I could have possibly coped if I could have gotten ahold of a chocolate fix. But someone had stolen my stash of that, too. It was as if the world was conspiring against me to make me crazy. I looked in the mirror again and conceded defeat.
Chapter Forty
Okay. This was no longer just a hobby...it was bordering on mental illness.
I looked down at the rough, chipped-off stump where Pizza Man’s hand used to be. I wanted to add to his missing body parts.
My fingers itched and curled a little tighter around the handle of my new Hammer of Justice. Despite its gleaming, stainless-steel head, the hammer’s shine paled in comparison to my glittery gold fingernails and the matching cat-suit my butt was crammed into.
I blew a strand of teased hair out of my eyes.
Does it still count if I’m unrecognizable?
My conscience kicked in for a microsecond.
Val! Get a grip! What’s wrong with you?
I should’ve been celebrating my good fortune. My troubles with Finkerman were in the past. I was in sole possession of the embarrassing VHS tape of me scrounging through a box of sex toys wearing sparkly hot-pants. And in a few minutes, I’d be leaving to go to a party to celebrate the upcoming nuptials of some good friends.
But instead of feeling joyful, I felt like a freak.
And looked the part, too.
I’d wanted to knock Tom’s socks off tonight. But thanks to Laverne’s ridiculous makeover, I was worried I might be mistaken for a space alien from a low-budget sci-fi movie. I couldn’t leave my house looking like this, and there was no time to return to my home planet before Tom got home....
So I’d done the only thing I could think to do. I’d drunk another gin and tonic. My fourth. That’s when I’d gotten the idea to waste Pizza Man.
I was tipsy and angry and ready to punch someone’s lights out.
This was all Tom’s fault! If he hadn’t gone and sold that dreamcatcher, none of this would have happened!
I hiccoughed.
Well, at least some of it wouldn’t have happened.
I snatched the Pizza Man amputee off the kitchen counter and eyed the sliding glass door. It lead to the backyard, and the concrete execution block where my Hammer of Justice did its dirty work.
If I opened that door, there would be no turning back.
I took a wobbly, tentative step toward the back door. All of a sudden, like a scene from a TV detective show, the front door flew open. A cop rushed in and drew his pistol on me.
I gasped, and dropped both the hammer and the figurine. Pizza Man shattered on impact, and scattered his little Italian remains all over the terrazzo floor.
“Who are you?” the cop asked. “What are you doing here?”
According to my inebriated mind, I had two choices. One, I could fess up to my crime. Or two, I could clam up and let Tom haul the crazy cat woman off to jail, none the wiser it was me.
I debated for a moment, but before I could decide my fate, I broke down into tears instead.
“YOU DESERVE APPLE PIE,” I sobbed as I hung over Tom’s shoulder like a limp dishrag. “I’m nothing but mincemeat.”
I hiccoughed and sniffed and blew my nose on Tom’s cop shirt.
“What are you talking about, Val?” Tom asked as he hauled me to the couch and sat me down.
“Darryl,” I wailed. “If she wasn’t enough for you, I’ll never be.”
Tom sat beside me, took me gently by the shoulders, and looked me in the eyes.
“So this is what this is all about?”
“Look at me!” I said.
Tom stifled a grin. “I’m trying to, but I can’t make out anything that’s recognizable.”
“I’m hideous,” I whimpered, and broke out in a fresh round of tears.
“Oh, Val. Come on!”
“Why don’t you just *hic* go back to her,” I sobbed. “She seems like a...like a really pretty *hic* pretty nice person.”
“Geeze, Val. Darryl is a nice person. That wasn’t the problem.”
“What was?” I asked, not sure I wanted to know the answer.
“Darryl and I...we didn’t make it because we didn’t want the same things, Val. Not because of the way she looked or how she acted.”
Tom hugged me to his chest. I took the opportunity to add to the mural of makeup smears I’d already applied to his shirt.
“Tell me, Val,” Tom whispered softly. “What do you want?”
“From you?” I asked.
“From life.”
“To be happy,” I said, then sniffed.
Tom lifted my sagging head with a gentle tug on my chin.
“Me, too.” He sighed. “So, I guess that settles it.”
Suddenly half sober, I stared into Tom’s sea-green eyes.
“What do you mean?” I asked.
Tom smiled and shook his head.
“Silly girl. It means I’m sticking with you.”
My heart pinged. “Really?”
“Really.”
Tom lifted my chin and kissed me.
I smiled. “Thanks.”
Tom laughed, looked down at the floor, then back up at me.
“I also think it means I win our wager, Val. My chair stays.”
I jerked my chin out of his hand. “What? Why?”
“Admit it. I caught you red-handed, Val. A hammer in one hand, a figurine in the other.”
“But I didn’t smash it!”
“Right.”
“I dropped it! You saw it yourself. It’s not the same thing!”
“But you were going to. The hammer proves intent.”
“No! I wasn’t!”
“No? Then why’d you have the hammer?”
“Uh...I was going to nail something.”
Tom shook his head and grinned.
“Worst alibi ever. But okay. I’ll buy it for now. Our wager’s still on.”
“Good.” I bit my lip, sniffed, and wiped my eye with my hand. My fingers came back purple and black. I groaned inside.
My face must look like a finger painting done by a two-year old.
“So tell me, what’s with the getup?” Tom asked. “Winky’s party? It isn’t redneck-formal, is it?”
“Ha ha,” I said.
Tom looked me up and down and shook his head.
“Okay. You got me, Val. Why the cat-suit and heels?”
I shrugged. “I dunno. It’s just...well, I didn’t want to look like a slob, okay?”
“Well, now you’ve turned me into a slob.”
“Sorry about your shirt,” I said, and wiped it with my hand. My efforts only made the lipstick and mascara smears even worse.
Tom took my hand. “That’s not what I’m talking about.”
“No? What are you talking about, then?”
Tom wagged his eyebrows at me seductively. “Can’t you see I’m slobbering?”
I barked out an unexpected laugh.
“Now there’s the old bad-joke Tom I know and love.”
“You love me,” Tom said dreamily, and jokingly put a hand to his heart.
“Unfortunately, yes,” I said, and punched his upper arm. “Now be a love and help crazy cat lady get out of this getup.”
I reached down and started to take off my killer heels.
Tom stopped me.
“Wait,” he said. “Allow me.”
As Tom unbuckled the clasp on my exquisite but ridiculously painful high heels, a voice piped up in my tipsy brain and reminded me that I was supposed to be mad at him. Tom had sold Goober’s dreamcatcher, after all.
I froze in place, and, for a split second, considered rebuffing Tom’s help.
Then another voice whispered in my ear and reminded me of something more important.
What are you winning, kiddo, holding onto your anger?
The answer was as clear as my gin and tonic.
Nothing, Glad. Not a dad-blame thing.
Chapter Forty-One
For late July, it turned out
to be a surprisingly nice evening. There was a respectable breeze off the Gulf, and the humidity was under ninety percent, making it perfect for top-down cruising. And, after passing Tom’s sobriety test, he’d okayed me to drive.
Earlier that evening, Tom’s princely performance had proven to me that I didn’t have to be a glamor girl to earn his love. I only had to want to be happy – and have a skin hue within the range of the species known as Homo sapiens.
After undoing my shoes, Tom had helped me remove most of the traces of my attempt at glamour trannydom. Instead of Day-Glo orange, my skin was now glowing pink from a good scrubbing.
I’d also removed the fake fingernails and replaced the gold cat-suit and killer heels with Tom’s favorite sundress and a pair of cute, sensible sandals. I felt as fresh as a daisy could in the mid-summer heat.
“So, are you excited about the party?” I asked Tom, and mashed the gas pedal. Maggie rumbled and rattled her way down US 19, toward the Redneck Riviera known as Pinellas Park.
“To be honest, I’m more excited about picking up the puppy tomorrow,” Tom said. “Speaking of which, isn’t it time we finally decided on a name, Val? I don’t want the poor pup to be confused any more than he has to be.”
I glanced over at Tom. His blond bangs were blowing in the breeze. The fading sunset had turned them strawberry gold.
“Like I told you, Tom. You can name him anything but Sir Albert Snoggles, III.”
“Then Zalamanchicolista it is.”
My nose crinkled. “Huh?”
“You said anything.”
“I meant anything within the realm of human reason...and pronunciation.”
“There you go again,” Tom laughed. “Rewriting the rules as you go along.”
My eyes narrowed in mock outrage. “What are you talking about? I never do that.”
Tom snorted. “Hornswaggle.”
I took another glance over at Tom, uncertain if his last comment was aimed at me or the puppy.
“Whoa! Take a right here,” he said, and jabbed a finger at a fast-approaching road sign.
“I know,” I said, even though I knew darn well I’d have driven right past the street if Tom hadn’t said anything.
I jerked Maggie’s steering wheel to the right and performed a hairpin turn.
“See?” I said, as I maneuvered safely onto the side road. “I told you I had it under control.”
Tom shifted his eyes from me back to the road. He blew out a breath and said, “Jabbermutt.”
AS WE PULLED UP TO Winky and Winnie’s new double-wide trailer, Tom and I couldn’t help but notice the long, black hearse parked in front. A big, red bow was fastened to its hood, and a You-Haul-It trailer was hitched to the hearse’s back end.
“I was wrong,” Tom said. “I guess you can take it with you.”
We looked at each other and laughed.
“Let the weirdness begin,” I said, and opened the car door. As I slammed it behind me, my cellphone rang.
“It’s Cold Cuts,” I said. “I should take this.”
“Okay,” Tom said. “I’ll see you inside.”
As Tom made his way through the jumble of cars parked outside, I clicked the green button on my cellphone.
“Hey! What’s up?”
“Bad news,” Cold Cuts said. “I’m sorry, but Bill and I can’t make it tonight. Could you tell Winnie and Winky we’re sorry?”
“Uh. Sure. What’s happened?”
“Nothing, really. Our sitter for Bill’s dad crapped out on us.”
“Why don’t you just bring Freddie along?”
“He’s too unpredictable, Val, with the dementia and all.”
“How bad can he be?”
“Well, tonight he put his socks in his soup, and his pants on his – oh no!”
“What’s happened?”
“Listen, Val. I’ve got to go. Freddie just ran out the door wearing my high heels.”
“If he’s like me, he can’t get too far in them.”
“Right. But, unfortunately, that was all he was wearing. Geeze, Val! Half the guests around here must think we’re running a nudist resort.”
“Sorry about that.”
“It’s okay. At least he’s happy. That’s what matters.”
“You’re so right about that, Cold Cuts. It’s a shame you can’t make it. You’ll be missed.”
“I miss you guys, too. Give everyone my love, okay?”
“I will.”
“Thanks. I – Oh, geeze! Freddie! Sorry, Val I’ve got to go.”
The line went dead.
I sighed, stuck my phone in my purse, and counted my blessings. Then I made my way through the parked cars toward another place full of people slightly off their rockers...and all the more loveable for it.
Chapter Forty-Two
“Howdy, Val pal!” Winky hollered as I walked inside his double-wide trailer. Dressed in a black Stetson, an oversized dress shirt and fancy Western jeans, he looked like the maître de at a roadside rodeo.
“Come on in and get you some champagne and caviar,” he said, and handed me a clear, plastic cup full of bubbly, pale-yellow liquid.
“Well! Isn’t this all fancy!” I said.
“Yep. I seen it on that show, Lifestyles of the Rich and Famous. Here, try one a these horse ovary things.”
Winky daintily picked up a tray full of crackers topped with grey goop and shoved it at me.
“What is it?” I asked.
“Balooger caviar,” Winky said proudly. “Between you and me, it was mighty ‘spensive. But hey. Nothin’s too good for my Winnie.”
“Huh.”
I picked up a cracker off the tray and sniffed it. Winky leaned in and whispered in my ear.
“I know it don’t look like much, Val. But when that balooger stuff come, it wat’n even cooked. I throwed it in the skillet with some bacon grease and mashed it up with some smoked mullet spread. What a ya thank?”
I took a bite. Against all odds, it was freaking delicious.
“Wow! That’s fabulous, Winky!”
He beamed. “You know what they say, Val. Bacon can solve purty near every problem known to mankind.”
I laughed and raised an eyebrow. “Even Laverne’s cooking?”
Winky’s features scrunched together in the center of his face.
“Well, it ain’t that miraculous. I do believe that woman put the devil in devilled eggs.”
I stifled a laugh. “Sshh! There she is.”
Panic shot through Winky’s face. “Quick, Val! Tell me. What’d she bring?”
“I don’t know,” I whispered. “She rode over with J.D.”
“Dang it,” Winky sulked. Suddenly, his face brightened. “I know. I’ll get my private eye on it.”
My eyebrows collided. “What? You have a private investigator?”
“Yep. Hired him on account a whoever keeps callin’ code enforcement on us down at the donut shop.”
“Wouldn’t it be easer just to comply with the codes, Winky?”
“Maybe. But this here’s personal. And there ain’t no way to legislate against somebody bein’ a jerk.”
“That’s for sure,” I commiserated. “Lord knows, I wish there was. What’s the complaint?”
“Same thang as always,” Winky said. “Loiterin’. Get’s so a feller can’t even serve the public.”
“What do you mean, ‘serve the public’?”
“Well, ever since I started Bum-a-Bite Fridays and Spare-a-Spill Saturdays, somebody’s gone and got all riled up.”
“What on earth are you talking about?”
“You know, Val. Like Winnie done fer me at Davie’s Donuts. After two o’clock, I give out all the leftover donut pieces and undrunk coffee to the hungry fellers hangin’ around. I’m payin’ it forward. See?”
Unfortunately, I could.
“And nobody cares about it being a health hazard?” I asked.
“Huh? Naw. Only complaint I got so far was them fellers sometimes take
s a nap afterward...you know, in the sand dunes and whatnot around the shop.”
“You don’t say.”
I reached for another cracker and popped it into my mouth. I’d never had beluga caviar before, and probably never would again. My cheeks were crammed full when Winnie came up to join us.
“Val!” she squealed. “Did you see what Winky got me? My very own You Haul It! Now we all can go yard-salin’ whenever we want!”
“I’ve never seen anything like it,” I said. “It’s truly one of a kind.”
I hope.
Winky blushed with redneck pride.
“But I’m curious,” I said. “Why a hearse?”
“Oh,” Winky chimed in. “On account a my cousin Tater had it layin’ around in his shop. He was gonna make it into a hot rod, but changed his mind. He’d already put a diesel V-8 engine in it. Said it’d be great for haulin’ a trailer. And it’s already extra roomy in the back and all. Purty smart, huh?”
“Makes perfect sense,” I said.
“And economicable,” Winky said.
“How do you figure that?” I asked.
“Val, ever’body knows deiseline’s a whole lot cheaper’n gas.”
“Oh. Sure,” I said. “Well, at any rate, congratulations on your upcoming wedding. I have to say, I honestly can’t think of another couple who belong together as much as you two do.”
“Can you believe it?” Winky asked, and wrapped an arm around Winnie’s waist. “In a couple a months, this little lady’s gonna be the wind beneath my wings.”
“And let me guess, Winky,” I said. “You’ll be the wind beneath her sheets.”
Winnie burst out laughing. It took Winky another second, then his woodpecker staccato joined in.
“Oh. Here’s your gift,” I said as I wiped tears of laughter from my eyes.
“You didn’t have to go and do that!” Winky said. But before I could reply he grabbed the gift bag from my hand, dug through it and ripped into the envelope inside.
“Woo hoo! Looky here, Winnie! A hunnert dollars for the Dollar Store! Geeze, Val! We can get us like, a whole bunch a stuff with this!”
“That’s the idea,” I said. I grinned and turned to Winnie. “There’s one more thing inside.”
Val Fremden Mystery Box Set 3 Page 35