care of each other.”

  Laverne sighed and settled into her seat. “That’s the way a family should be.”

  AS WE PULLED UP IN front of Winky and Winnie’s shiny new doublewide, a streak of redneck pride straightened my shoulders and made my lips curl upward. But when the door flew open and Winky blustered out to welcome us in, I had to fight back a tear.

  Family isn’t who birthed you or raised you, so much as who you care about, and who cares about you.

  “Y’all come on in!” Winky beamed, and hugged Winnie to his barrel chest. “Show ‘em, honeybuns.”

  Winnie held out her hand. It was surprising she could lift it, given the size of the rock on her finger.

  “We’re engaged!” she gushed, and adjusted the red glasses on her pudgy, button nose.

  “Congratulations!” Tom and Laverne hollered.

  “It’s about time,” I said, and elbowed Winky in the ribs.

  Winky stuck his tongue out at me. “And we got us some more good news.” He handed me a newspaper. “Looky here. The Donut Shack done got writ up in the Sunset Beach Busy Bee.”

  “Not for code violations, I hope,” Tom quipped.

  “Nice one, Tom,” I said, genuinely impressed. “You’re getting better with the jokes.”

  Tom waggled his blond eyebrows at me. “See, you can teach an old dog new tricks.”

  “Speakin’ a dogs, Milly says the pups will be ready to go next week,” Winky said.

  “Where is Milly?” I asked. “I saw her Beemer out front.”

  “Back in the movie room with Vance,” Winnie said. “Follow me.”

  “Hold on a second.” I fished in my purse. “Winky, this is for you. A little thanks for letting me stay at your place in Shell Hammock.”

  Winky’s jaw dropped. “It m
ust ‘a cost you a fortune!”

  “Not really,” I said, and handed him the plastic Dale Earnhardt cup I’d found in a pile of debris at the Hell’ammo.

  “Woo hoo!” Winky held the cup up like he’d just won a solid-gold trophy. “Now my NASCAR Big-Gulp collection is a hunnert percent complete!”

  Winnie shook her head and smirked. “How can I ever thank you, Val?”

  “Sorry.”

  “No, I’m serious. Now maybe he’ll get off eBay and do some work around here. How was it at Shell Hammock?”

  “To be honest, I never dreamed I’d end up having another chance to be the young chick driving all the old men crazy.”

  “I heard you got yourself in a bit a trouble over there,” Winky said.

  “Just jail, and only once,” I shrugged. “Followed by house arrest.”

  Winky grinned. “That’s the good thing about livin’ in a trailer, y’all. If’n you’re on house arrest, you can still make a beer run. Just hook yore trailer to yore pick-em-up truck and go.”

  Tom shook his head. “I think you might want to review the statutes, Winky.”

  “What fer? I ain’t got none yet. Less’n you count the gnome Laverne give us last time y’all was here.”

  I SET THE LEMON BARS down on the kitchen counter and followed Winnie into the sunken living room while the guys and Laverne went out back to fire up the barbeque grill. Laverne always did prefer a flickering light show....

  Nacho Libre was playing on the screen in the fancy, sunken media room. Jorge, Sherryl, Milly and Vance sat there like drugged zombies. Each had been lulled into wanton complacency by alcohol and the dual-action, massage options on their Barcaloungers.

  Jorge’s eyes sparked back to life when he saw me. “Hey, Val.”

  Sherryl waved a hand weakly.

  “Who’s turn is it to take down Laverne’s cooking?” Jorge asked slowly. “What did she bring?”

  “Lemon bars,” I said.

  “Oh no!” Winnie cried out behind me. She held a slightly used lemon bar between her pinched fingers like a dead rat. “I already swallowed some of it!”

  “Don’t worry!” I said. “Those are mine. Tom and I did a bait-and-switch before we left. You’re okay.”

  “Whew!” Winnie took another bite and mumbled, “These are delish, by the way.”

  “Should we join the others in the backyard?” I asked.

  “Do we have to?” Milly moaned from her chair. “I think I could live the rest of my life in this thing.”

  “Who would take care of me and Charmine?” Vance asked.

  Milly raised her head, then let it fall back on the headrest. “Not my problem.”

  I WALKED OVER TO THE fire pit to find Winky busy grilling a bunch of hotdogs stuck on the tines of a rake.

  “You’ve got to be kidding me,” I said.

  “I dare you to find a more efficient way a roastin’ wieners,” he replied. “Grab that rake with the marshmallows on it and we’ll make us some s’mores.”

  Sherryl laughed. “I’ll do it,” she said, and took the rake.

  “Here, Val,” Winky said. “These here wieners are done. Hold the handle while I pull ‘em off and reload.”

  “So, what are you going to name your new puppy?” Sherryl asked.

  “Pigmailman,” Winky said.

  “You mean Pygmalion? The mythical king?” Sherryl asked.

  “No. After the mailman,” Winky said. “He’s fat as a hog.”

  “How about you, Val?”

  “I don’t know yet. You?”

  “We were thinking of Lady,” Jorge said as he walked up with two beers. He handed one to Sherryl.

  “What do you think of the name, Val?” Sherryl asked. She turned the rake to toast the marshmallows on the other side.

  “I dunno. Lady? I never met a dog who lived up to that name.”

  Winky laughed. “I know that’s right.” He finished sliding a new round of hotdogs onto the tines. “Jorge, take charge of this while I prepare the seafood.”

  Jorge took the rake laden with wieners and stood next to Sherryl. Winky began slicing through the hotdogs, three-quarters up the long way.

  “What are you doing, Winky?” I asked.

  He picked up one of the finished wieners. Six leg-like appendages curled outward from the intact end, making the hotdog look like a slightly charred octopus.

  “That’s gross,” I said.

  Winky looked at the octo-dog and shrugged. “I thought you liked seafood.”

  “IT’S TOO BAD COLD CUTS and Bill couldn’t make it,” Milly said as we bobbed around in the pool with our stomachs full to the bursting point.

  “I know,” Tom said. The whole gang would be here.”

  “Wait a minute,” Laverne said. “What about Goober? Where is he?”

  “I haven’t seen him,” Jorge said.

  “Isn’t he staying with you guys?” Vance asked.

  “Not anymore. He moved out about a week ago. I went into his room and it was cleared out. It looked like he left in a hurry, too. He didn’t even take his terrarium.”

  “He left without his medication?” Winky asked.

  “No,” Jorge said. “Terrarium. The cage for his lizard.”

  “I didn’t know he had a pet lizard,” I said.

  “Nobody did but me,” Jorge said. “Goober never would let anyone in his room.”

  “I wondered what he was doing with those mealworms,” Sherryl said. She turned to me and whispered, “But I didn’t really want to know. You know?”

  I nodded. “I know.”

  “A good man don’t talk about his lizard in mixed company,” Winky said.

  Milly sighed. “He quit his job with me last week. I haven’t heard from him since.”

  “Last time I saw him, he was heading back here in Cold Cuts’ RV,” I offered.

  “Well, doesn’t anybody know where he is?” Laverne asked.

  “I’m right here!” yelled a voice from the yard.

  A moment later, the steps to the redwood deck began to squeak. Suddenly, standing at the pool edge was a small, silver-haired man in a red speedo.

  “Bombs away!” he said, and jumped.

  We watched, dumbfounded and open mouthed, as persnickety Mr. J.D. Fellows, Esq. drew his knees to his chest and cannon-balled into the pool.

  The shockwave split the side of the pool open, and before anybody knew what was happening, we all went washing across the lawn like a burst bag of dime-store goldfish.

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Sometimes, the strangest things turn out to be true. But this isn’t one of them.

  The End.

  I sat back and smiled. Another short story done and dusted. Finally, I was doing something memorable with my life. And thanks to the rubber band around my wrist, it was looking more and more unlikely that I would end up being buried in a piano case.

  To top it off, Chief Collins had shared my story with the editor of The Polk County Poker. They wanted to publish The Snickerdoodles Murders in their Sunday short-story section!

  Maybe I won’t end up in the gutter eating cat food after all....

  I took a jelly bean from the jar and stood up for a stretch. The postman’s jeep passed by on the street. I glanced at the time on my phone. Geeze! It was already past two o’clock!

  I braved the heat of midday and sprinted to the mailbox. Inside was a small package. I opened it and nearly screamed. Inside was a pair of shrunken heads and a note scrawled in red ink. It read; To Val, with our thanks, Elmira and Charlene.

  I shook my head in wonder at the sheer, hideous waste of two perfectly good apples. I reached to close the lid on the mailbox, but something else inside caught my eye.

  I thrust my hand in and pulled out a postcard postmarked Greenville, Florida. I thought at first it was from my adoptive mom, Lucille Jolly. But that was highly unlikely. Whoever sent it had wished me well.

  On the front side was a picture of a beautifully crafted dreamcatcher. Its bead
s and feathers glistened in the sun as it dangled from the ceiling of a quaint, country porch full of rocking chairs laden down with comfy pillows.

  I flipped the card back over and re-read the message. Whoever had written it hadn’t signed their name. But I had a good idea who it the sender was. I hoped he would return one day.

  The sappy, pre-printed inscription on the postcard read: I hope all your dreams come true.

  But scrawled in the message section were the words:

  If you ever need me, you know how to catch me.

  I held the postcard to my heart, swallowed the lump in my throat, and headed back inside the air-conditioned house.

  DEAR READER,

  Thanks so much for reading Seven Daze! I hope you found the story up to snuff! Sorry, that’s a real expression my grandparents used to use. My grandma loved her some Butternut snuff. If I close my eyes, I can still see the yellow label wrapped around the tin it came in....

  You see, like Val, I’m half redneck, too.

  I spent summers on a farm in North Florida, gathering chicken eggs, rolling watermelons down hills, and even riding a huge hog named Jason around in his pen. One day, Jason ran away. All of us kids were sad that he’d taken off, but we enjoyed the big slabs of bacon grandma started serving up with breakfast the next morning.

  I was so naïve I was nearly forty before I figured out that I’d been hoodwinked. Poor Jason had gone to hog heaven. Still, he was delicious.

  While I was writing Seven Daze, I actually made a booking to go to a trailer park in Polk County. One thing led to another and things didn’t work out. But perhaps the story is better for it. Truth is stranger than fiction, and often times, not quite as funny.

  And in case you’re wondering, no. I’ve never seen Bigfoot.

  If you’d like to know when my future novels come out, please subscribe to my newsletter. I won’t sell your name or send too many notices to your inbox.

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  Thanks again for reading my book!