He shrugged. “Keeps the stares to a minimum.”
I raised my plastic cup. “A toast! To the next generation of our little family!”
“And to the last one,” Winky added. “Let’s don’t forget about Glad.”
“Never,” I said. “Who could forget her? In fact, let’s give her a toast too. You all know what I’m talking about!”
Everyone laughed, raised their glasses and cheered, “Screw you, kiddo!”
THE THOUGHT THAT WINKY and Jorge were both getting another chance to have a family made my heart swell with pride, and my eyes brim with tears of gratitude.
But it didn’t last.
Our little family love fest came to a screeching halt when Amsel showed up carrying his shoes in his hands and Dimson on his arm.
I shot a glance at Goober. He nodded. I looked over at Tom. He cocked his head and looked at me sideways.
One out of two wasn’t that bad. I nodded back at Goober.
Operation Take-Down Amsel was officially in play.
AMSEL STEPPED UP TO the bar next to me, slipped his expensive Gucci loafers back on, and bellowed into the crowd, “Where’s the idiot who gave me that box of cigars?”
I looked at Tom, then Goober, wondering which one would step up to the bat. Goober beat Tom to the punch – as it turned out, in more ways than one.
“I did,” Goober said, adjusting his ski cap. “I’d like to officially welcome –”
That was as far as Goober got before Amsel punched him in the face.
“I put those rotten cigars in my humidor,” he screeched as Goober stumbled backward into Tom’s arms. “Now my entire collection is infested with weevils!”
Couldn’t have happened to a nicer guy.
Goober took a step toward Amsel, but the pig-faced coward ran out the door. Tom held tight to Goober. I heard him say, “Let him go, buddy. It’s not worth it.”
“Story of my life,” I heard Darlene Dimson mumble under her breath as she watched Amsel disappear out the door. She walked over to the bar and ordered a vodka on the rocks, laid a ten-dollar bill on the bar and headed for the ladies’ room.
I started to follow her, but was stopped in my tracks by a vision even uglier than Amsel.
Hobbling up onto the porch was either the ugliest woman in the world, or it was Finkerman...in drag.
Chapter Forty-One
“Dear god. Is that you, Finkerman?” I asked the frizzy-haired hag.
“It’s me. But tonight I’m Sharon. As in share-n-share alike. Get it?”
“Classy.”
Finkerman waggled his drawn-on eyebrows. “I thought you’d like it.”
“I told you to dress sexy, Finkerman. Not hexy. You look like a witch in that.”
“I thought a little black dress was always in vogue.”
“Yeah. If you’re a woman.”
“Whatever. Listen, I just saw Amsel run over to that ugly orange house across the beach.”
“Yeah, I know.”
“How am I supposed to do my thing now?”
“Plan A is in the crapper.” My own words lit a lightbulb in my head. “Hold on. Dimson just went to the ladies’ room.”
“That alley skank?”
“Yeah. I’m gonna go in there. Maybe I can figure out something else while I’m in there. Wait here.”
Finkerman glanced around. “Where else would I go?”
I TOOK A SEAT IN THE other stall next to Dimson and, for lack of any other ideas, flushed the toilet.
“Is that you, Karen?” she asked.
“Uh...yes,” I answered.
“You showed this time. Good. Listen, the plan’s changed. But it’s actually better. That jerk Amsel’s gone and gotten himself in trouble again running his big mouth. What a surprise. Anyway, he’s ditched me and run over to that house he owns next door. He’s right where I want him for our original plan. You understand?”
I waited in the silence for a beat and said, “Yes.”
“You’ve got the recorder ready?”
“Yes.”
“Okay. I’m going to slam down a very necessary glass of vodka, then I’m going to meet Amsel at his place for a quickie. I’ll leave the blinds open. Don’t mess it up this time. I’m not doing that alley stint again, you hear me?”
“Yes.”
“Get us doing the deed on tape, then tap three times on the window when you’ve got what you need. Do it right and you’ve earned yourself ten percent of a hundred grand. Are we clear on this?”
“Yes.”
“Wait ten minutes, then head for the ugly orange house on the right. No. Wait. Knowing Amsel, better make it just five minutes.”
“Got it.”
“Okay. See you over there. Remember, if you don’t get a picture of us getting laid, you don’t get paid.”
“Got it.”
“Good. Because I honestly don’t think I can do this another time. Not for just a hundred grand.”
I heard Dimson’s heels click across the floor. They stopped. I held my breath. Finally, she said, “Nice shoes.”
The door closed behind her.
Great. Now what?
I waited until I figured Dimson had downed her vodka and left the bar, then I slunk out of the restroom.
Tom was busy helping Goober staunch his bloody nose. And, just my luck, Finkerman was over in a corner talking to Nancy.
“Sorry,” I said, barging in between them. “I need to borrow him...I mean her for a minute.”
I snatched Finkerman’s arm and tugged him out of earshot of Nancy.
“Listen, you brought your recording equipment like I asked, right?”
“Of course.” Finkerman patted his fake boob. “It’s in my bra.”
Too much information. Again.
“Okay. We’re going with the same basic plan...but a new location and new...uh...subject matter. Instead of recording Amsel’s confession, I want you to record his...uh...indiscretion. Can you handle that?”
Finkerman rolled his eyes at me. “This ain’t my first rodeo, Fremden.”
“No. But you do look like you’ve been ridden hard and put away wet.”
Finkerman scowled. “You want me to do this or not?”
“Sorry. That was too good to pass up. Okay, so just get over to that house you saw Amsel run into. Dimson will be there, you know, uh, ready and waiting.”
“Geeze! Amsel and Dimson again? I should be getting hazardous duty pay.”
“I promise when this is all over, I’ll figure out a way to make it worth your while.”
“Okay. I’m going.”
“Wait. There’s one more thing we need to do first.”
“What?”
“We’re going to have to trade shoes.”
“Huh?”
“Don’t ask,” I said, yanking off my shoes. I handed them to him. “Just put these on and go.”
Finkerman crammed his feet into my sandals, winced, and minced his way out the door. As I slid my feet into his floppy pumps, something clicked into place in my brain like a missing jigsaw piece.
Shoes. Trading shoes....
“That’s it!” I said aloud.
“What’s it?” Tom asked.
“Shoes. I think I figured it out, Tom! Norma was always complaining about her feet. She bought those new Birkenstocks on Monday, but when I saw her on Wednesday, those weren’t the shoes she was wearing. Maybe she tried to break them in, but they hurt her feet too much.”
“So?” Tom asked. “Where are you going with this?”
“Well, let’s say Norma took off her new shoes, put the old ones back on, and stowed the new ones somewhere in the back of the restaurant. Then later, someone took her new shoes and wore them to disguise themselves...or so they wouldn’t get their own shoes dirty. Did you notice Amsel when he came in? He was carrying his expensive loafers.”
“You think he was the one who wore the other pair of Birkenstocks...along with Dimson?”
“Exactly. A man wearing
Norma’s shoes. Like Goober wearing those red pumps. And Finkerman wearing mine.”
“What?”
I bit my lip. “Mulligan.”
Tom closed his eyes and took a deep breath.
“Okay, Val. So, you’re pretty sure Amsel’s behind Greg and Norma’s disappearance.”
“Yes. But I think Amsel’s too stupid to pull off anything that elaborate all by himself. Dimson’s got to be the brains behind this, Tom. She’s setting Amsel up to take the fall for everything. Finkerman’s here working with me. He’s getting it all on tape as we speak.”
“Finkerman? What do you mean? Taping what?”
“Mulligan.”
“Val, you can’t say mulligan every time –”
Just then, a gust of wind blew my dress up over my head. As I yanked it down, the scabbed-on roof above my head made a horrible cracking noise. A second later, it blew off and disappeared into the dark, wind-swept night.
Chapter Forty-Two
I felt my feet lifting out of Finkerman’s shoes. Suddenly, warm hands gripped my waist and pulled me back down to earth.
“Val!” Tom’s voice said. “Are you okay?”
I pulled my dress back down, away from my face, and thanked my Southern upbringing for making sure I’d wore nice panties tonight.
“Yeah, I’m okay.”
“Tell me what’s going on.”
“I don’t know. But that was one huge gust of wind!”
“I didn’t mean the weather,” Tom said. “But you’re right. I don’t think the plastic window flaps are going to help with this storm.”
“Let’s go check the TV weather report.”
Tom and I went up to the bar, where everyone else was already glued to the screen of the old TV mounted on the wall.
A local Tampa Bay news weatherman was talking. He waved his hands around a swirling backdrop that looked eerily like a rendition of Picasso’s starry night.
“...surprise cluster of cyclonic activity reminiscent of the ‘No-Name Storm’ that blew through in March of 1993,” he said.
The screen shifted to two reporters sitting at a news desk. The woman said, “If I recall, it blew ashore in the middle of the night, Chet.”
“Yes,” said the newsman on her left. “Like this one, the No-Name Storm spawned nearly a dozen tornadoes.”
Tornadoes!
“If I remember correctly,” the news woman said, “it brought with it a storm surge of over seven feet in some parts of Pinellas County.”
“That’s right, Mindy,” Chet said. “It packed winds of over a hundred miles an hour. The damage was horrendous. Thousands of homes were destroyed, and nearly fifty folks lost their lives in that storm. I believe that was more than Hugo and Andrew combined.”
Mindy mugged a concerned look for the camera. “You folks inland, thank your lucky stars. You along the coast, batten down the hatches. This may turn out to be another ‘No-Name’ Storm!”
“Should we make a run for it?” I asked Tom.
“I think we should all stay here,” he said. “It’s too dangerous to leave. Tornadoes can pop up anywhere.”
“Oh, great,” Jake said. “Now no one will help me get that pig out of my van.”
“What pig?” Winky asked.
“Rand –,” Jake began.
“Dee,” I said. “Randy.”
Laverne eyed me suspiciously. I knew the jig was up. I pulled the tag out of my purse and handed it to Laverne.
“I was going to save this for later, but....”
Laverne read the tag and smiled brightly. “You found Randolph!” She hugged me, then Jake. “Oh, thank you so much!”
I bit my lip. “Laverne, I’ve got to tell you something. It’s not what you –”
Suddenly, the lights went out. We were plunged into pitch-black darkness.
“Are there any candles?” I heard Tom call out. The bartender produced a flashlight. In the dim halo, I saw him and Tom rifle through the bar shelves as the wind blew and Caddy’s creaked like an old ship caught in a Nor’easter.
“Do you think she’ll hold?” I asked Tom as he found me again. I was huddled together with the rest of the gang under a table wedged into a corner.
“This place is tough,” Tom said. “It’s been here forever. We’ve got as good a chance here as any.”
Just then, the side door blew open. Tom ran over to close it, but I caught a glimpse of something moving in the dark.
“Wait, Tom! Someone’s out there!”
“Where?”
I ran over to him and pointed. “Over there! Oh, no! Watch out!”
Tom and I watched in disbelief as the roof came off J.D.’s house.
“Holy smokes!” Tom called out against the gale.
A few seconds later, a scrawny, weather-beaten woman wearing a black dress and my shoes came tumbling halfway through the door.
“You guys, the tide’s rising!” Finkerman said as we pulled him inside.
As we pushed against the door trying to shut it, the entire third floor of J.D.’s house went airborne. Suddenly, in the dim starlight, I made out a fat, pig-like figure running toward us.
Amsel!
Debris circled around Tim Amsel like Frosty in a snow-globe. What looked to be a large board beaned him on the head. Amsel tripped, grabbed onto the board, and skidded toward us across the sand. He stopped a few yards from the door.
Winky shone a flashlight on him. It was Amsel, all right. He looked like a wet lab rat in his ragged t-shirt and underpants. Through the howling rain, I saw that the plank he’d ridden over on was actually the surfboard-shaped sign from Winnie & Winky’s donut shack.
“Well, that’s somethin’ you don’t see every day,” Winky said.
As we watched, Amsel stumbled to his knees, then to his feet. He took a step toward us. Something flew out of the whirlwind hit him square in his fat gut. He collapsed like he’d just caught a football made of lead.
Or, more accurately, of pigskin.
“Randolph!” Laverne cried out.
“Shore is,” Winky said. “And looky there. He had the good sense to wear his goggles.”
“I think Amsel got the wind knocked out of him,” I said. “Looks like he’s gasping for breath.”
“Somebody should resuscitate him,” Tom said. “Besides, Randolph, I mean.”
I shook my head in disbelief. “Nothing in the world could possibly top this.”
Then, as if on cue, something orange came crashing through what was left of Caddy’s porch and proved me wrong, yet again.
Chapter Forty-Three
Pushed up on the rising tide, an orange kayak surfed a huge wave and crash-landed onto what was left of Caddy’s porch. Two bedraggled, weather-worn men tumbled out of it.
I noticed one of the men had boobs.
“Norma!” I screeched. “It’s Norma and Greg!”
Tom and Goober dropped the jabbering, hysterical Amsel in a corner, leaving him to the tender care of the Knick Knack Nazi. Nancy promptly slapped Amsel on an already red cheek and said, “Snap out of it, pansy boy!”
Laverne and J.D. entertained an enthusiastic Randolph with a plate of meringues, while the rest of us helped the waterlogged pair out of the battered kayak.
“What the heck is going on here?” Tom asked.
“First, I need a beer,” Greg said.
“Me, too,” Norma said.
“Me, three,” Tom said. “Welcome back. We’ve been looking for you for a week.”
“WE WERE CAMPING OUT at Fort DeSoto,” Greg explained, after a long slug of beer. He looked over at Norma, who was huddled in a towel. “After all that rain today, we decided to take advantage of the break in the weather and go kayaking this evening. But then this huge storm came up outta nowhere. I’ve never seen anything like it in all my days here. We couldn’t get back to the campsite. It was all we could do to try to stay upright. The winds pushed us all the way here. Right to Caddy’s doorstep.”
“It’s a sign,” Norma s
aid, shaking her head. “We shouldn’t have sold it.”
“You’re right,” Greg said. “But it’s too late, now.”
“Why would you just up and disappear?” I asked. “We’ve all been worried sick about you two.”
“I didn’t know we had,” Greg said. “I just wanted to get away. I turned off my phone. I couldn’t bear the calls from customers anymore. Or the sight of this place, knowing it was going to be demolished.”
“Well, it looks like Mother Nature’s doing the job for you,” Tom said.
“My punishment for being a traitor,” Greg said. “I’m sorry I let you folks down.”
“We thought you’d been murdered,” I said. “Tom found one of those life-alert bracelets you used to wear.”
Greg shook his wrist. The silver bracelet on it jangled. “As you can see, I’ve still got mine. It’s my good luck charm. Besides you, I mean.” He looked over at Norma. They shared a sad smile.
“You can still have this bloody dump, too, if you want it,” Amsel said, marching up in his underpants, red palm prints covering his face. “I’ve had it with this crazy Florida weather. You’re all nuts to live here! Where’s Dimson?”
“Someone brought dim sum?” Goober asked.
A bedraggled woman stumbled in out of the rain, but it wasn’t Dimson.
“Uh...What’s going on here?” she asked.
“Are you Karen?” I said.
“Karen?” Tom asked.
I grimaced. “Mulligan.”
“Yes. I’m Karen. Where’s Dimson?”
“That’s what I want to know,” Goober said.
“It’s Dimson, not dim sum,” I said to Goober. I grabbed Karen by the arm. “Come with me.” I looked over at Tom. “You, too.”
I took a step toward the door, then turned back and said, “Oh. And Finkerman, I’m gonna need my shoes back.”
WE FOUND DIMSON COWERING in a corner of the soggy living room in what was left of the ugly orange house Amsel had bought from J.D. two days prior.
“There she is,” I said to Tom.
Val Fremden Mystery Box Set 3 Page 58