“Where’d the Knick Knack Nazi go?” he asked.
“To gather her propaganda. She’ll be back in a minute.”
“Good. I wouldn’t want her to miss out on another cup of my special brew.”
“Jake! You didn’t!”
He grinned like a happy chimp. “I did.”
“Not both, I hope.”
Jake appeared taken aback. “No. I am not an animal!”
I laughed. “So, which one has the special sauce?”
“The one in my left hand.”
“Are you sure?”
“I’m positive. I never mess up when I’m slipping someone a Mickie. Had lots of practice in the joint, you know.”
“No. I didn’t know.”
Jake’s eyes darted to the left. “Here she comes. Take this one.”
He handed me the mug in his right hand and beamed a prison smile at Nancy.
“Here you go, Ms. Meyers. I took the liberty of filling your cup with coffee.”
Nancy grabbed the mug. “Thank you. You do make good coffee, Jake Johnson, I’ll give you that. But that doesn’t excuse you from breaking the rules.”
Nancy slapped a laminated card in his hand. “Here’s another schedule outlining appropriate times for garbage bins, lawn watering, and the like.”
She shook her finger at him. “No more excuses!”
“Yes, ma’am,” Jake said.
“And as for you, Fremden, here’s the dog etiquette guide. Read it. Know it. Live it.”
She handed me a booklet and took a sip from her mug. The right side of Jake’s mouth twitched into something between a grimace and a smile.
“So, I need to get back,” Nancy said. “I’m in the middle of cooking dinner. Good evening to you both. And remember, follow the rules!”
We nodded and watched her walk away.
“I wonder what she’s cooking,” I said when she was out of earshot.
“Probably cabbage with roasted toddlers,” Jake said. “Toddlers never follow rules. They’re like puppies, that way.”
The corner of my upper lip jerked upward at the thought.
“That reminds me. Do you do puppy training?”
“Sure,” Jake said. “Just let me know.”
“I will.”
Jake glanced at Nancy’s time schedule in his hand and lifted the bin lid.
“Good thing it’s garbage day,” he said, and tossed the laminated card inside.
Across the street, I thought I saw Nancy’s blinds move.
WITH THE INCRIMINATING shattered figurine evidence safely disposed of, I’d thought my troubles were over – at least for the day.
But I was wrong.
When I went back home and down the hall, I noticed the air was muggy as a swamp.
I looked in my bedroom and gasped.
The window leading to the side yard was wide open. The blinds were a tangled jumble, as if some animal had tried to scale them. Then it dawned on me.
Someone broke in – and left in a hurry!
I must have spooked them!
The hair on the back of my neck stood up. Every drawer in my vanity had been yanked open. They appeared to have been rifled through, too. But I wasn’t sure. I wasn’t a compulsive neat-nick like Tom.
I opened my jewelry box. It was empty except for a tarnished silver dollar and the pair of fake, five-carat diamond earrings I’d picked up at the Dollar-Store.
Nothing missing. If they weren’t after jewelry, what were they after?
I turned and saw the folding doors to my closet were pulled back. Panic shot through me.
My shoes!
I scrambled to the closet and grabbed the box that contained the glorious, impossible high heels I’d never wear. I held my breath and opened the box. They were still there.
Whew!
So was the shoebox containing all the old notes and pictures I’d saved of Glad and Tony. Then I noticed a box sitting slightly askew. It was my secret Halloween candy stash. I opened the shoebox. Half of the candy was missing. Someone had stolen all the good stuff!
Dang it! Where am I gonna find chocolate-covered marshmallow ghosts this time of year?
I shoved the shoebox full of crappy candy back into place. The box next to it made a chinking sound. I pulled out my secret hoard of figurines and took a look inside.
As far as I could tell, they were all there. Illiterate Giraffe woman. The turd-faced Turtle Boy I’d traded for Tom’s football. A World’s Greatest Golfer statue, and a pizza baker flipping what I suppose used to be a pizza, but the pie was broken off and missing in action, along with a piece of his hand.
I sighed and put the lid back on the box. As I reached to put it back on the shelf, a thought struck me.
One is missing. The Asian one...Su Mee!
“Finkerman!” I screeched.
The front door opened and slammed closed.
I nearly swallowed my tongue.
The robbers! They’re still here!
I panicked, lost my balance, and fell face-first into the closet. My right nostril snagged a shirt button. My right hand managed to catch hold of a coat-hanger. I didn’t want to make a sound, so I hung onto the shoulder of a long-sleeved shirt and swayed back and forth like a snockered simpleton on a carnival ride.
“Val? You home?”
Tom!
I opened my mouth to scream, “We’ve been robbed!” But shut it again without uttering a peep.
I can’t tell Tom! If I do, he’d find out about my secret stash of figurines. My cover would be blown, and he’d win our bet!
The thought of losing the bet made my eyes bug out.
I’d be stuck with that hideous chair of his forever!
I steeled myself. What’s a little break-in compared to being saddled with a plaid Barcalounger for life?
“I’m in here,” I called back.
I stumbled to my feet and scrambled like a maniac to put everything back in order, shoving shoeboxes into their places and kicking closed the closet door.
“What ‘cha doing?” Tom called from down the hallway.
“Nothing. Be right there.”
I sprinted to the window, closed it, and raked my hands over the twisted blinds to straighten them. They weren’t cooperating, so I raised them. They looked better, but not great.
“What’s for dinner? I’m starving!” Tom called out.
Crap! I hadn’t given it a thought...
I scooted over to my vanity and closed all the drawers. I took a step toward the door, then turned back and re-opened two of the drawers. I left them ajar so Tom wouldn’t get suspicious.
The ding of the microwave timer echoed down the hallway. I padded to the kitchen just in time to see Tom raise Jake’s “You’re in Charge” mugful of coffee to his lips.
My gut churned.
Should I say something or not?
Tom was a good guy. But his careless actions of late had cost me Goober’s dreamcatcher and, quite possibly, saddled me with the burden of having to look at his disgusting plaid chair until the day I died or it caused me to go blind.
I decided to keep my mouth shut and let karmic justice play its own hand.
I forced a smile as Tom took a sip of coffee.
If Tom’s actions had been well intentioned, he was innocent – and there’d be nothing in that cup but brewed coffee. But if he was guilty of typical male thoughtlessness, Jake would have peed in it. Tom would get his just payback for the chair, for selling Goober’s dreamcatcher...and for that stupid vibrator prank.
In fact, the way I saw it, his losing the dreamcatcher exonerated me from smashing Doo-Doo Daddy to bits. I’d been driven beyond distraction, so I deserved a Mulligan.
“This is exceptionally good coffee,” Tom said.
“Glad you like it,” I said sweetly. “It’s something new.”
As I watched Tom take another sip, I realized that the chance Jake would have mixed up the mugs – or peed in both of them – was pretty slim.
; Still, just to be on the safe side, I opted out of kissing Tom hello.
Chapter Thirty-Three
After Tom left for work Thursday morning, I got busy on the assignment due tonight for my Mystery Writing for Fun and Profit class.
Each student was supposed to create a mock crime scene report. But, thanks to the break in yesterday, I didn’t have to fake it. My bedroom actually was a real, bona fide crime scene.
I printed off the checklist that Langsbury had emailed us, filled it out, and examined the resulting document.
Crime Scene Checklist:
Victim: Me.
Nature of Crime: Theft
Property Damage: One mangled mini-blind.
Object(s) Stolen or Reported Missing: One tacky “Su Mee” figurine. A bunch of marshmallow Halloween ghosts in individual black-and-orange wrappers. My sense of security.
Possible Motive(s): Hunger? Bad Taste? Insanity? Revenge?
Possible Suspects: Dirtbag attorney. Voracious hobo. Teenage mutant. Escaped circus animal.
Action Steps: Search internet for marshmallow ghosts for sale. Spray-paint obscenities on yellow Hummer. Hire Harvey Hooters the hitman to break Finkerman’s stupid, Pinocchio nose.
I sighed and flung the paper onto my desk. There was no way I could hand it in. No one would ever believe it.
I went back to the scene of the crime – my bedroom closet – and reexamined all the shoeboxes. After checking through about thirty of them, I discovered a pair of sandals I’d forgotten I’d bought. But as far as I could tell, nothing else was missing.
Weird. Who would break in just to take candy and a figurine?
The whole thing could have been the work of some bored teenager. But why would they have taken only one of the figurines? And why Su Mee?
Maybe I’d interrupted the intruder before they could find what they were really looking for.
Or maybe I hadn’t.
Assuming the perpetrator got what they’d come for, the obvious culprit was Finkerman. He’d given me Su Mee in exchange for Laverne’s toxic cookies. Now he was bent on revenge for the bad trade. He’d stooped to breaking and entering. But, then again, I’d stooped to breaking wind and diarrhea....
Maybe it really is time for Plan B.
I walked back into my office and picked up my Crime Scene Checklist. I wadded the paper up, tossed it into the trash, and wondered what a real, live hitman actually looked like.
I WAS IN THE GARAGE, stuffing my incriminating Crime Scene Checklist into the garbage bin when I started hearing voices. Thankfully, my garage door was open, and the voices belonged to my neighbors Jake and Nancy.
“Ralph’s a thief!” I heard Nancy say. “And he’s getting worse in his old age. I need to do something about him, Jake. It’s gotten to where I can’t leave anything unlocked. My brooch my grandmother gave me is missing, and he won’t tell me where he put it. I need your help.”
“What can I do about it?” Jake asked.
“Talk to him. Maybe he’ll listen to you.”
“Why me?”
“You understand the criminal mind,” Nancy said. “You’ve been in the...uh...you’ve been incarcerated. Right?”
“Yes. But that doesn’t make me a psychologist for the criminally insane.”
“Please,” Nancy pleaded, her voice softening. “At least meet him. Maybe he’ll tell you what he did with my jewelry.”
“Ugh. Okay.”
I saw Jake’s hairy arm come into view around the corner of his house. Instinct took over, and I ducked behind my trash can. I peeked around the bin and saw Nancy tugging Jake by the hand into her house.
What in the world is going on?
I stood up. The blinds in Nancy’s front window angled closed.
Is Jake being set up? Oh my lord! What if this is some kind of...man trap? No one’s ever seen Ralph. Maybe he died and Nancy needs a new victim!
I walked to the end of my driveway and looked around. The coast was clear, so I did the only thing I could think of. I ran across the street to Nancy’s house, snuck up beside her front window and put an ear to the pane.
Nothing.
I snuck around to the side of the house and tried my luck at a window lined with empty terracotta pots. I couldn’t believe my ear.
“Tell him what you did with my brooch,” I heard Nancy say.
A man laughed. It didn’t sound like Jake, but then again, I’d never heard him laugh under duress.
“Tell him!” Nancy screeched.
“Never! You’re crazy!” a man said. The voice was definitely not Jake’s. It had to be Ralph’s.
“Do something, Jake,” Nancy barked.
“Like what?” Jake said.
“Grab him and hold him down,” she said.
“Not on your life!” Ralph said.
“He’s a huge guy,” Jake said. “I don’t want to get on his bad side. He could hurt me!”
“Coward!” Nancy spat.
I leaned over for better acoustics and knocked over one of the empty terracotta pots.
“What was that?” Nancy asked.
I didn’t stick around for Jake’s reply. I scrambled out of Nancy’s yard and across the road faster than an Olympic sprinter riding a rocket. I skipped by my garbage bin, hit the remote on the garage door, and high-tailed it into my house, my heart pounding in my throat.
I gulped down a few breaths, then peeked through my front blinds. Nancy’s binoculars were trained on me.
I jerked my hand away from the blinds. My legs felt as wobbly as boiled spaghetti. I took a step and collapsed into Tom’s old chair. As I sat there waiting to regain use of my limbs, I wondered what kind of weird stuff was going on behind closed doors in my neighborhood...
...and how in the world was Tom’s ugly chair so darn comfortable?
“WELL, IT’S ALL ARRANGED. Harvey’s gonna meet us after class tonight,” Laverne said as she climbed into Maggie’s passenger seat.
“Are you sure we should involve him?” I asked, regretting my agreement to the deal we’d struck earlier in the day.
“Like you said, Val, Finkerman’s left us no choice.”
“Well, I wouldn’t go that far.”
Laverne’s smooth, penciled-on eyebrows turned lumpy as she furrowed her brow.
“Val, I’m not gonna have my headstone read, ‘Here lies Laverne Cowens, liar and thief of Clark County.’”
“I doubt an overdue library book would ever lead to that.”
“Maybe not. But I don’t want him running your name through the mud, either. You know you’re like the daughter I never had, don’t you?”
“Thanks, Laverne.”
And you’re like the crazy, loveable, air-headed aunt I never had.
Laverne reached for her seatbelt. “What exactly did you do to rile up Finkerman, anyway, Val?”
“Well, at the yard sale, I....”
...gave him your deadly cookies! I can’t tell her that!
“I...I called him a scumbag. Or, more accurately, nine-tenths of one.”
Laverne nodded and pursed her thin lips.
“I understand, honey. In Vegas, they got a saying about people like him.”
“What’s that, Laverne?”
The old woman turned and smiled at me brightly.
“If the scumbag fits, put it over his head until he stops breathing.”
Chapter Thirty-Four
“So you’re telling me no one did the crime scene assignment for last week?” Angela Lansgsbury asked.
Exasperated, she grabbed a pencil and started digging at her scalp. She eyed us, her three remaining students, as if we’d just committed a felony.
“No ma’am,” we all mumbled.
Langsbury’s efforts loosened a few flakes of dandruff. They tumbled to her shoulders as she reemployed the pencil as a pointer. She jabbed it at Clarice and started to say something, but then the old woman appeared to lose steam. Her thin, translucent arms fell to her sides and she let out a huge sigh.
“Okay,” she said. “How about we just do a Q and A instead. You gals got any questions?”
“About what?” Clarice asked, her cheeks nearly matching her auburn hair.
“About writing?” Langsbury said. Her face appeared as weary and lifeless as a worn-out ragdoll. “Perhaps a plot point you’re stuck on?”
“Oh,” Clarice said, her eyes trained on her desk. “No.”
The yellow, No. 2 writing utensil jabbed my way next. “You, Fremden. You have a question?”
I fidgeted in my desk chair. “Uh...okay. How would you go about locating something that was lost?”
“We need more specifics. What was lost?”
A tacky figurine, a pile of marshmallow ghosts and a redneck dreamcatcher made of beer cans, fishing line and a hot-pink pair of panties.
“Let’s just say it was a sentimental item,” I said.
“How was it lost?”
“At a yard sale. Accidently...uh...traded to an unknown individual for a potato peeler.”
Langsbury studied me as if I were a strange new form of fungus. “That’s pretty specific, Fremden. Did this actually happen?”
I squirmed in my chair. “Well, uh...I have this friend who –”
“Right,” Langsbury said, cutting me off. “As far as I can see, there was no real crime committed in that situation.”
She stared blankly at us, her face as curdled as buttermilk. “You three obviously lack motivation. So, why don’t we talk about something with motivation behind it? How about we discuss...murder.”
Victoria, the woman disguised as a librarian, gasped. “Murder!”
Lansbury’s papery lips curled sinisterly. “More specifically, a murderer.”
The old woman set the pencil down on her desk and raised her thin, spidery hands to shoulder level.
“Okay, ladies. I want you to let go of your thoughts and let your imaginations take over.”
Like a decrepit sorcerer, Langsbury moved her ghostly, tissue-paper hands round and round, as if conjuring an imaginary ball out of thin air.
“Close your eyes and picture the perpetrator in your next story. What does the cad look like? What does he smell like? What are his habits? His daily routine? His longings? His unmet desires? What does he value most?”
Val Fremden Mystery Box Set 3 Page 32