Val & Pals Boxed Set: Volumes 1,2 & the Prequel (Val & Pals Humorous Mystery Series)

by Margaret Lashley

  “My god, Clarice. I never knew sex could be so…fantastic!”

  Clarice looked to the right and giggled. A handsome young waiter stood at our table, a stack of dirty plates in his hand, his eyes as big around as teacups. I looked at Clarice and we burst into roars of laughter. Even the waiter snickered as he picked up our plates and added them to the heap.

  “I’ve never had, you know, casual sex before, Clarice.” I looked around to make sure the coast was clear. “Please don’t tell anyone! I’m afraid they might think –”

  “Forget about what anybody thinks. There’s getting screwed, Val, and then there’s getting screwed. You? You had sex with a guy you barely know. That’s getting screwed. Pay a hundred bucks for an extended warranty on a Mr. Coffee machine? Now that’s getting screwed.”

  “I get your point. But I just don’t know where to go from here. I feel…lost.”

  “Where are you?”

  “Huh?”

  “Where are you? Right now.”

  “Here? In Italy, you mean?”

  “Exactly. You know where you are. So you’re not lost.”

  “Clarice, I didn’t mean geographically –”

  “I know! Don’t be a dingbat, Val! You’re not lost. You’re not lost because life isn’t about finding yourself. It’s about reinventing yourself. What do you want to be now? That’s the real question.”

  “I don’t know. I never thought about it that way.”

  “Well, give it a shot. You’ve got about three minutes before the button on my jeans pops off and puts somebody’s eye out.”

  ***

  That old truism really was true – there was no such thing as a free lunch. I’d eaten half my weight in lobster tails and shrimp and my waistline had paid the price. By the time our assigned dinner hour rolled around, I could hardly fasten the rhinestone belt that was supposed to wrap around my blue dress. After all the rigmarole with lost luggage in Italy, I didn’t want to have to ditch my clothes now because I couldn’t get my fat ass into them.

  I decided to skip dinner and spend my remaining calories wisely – on a Tanqueray and tonic. I sipped it as I watched Clarice put away a ribeye steak the size of her plate. Not only was she beautiful. Clarice had the metabolism of a teenage boy. If she wasn’t such a wonderful person, I’d have seriously considered throwing her overboard.

  “So what’s on the agenda for tonight?” she asked between mouthfuls of steak.

  “Not much. I haven’t spotted a guy yet that’s young enough to date my mother.”

  “Promise me that’s the last time you’ll mention your mother on the cruise.”

  I remembered why I forgave Clarice for being so perfect. She truly was best friend material. My mother was a piece of work, and no matter what I said or when I needed to vent about her, Clarice was there, by my side, one hundred percent in my corner.

  “I promise.”

  I unfolded the King Kavanaugh Daily, a newsletter touting the day’s events and happenings. I’d found it tucked in a cubbyhole by our door this morning.

  “Let’s see. This evening’s on-board entertainment is…in the Kingman Theater… a comedian named Vinny Cannoli.”

  “I hope for his sake that’s a stage name.”

  “It has to be. Let’s check it out, Clarice. You love comedians.”

  “I do! Almost as much as I love eating.”

  Clarice put the last bite of steak in her mouth.

  “I love you Clarice. But don’t push it.”

  We both giggled. I swirled my Tanqueray and tonic and drank the last drop.

  “Ready?”

  “Ready.”

  ***

  We took a seat at the high-top stools at the back of the red-velvet-everything Kingman Theater. From our perch, Clarice and I scanned the audience.

  “You and I might be the only ones here not wearing orthopedic shoes,” Clarice said.

  “The horrors!”

  I jokingly tucked my feet under my stool to hide my sparkly, silver stilettos of shame. The lights went down and a curtain opened up on the stage. When the comedian walked out, I nearly choked. He was as thin as gold plating, and as old as dinosaur dung. Dressed in a faded tuxedo, a top hat and a pair of black-and-white spats, he was ghostly pale. The effect was eerie, as if he’d teleported in from a time before color was invented. I elbowed Clarice and whispered.

  “I’m worried that maybe he just escaped from a steamer trunk.”

  “I know, right? The only thing missing from his repertoire is a metal walker and an IV drip of embalming fluid.”

  We giggled and watched Vinny the ancient cannoli hobble up to the microphone and smile. He tugged on his left sleeve a couple of times until his bowtie began to spin like a whirligig. The crowd broke out in cheers and hoots of laughter. He tipped his hat and bowed.

  “Ladies and Germs, I just flew in from Vegas, and boy are my arms tired!”

  His opening line sent the floating geriatric center into howls and applause. I had to admit, it was so bad it was actually kind of good. I chuckled despite myself. But the novelty wore off fast, and Clarice and I decided to leave the inevitably tragic comedy on a high note.

  “Let’s go check out the dessert buffet,” Clarice said.

  “Are you kidding? Where do you put it all?”

  “Oh, here and there,” Clarice quipped.

  “Thanks, but I’ll pass. Go ahead, though. I’ll meet you back at the room.”

  “Okie dokie.”

  Clarice disappeared up the staircase. I floundered around the ship until I found the Internet Café. Inside, I found five bored teenagers trapped like rats aboard the SS Depends. I chose a cubicle next to a young girl with long dark hair who looked as if her world had recently come to an end.

  “Excuse me,” I asked. “Do you know how this works?”

  “Sure,” she said sullenly. She grabbed my ship card from my hand, swiped it, and punched a few buttons on the computer. “Service provider?”

  “Uh. G-mail.”

  “Finally. I don’t think I could take another AOL’er.”

  “What’s your name?”

  “Charlotte.”

  “Thanks, Charlotte.”

  The girl flashed me a courtesy smile and returned to her computer. I fished around in my purse and found the last of my stash of cinnamon fireballs. I placed the candy by Charlotte’s mousepad. She looked up at me curiously.

  “For services rendered,” I said.

  Charlotte shot me a quick grin. “Thanks,” she mouthed, then went back to her screen.

  I logged on and checked my emails. There were a few spam ads and a notice it was time to renew my homeowner’s policy. Not likely. There was no email from Friedrich. I guess he had taken me at my word. He was going to let our time together be what it was – a perfect moment shared by two. After a lot of muddy mind-wrestling today, I’d decided to label the whole thing as an affair to remember, instead of a mistake to forget.

  I logged off the computer and headed back to the cabin. When I opened the door, I found it had been cleaned and straightened up, just like at a fancy hotel. My bed had been neatly folded down for the night. Perched atop my pillow was a single, foil-wrapped chocolate, and something else. I picked up the strange object and turned it over in my hands. The twisted lump of cloth was Friedrich’s sexy underwear, folded like origami into the shape of a frog. My face turned as red as my lover’s dirty underpants. When I’d unpacked yesterday, I’d discretely tucked them under my pillow. I’d forgotten and left them in the bed….

  The cabin door flew open and Clarice stepped in, holding an ice cream sundae.

  “I’m glad you’re here. I didn’t want to eat alone,” she said. “Hey, what’s up with you? Why’s your face red?”

  I tried to hide the underpants behind me. Clarice grinned and put her sundae on the desk. “Whatcha got there, Val-pal?”

  I showed her. “Just a frog, see?”

  She snatched it from my hands and pulled the underwear fr
ee from its contortions. “Ha! Frog my ass! Do these belong to Friedrich?”

  “Give me those back!

  Clarice held the underwear to her crotch and began thrusting her hips.

  “Ride ‘em, cowboy!”

  “Stop it, you crazy woman!”

  Clarice danced around with the underpants.

  “So tell me, Val. How did you like his ‘German engineering’?”

  I grinned despite myself.

  “A hell of a lot more than the old Ford I traded in.”

  Chapter Nineteen

  After tucking away eggs benedict, asparagus and two cappuccinos this morning, Clarice and I’d been contemplating the after-breakfast dessert cart when I realized something.

  “I need to get my fat butt off this boat, Clarice, before it grows to unscrewable proportions.”

  Clarice looked at me, then at a slice of Key Lime pie, then back to me. “You’re right. Let’s go check out Monaco.”

  We got up and headed for the gangway. Clarice looked gorgeous in a green sundress that matched her eyes. I was wearing my favorite outfit – a cute white skirt, a blue-and white striped top and a white straw fedora. Despite a full tummy, I felt flirty and fabulous. We took our places in line to go through ship security and out into the jet-setting land of Monte Carlo, Monaco.

  “Excuse me, do you have any more brochures?”

  I turned around in line to find a kindly little old lady looking up at me expectantly.

  “I’m sorry?”

  “Do you have any more brochures with the map of Monaco? I can’t seem to find mine.”

  “I only have the one they gave me.”

  “Oh. I’m sorry. I thought you worked here.”

  Clarice turned around and raised her eyebrows at me.

  “No. Sorry.”

  Clarice went through security ahead of me. I stepped forward to take my turn at the card scanner and discovered that the Asian woman at the machine was dressed nearly identical to me.

  “Ship card and ID, please.” She smirked ever so slightly as she ran my card through the scanner. A green light came on and the machine pinged.

  “Enjoy your day…Ms. Jolly. Nice outfit.”

  Feeling a tad less fabulous, I walked the plank off the ship with Clarice.

  “Was that rude, or was it just me?”

  Clarice laughed. “I don’t know. I didn’t see her face.”

  “Well I did, and…uh…oh my god! Look!”

  Clarice turned and we both stared, slack-jawed, at a sparkling, golden city in front of us. It appeared to have dropped straight from heaven onto the shores of the Ligurian Sea. To the right, an immaculate, white-sand beach was abuzz with beautiful sunbathers and fabulous yachts. In the center of the city, glass skyscrapers reached like crystals into the blue sky. And to the left, buff-colored cliffs served as perches for ancient buildings that looked like storybook castles.

  “Where do we start?” Clarice asked.

  I pulled out my copy of the King Kavanaugh Daily.

  “Let’s see. It says here that ‘the tiny principality of Monaco is no bigger than a city. Nevertheless, it has everything a nation needed – including royalty. It is run by Prince Albert, head of the Princely House of Grimaldi. With the old-world allure of riches and monarchs, Monaco attracts international jet-setters from around the globe.’”

  “We can so pull off being international jetsetters, Val. Let’s pretend we belong here!”

  “Works for me.”

  ***

  We followed the line of tourists down the narrow streets of Monaco, gawking at fancy shops with shirts that cost more than my car. We toured some gardens full of huge bougainvillea and roses and castle ruins. We even climbed to the highest point in the city for a look down at the sea.

  “I’m beat!” Clarice said as we took in the panoramic view. “Let’s find a place to have a drink.”

  I studied the King Kavanaugh Daily.

  “How about trying out the Casino de Monte-Carlo? It says a James Bond movie was filmed there.”

  “Casino Royale, with Daniel Craig?”

  “No. Goldeneye. Filmed in 1995 with Pierce Brosnan.”

  “That’ll work to.”

  “I’m not sure how to get there from here.”

  “Hand me that.”

  Clarice grabbed the newsletter from my hand.

  “Good grief, girl. I can see it from here.”

  Clarice pointed down to a building on the left.

  “Follow me.”

  Clarice led us right to the casino. We walked inside and found a couple of barstools. We ordered two TNTs. I left Clarice ogling the posh surroundings while I went to find the toilets. When I returned, she was talking to her own 007 – a young, drop-dead-gorgeous, deeply tanned man of mystery. I sat down next to Clarice, but neither one of them noticed. The handsome hunk wore a white dinner jacket over a black shirt unbuttoned down to his chest. His smoldering brown eyes almost made me forget my own name. I felt like and invisible fly on the wall as I eavesdropped on their conversation.

  “You are a very lovely woman.”

  His voice was even sexier than him. How was that possible?

  “I am Marcello.”

  I swallowed hard against the disbelief. I’d never seen Clarice so transfixed. I was, too, and he wasn’te even talking to me.

  “I’m Clarice. Nice to meet you.”

  “Ah. American. You are here on a ship, yes?” His dark brown eyes never left Clarice’s.

  “Yes. And you?”

  “Italian. I live here, of course. Which ship?”

  “The King Kavanaugh.”

  Something registered on his features that I couldn’t discern.

  “What a pity,” he said. “When do you sail?”

  “Tomorrow at noon.”

  “Ah! Then we have the night.” Marcello checked the gold watch on his elegant wrist. “I must go. Meet me here again, tonight, Clarice? I will show you some of the beautiful places of Monaco. Beautiful, secret places.”

  The promise in his eyes turned Clarice into a Borg. Resistance was futile.

  “Uh…okay…what time?”

  Marcello’s eyes brightened, if that was possible. “Eight o’clock?”

  He took her hand and kissed it with debonair swagger. Lust shot through me like a bad burrito. I suddenly felt like a voyeur. God only knows what Clarice was feeling.

  “Okay,” she mumbled, like a woman in a trance.

  “Until then, my beautiful Clarice.”

  Marcello shot her a sexy smile that nearly finished me off. We watched him disappear into the crowd. Clarice spoke, her voice a mere whisper.

  “Did that really just happen?”

  “I was right here. It really did.”

  We walked in semi-stunned silence back toward the ship. Clarice was so deep in thought she might as well have been floating on the moon. We stepped up to the ship’s gangplank to have our cards swiped. The same Asian woman took my card again and ran it through the scanner.

  “Welcome aboard, Ms. Jolly.”

  I stepped aside and waited as the woman scanned Clarice’s card.

  “Welcome aboard, Ms. Whittle.” Then the smart-ass woman looked me in the eye and smirked. “Nice outfit.”

  I glanced at her nametag. Sung-Li. It sounded like a perfect name for a Bond nemesis.

  ***

  Clarice had gone out of her cotton-picking mind. For the last three hours, she’d been running around in a panic. Every stitch of clothing, every shoe and every purse she’d brought with her were flung all over the room. It looked like a yard sale had exploded in our cabin. By 6:30, I’d had enough. I’d wished her good luck and went to find some dinner.

  I was standing in line at The King’s Court fine dining restaurant when someone tapped me on my shoulder.

  “Do you know where the employee lounge is?”

  I whirled around, a bit peeved. “Look, I don’t work on the ship, okay?”

  “Don’t get your drawers in a
wad, kid. Oh! Val! How’s it going?”

  I gasped with surprise. There stood a skinny old woman in a lime green pantsuit.

  “Berta! You’re alive! What happened to you? Where did you go?”

  “Yeah, I’m still alive. Sorry for the quick exit back in Brindisi. I had to get out of town quick.”

  “Why?”

  “Well, let’s just say Giuseppe started serving me more than cappuccinos.”

  “What?!”

  “Don’t looked so surprised, kid. It’s rude.”

  “I…I’m sorry. So, okay. You had an affair. That happens here a lot, apparently. But why did you have to leave all of a sudden? You didn’t even say goodbye!”

  “Yeah, I know. Sorry, kid. It was an emergency exit.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Well, Giuseppe never mentioned that he had a wife – or that she worked as a maid at the hotel. I came back from class one afternoon and found a turd in my purse, along with a two-word note. I looked it up on the internet. You don’t even want to know the translation. Suffice it to say, it was time for me to leave. Immediately.”

  “That’s insane!”

  “Yeah, well, that’s what happened. I’m too old for crap like that. I tried to wash my purse out, but I couldn’t get over the idea of it, you know?”

  “Uh…yeah. I get it. But you didn’t even leave a note, Berta. I’ve been worried about you.”

  “I did leave you a note. I slipped it under your door. Said I was taking off, and that you should watch your back. Lipo-lady was spreading nasty rumors about you.”

  “I never got it.”

  “Huh. Room two-thirty-five, right?”

  “No. I was in room three-thirty-five.”

  “Oh, shit. Old-timer’s brain. Sorry, kid. I wonder who was in two-thirty-five.”

  “I have a pretty good idea. I saw Frank sneaking out of it one morning in his underwear. So it was either his room or Val II’s – lipo-lady’s.”

  “Well, that explains why you never got the note. Botox bitch strikes again.”

  “Yeah. Hopefully, she’ll get hers someday.”

  “Time wounds all heels, as they say.”

  “One can only hope. Berta, you asked about the employee lounge. Are you working on the ship?”