Seven Daze: Redneck Rendezvous (A Val Fremden Mystery Book 7)

by Margaret Lashley

  Geeze. I never thought I’d be relieved to hear those words.

  “...or he could have been poisoned.”

  I stumbled and nearly fell.

  “Are you all right up there?” Chief Collins asked. I didn’t dare look back. I’d never been good at hiding a guilty face.

  “Sure. Uh...this is my RV.” I fished the key from my pocket, limped up the steps and opened the door.

  “Mind if we take a look inside?” the man with the clipboard said.

  “No. Not at all.”

  The two men made quick work of surveying the inside of my tiny RV. By the time I’d gathered up my purse and inched my swollen toe into some flip-flops, they were through.

  “Everything okay?” I asked.

  Chief eyed me. “Not particularly. Looks like signs of a struggle,” he said, and nodded his head toward the bedroom. My suitcase looked like it had exploded in there.

  “Oh. No struggle. That’s all me. I’m just...a bit of a slob, you might say.”

  “What happened to your toe?”

  “Well, I –”

  “Chief, take a look at the ceiling,” clipboard man said. He pointed his pencil at a few dark-red specks. Looks like blood splatter.”

  “People always forget about the ceiling,” Chief Collins said, and tutted as his eyes met mine. “Evidence of a cleanup in the sink, too, Rogers. Get some samples for testing.”

  “But...it’s not what you think,” I said lamely.

  “You don’t say,” Chief Collins said.

  I smiled weakly. “Well, it’s kind of a funny story, really. I can explain –”

  “I’d appreciate it if you would do just that, Ms. Fremden. But not here. Down at the station. Into a tape recorder. Rogers?”

  The man with the clipboard said, “I’m on it, sir.”

  AS DETECTIVE ROGERS shut the back door on the squad car, I looked through the window at the crowd of folks gathered around. They’d been so friendly last night. Now their angry stares were tinged with the sting of betrayal. I knew exactly how they felt.

  As the squad car kicked up dust, I watched Maggie and the RV shrink away out of sight and tried to look on the bright side.

  At least now I’d be able to make a phone call.

  Chapter Twenty

  I knew the drill. I’d only get one call. So, I decided to wait and see how my “interview” with Chief Collins went. If my gut was any indication, I’d be needing an attorney more than I’d be needing Tom.

  “Seeing as how you’re from out of town, I’d like to give you the benefit of the doubt, Ms. Fremden,” Chief Collins said, causing the toothpick between his lips to bob up and down erratically.

  I shifted in my chair in the small, sparse room reserved for questioning suspects and witnesses. I wasn’t sure if the Chief’s soft approach was a “good cop” ploy or just his nature.

  “You see, those folks at Shell Hammock are a tight clan,” he continued from his standing position on the opposite side of the wooden table I was seated behind. “I mean, how would you feel if a stranger showed up in your little community one day, and next thing you know, your friend gets murdered?”

  I swallowed a lump. “Not good. You said you’d like to give me the benefit of the doubt. Does that mean you think I’m innocent?”

  The Chief’s lips twisted to one side. “I’d like to think so, but you’ve got to give me something to work with.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I’m not one to jump to conclusions so quick as some, but most times, I’ve found if it smells like a rotten egg, it’s a rotten egg. I have to say, the evidence against you doesn’t look too good. I mean, I’m not the sharpest man on the force, Ms. Fremden, but you left a trail of clues even my dimwitted son-in-law could follow.”

  “Clues? What clues?”

  The Chief pulled the toothpick from his mouth and studied the chewed end. “Well, there’s that pesky blood splatter all over your RV, for one.”

  “It isn’t blood. It’s Chef Boyardee.”

  He nodded slowly and blew out a breath. “All right, then. Supposing it is. How do you explain this?” He slapped my notebook on the table. “Is that your handwriting?”

  “Yes.”

  “And is that your list labeled. ‘Ways to get rid of a body?’”

  “Uh...yes, but –”

  “Kind of a little coincidental, don’t you think?”

  “Uh...sure. I could see that. But, here’s the thing. I’m taking a class on writing mystery novels. The list is for an assignment.”

  “An assignment. Uh huh. Who’s your teacher?”

  “Angela Langsbury.”

  Chief Collins’ face lost a large fraction of its lackadaisical charm. “Don’t get smart, Miss Fremden. You think because I live in the country I was born in a watermelon patch?”

  “No, sir. I know this must all sound –”

  The door squeaked open. Detective Rogers, the cop with the clipboard, entered and handed it to Chief Collins. He proceeded to shoot me a dirty look as the Chief scanned the report.

  “Says here the spots in your RV tested negative for blood,” Chief Collins said.

  “See? I told you. So, are you going to release me?”

  Rogers pointed at something on the clipboard. “Oh. All but one,” Chief Collins said. “Found a pesky spot of blood on the edge of the table. Human, too.” He looked up from the report. “What do you have to say about that?”

  “I don’t know. I’m not the first person to stay in that place. It could be anybody’s.”

  “Then you won’t mind if Detective Rogers here gets a sample of your blood for comparison, right?”

  “Uh. No. That’s fine.”

  The words were barely out of my mouth when Rogers grabbed my hand, jabbed my finger and stuck a pipette on the wound to suck up a sample.

  “Ouch!” I cried out. “Are we done now?”

  Chief Collins studied the report for a beat before saying, “Not just yet.” He nodded at Rogers and the insolent finger jabber left the room. Chief Collins flipped to the second page of the report.

  “There’s just a few other little things I want to clear up first.” He eyed on the clipboard. “I have testimony from Elmira Fitch that you accused her of witchcraft and that you put a spell on Wally Walters to make him think he was a toad-frog. Then you lured him into the pool, telling him it was a pond, and drowned him.”

  My unhinged jaw failed me. “I...I...”

  Chief Collins looked up and smiled. “Don’t worry about it. We all know Elmira’s cornbread ain’t quite done in the middle.”

  I blew out a sigh of relief.

  “But her sister Charlene, now she’s a bit more reliable – and the busiest busy body this side of the Chattahoochee. Says here she testified that when she returned from the store to deliver the Cheetos and moon pies she’d graciously picked up for you, she overheard you talking on the phone to somebody. You said, quote, ‘Things were about to get ugly.’ Charlene also said she saw you wiping down your car with a towel that had bloodstains on it.”

  “That was my ‘emergency’ towel, and I was talking to...uh...myself....”

  Chief Collins glanced up from the clipboard for a second. “Uh-huh.” His eyes went back to the report. “So, last night, during the fish fry, Charlene says that when Woggles went home, you left right after him. I’m quoting here, ‘She took off with that new fella without even offering to help clean up. When I walked by a couple hours later, on my way home, bone-tired from cleaning up without her help, I heard somebody holler inside her trailer. Then I heard a thump. I waited around a minute or two, but didn’t hear nothing else. So I minded my own business and went home. I never saw Woggles alive after that.’”

  “Well...I can explain. You see, that’s when I had the accident with the spaghetti sauce. I tripped and knocked it –”

  “You know,” Chief Collins cut in, “nothing like this has ever happened at Shell Hammock before. Then you show up and bam. Woggles is de
ad. What do you have to say about that?”

  “Uh...I’m renowned for my bad timing?”

  Chief Collins chewed his toothpick. “Maybe. But I’m beginning to think there’s more to it than that. Take a listen at Slim Johnson’s testimony.” He turned the page on the clipboard. “‘It was them cookies. Nobody ‘round here bakes cookies. I think she up and poisoned Woggles with them.’”

  “Why would I do that?”

  “Good question. Rogers asked Slim the same thing. Here’s what he said; ‘I don’t know. But Charlene said you should check her computer. When she was up in the RV, she seen that woman was writin’ something about murdering somebody with a snickerdoodle.”

  An elephant stomped on my chest. Oh, geeze! She must have looked at my computer screen. It was open to...The Snickerdoodle Murders...oh, crap!

  “Ms. Fremden? You still with me?”

  “Huh? Yes sir.”

  “Did those cookies Woggles was eating before he died come from you?”

  “Well...uh...I....”

  Chief Collins leaned over the table and eyed me like an eagle contemplating a mouse. “It’s not a hard question. Did you make the snickerdoodles found with the deceased Mr. Walters or didn’t you?”

  I swallowed hard. “Excuse me, Chief Collins, but I want to speak with my attorney.”

  “SO LET ME GET THIS straight,” J.D. Fellows’ voice said over the phone. “You knocked yourself out with a jar of spaghetti sauce after being frightened by what you thought was a demon entity summoned by a shrunken head.”

  “Correct.”

  “You went to the trailer park to write a mystery about a guy in a trailer park who dies from eating poisoned snickerdoodles.”

  “Well, that’s not the only reason I went, but essentially, yes.”

  “And a guy there just happened to end up being poisoned by snickerdoodles.”

  “Uh...that hasn’t been totally confirmed yet.”

  “And you’re caught holding a paystub for ten grand.”

  “I told you, it’s Goober’s.”

  “Val, not even I would believe that.”

  “Crap.”

  “Exactly. You’re lucky they’re releasing you on your own recognizance. Anything else pertinent I should know?”

  “Yeah. Don’t trust the Internet. The pictures of that place have got to be thirty years old.”

  “I said ‘pertinent.’”

  “I locked my keys in the trunk of my car. Is it pertinent that I’m stuck here until I can get the trunk open or until Tom finds the spare set and sends it to me?”

  “Not really. I’m a lawyer, Val. Not a locksmith.”

  “I know. But could you call one for me?”

  “You don’t have a phone?”

  “No. I’m calling from the police station. My phone’s dead, and I brought the wrong charger.”

  “Val, that’s what we in the business call ‘pertinent’ information.”

  “Sorry. What should I do?”

  “Take a cab to Walmart. Buy a new charger. While you’re there, call a locksmith.”

  “Okay.”

  “And don’t worry. I know you didn’t kill anyone with a snickerdoodle.”

  “Thanks. And J.D? Do me a favor. Don’t tell Laverne. Or Tom. Not yet, anyway. There’s no need to get them involved right now.”

  “Why not?”

  “I have my reasons. Oh...and I guess there’s one more ‘pertinent’ thing I should tell you.”

  “What?”

  “The snickerdoodles? They were made by Laverne.”

  After a long silence, I thought I heard J.D. say, “Aww, shizzlenuts.”

  Chapter Twenty-One

  “Nice digs,” the Über driver said as he maneuvered his Ford Fiesta slowly past the falling-down sign for the Hell’ammo. I had to admit, it looked a lot worse in the daylight.

  “I’m number thirteen,” I said.

  “Of course.” He pulled up in front of the tiny RV and whistled. “Is that your car under the tarp?”

  “Yes.” I reached for my push-broom crutch and opened the door. The wiry old man made no effort to help. He was too busy staring at Maggie.

  “Looks like a Ford Falcon,” he said.

  “Yeah. 1963 Sprint,” I grunted as I hoisted myself up out of the seat.

  “V-8 engine?”

  “Yeah.” I grabbed my Walmart bags, shut the door and limped to the driver’s window. “Dual glass-packs, too. What do I owe you?”

  “Eighteen bucks. Does it run?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Why didn’t you drive it?”

  I blew out a breath and handed him a twenty. “Locked the keys in the trunk. I’m waiting on a locksmith.”

  The leathery old man looked me up and down, then eyed the grungy, pink-flecked laundry flapping on the line. He shook his head and grinned, revealing the gap where his four front teeth used to be. “Tell you what, lady. I’ll never complain about my luck again.”

  “Right,” I said sourly. “Keep the change.”

  He tipped his Redman Chewing Tobacco cap at me and took off down the dirt lane. I watched him go, then hobbled toward the RV. I had a busted little toe, a broom for a crutch, an empty wallet, a car with no keys, a village of angry rednecks on my back, and a warning from the police to not leave Polk County.

  Yep. I was livin’ the dream.

  On the bright side, I had a new phone charger, a pack of bologna, a jar of pickles and an appointment with a locksmith within the next four hours. At least while I was waiting around, I could try and get some writing done.

  When I opened the door to the RV, I realized that was never going to happen. My place had been ransacked. My computer was gone. Lying on the dinette table in its stead was a set of keys. I scrambled over for a closer look.

  “My keys!” I cried.

  I couldn’t have been happier if it were a box of chocolate-covered cherries from Chocolateers. I grabbed the charger, unwrapped it, stuck it in the wall and let my phone juice up while I put my groceries away. I was nibbling on bologna when it finally dawned on me that even though I had to stay in Polk County, I didn’t have to stay here.

  I snatched up my phone and cancelled the locksmith. Then I dialed the police station.

  “Hello? Could I speak with Chief Collins? It’s Val Fremden.”

  I waited on the line for a minute.

  “Ms. Fremden? I’m glad you called. I –”

  “Listen, Chief Collins, I just wanted to say thanks for finding my keys.”

  “What?”

  “When you came back and re-searched my place. When can I get my computer back?”

  “Ms. Fremden, we don’t have your computer. And we didn’t re-enter your domicile.”

  “Then who did?”

  “I don’t know. I was just going to ask you to voluntarily surrender your computer. If this is some kind of ploy to hide evidence....”

  “No! It’s not! Someone broke in and stole my computer...and returned my car keys. That doesn’t make any sense!”

  “No it doesn’t. But I tell you what does. Detective Rogers found a plastic lid in the garbage receptacle outside your unit. It appears someone tried to shred it. But it’s evident it fits the container found floating next to Wally Walters. Tampering with evidence will only dig you deeper in the hole, Ms. Fremden. And nowadays, it doesn’t take but a molecule or two to detect the use of poisons. We’re running toxicology tests on everything as we speak.”

  “But...I’m not lying! Or tampering! I swear!”

  “The proof will be in the pudding, Ms. Fremden. Or should I say, in the cookie. Don’t leave town.”

  The line went dead.

  Geeze Louise! Was I being set up by the folks at the Hell’ammo? I marched to the freezer. It was gin-and-tonic time somewhere. I flung open the door and forgot all about the Tanqueray.

  Propped up against the bag of ice, a hideous little monster grinned at me with sharp, broken-shell teeth. The shrunken head was back. Only this time
, the message accompanying it read:

  Get Out Now.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  I had orders to not leave town, but it didn’t mean I had to stay here in this stupid RV – especially now that there was a voodoo head leering at me from the freezer like a deranged Eskimo!

  The freezer door nearly came off its hinges as I slammed it shut. I shuffled to the bedroom like a hobbled crab chasing high tide. My suitcase lay open on the bed. It had been rifled through as well. My clothes had been flung everywhere. I snatched my shorts, shirts and underwear from doorknobs, bedposts and lamps and stuffed them back in the case. I grabbed my toothbrush and makeup from the tiny bathroom, threw them on top of the clothes, and fastened the clasps.

  On my way past the fridge, I grabbed the bologna and pickles, shoved them in the Walmart bag and headed for the door. My poor gin would have to deal with Nanook of the Frigidaire on its own. I wasn’t opening that freezer door again for anything!

  I cracked the RV door open just enough to drop my suitcase outside. Maggie’s keys were lying on the dinette table next to my purse. I hobbled over, got a good grip on my crutch, slung my purse over my left shoulder and grabbed the keys.

  I am soooo outta here!

  I flung the RV door open and discovered a snag in my hasty getaway scheme. I’d forgotten about Maggie. She was covered in a silver tarp like an un-popped pan of Jiffy Pop.

  Crap!

  I set my purse and shopping bag on the steps and limped over to her. My kneecaps cracked as I squatted down and peeled the duct tape off of her left, front side panel. When I struggled back to standing, Stumpy was on the other side of Maggie, staring at me.

  “Going somewhere?” he asked in a way that made me think he had other ideas on the matter.

  “I uh....”

  “Chief tol’ me you wasn’t supposed to leave.”

  “He meant Polk County, not Shell Hammock.” I sized Stumpy up. Given his age and watermelon belly, I might could outrun him. I shifted on my crutch and remembered I was using a crutch. There went that option.

  “Look, Stumpy, I’m sorry about Woggles.”