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

by Margaret Lashley

  “I guess Bobby thought no one was looking. That buck-toothed bastard pushed the woman so hard she fell to the ground. He laughed at her, then got in a truck and drove off. I got out and ran over to her. I asked if I could help her up. That’s when I saw her eyes. Dead, zombie eyes. Like her soul was already gone from her body. Still, her face looked familiar somehow. I wasn’t sure it was Gladys, but I said her name anyway. You know what she said back?”

  “What?” I looked up from the packets, dread mixing with the biscuits and gravy in my stomach.

  “She said, ‘Yes sir.’ Like I was her freaking commanding officer or something.” Jacob’s voice cracked and he looked away for a minute. He took a deep breath and continued.

  “I said, ‘Gladys, it’s me, Jacob.’ She said, ‘Yes sir,’ again, like a robot. I helped her up and saw her arm was covered with bruises. My heart nearly broke. So I told her to come with me, right then and there. She said she couldn’t. She told me she was cursed. She said the devil had killed her baby and if she left the church he’d get her, too.”

  “Geezus!”

  “Jesus had nothing to do with it, Miss Val. Bobby had screwed her up almost beyond recognition. I told her I was from the church and I was here to take her to a better place. That made her smile a little, but her eyes stayed dead, like she was in a trance.”

  Jacob’s voice cracked again. “Val, she wasn’t even 30 yet and was wearing dentures. That bastard had knocked every one of her front teeth out. I took her by the hand and said ‘Let’s go.’ She said, ‘Yes sir,’ again and followed me to my car like a lost child. I told her she looked tired and should take a nap in the back seat. She laid down and I fired up the engine and took off, wondering what the hell to do next.”

  “What did you do?”

  “I ended up taking her home to my place. I showed her the spare bedroom and told her to get some rest. She got a little hysterical saying there was too much air in the room or something like that. I gave her a shot of gin and a piece of toast. She drank the gin and laid down. I found her the next morning sleeping under the bed like a whipped dog.

  “It was awful. Glad had such a nervous stomach she couldn’t hold anything down but booze and bread. I knew I was out of my league, so I called my sister Angela. She was big into women’s lib in those days. Gloria Steinem and all that happy horseshit. I explained the situation. Ang said she’d take her in on one condition. That Glad pressed charges against Bobby Munch.”

  “What did you say?”

  “Well, I was in no position to argue. And why should I? I lured Glad into the car with a Stolli miniature and the promise we were going to visit one of Jesus’s angels. I popped No-Doze and drank Pepsis all the way down to my sister’s little place here in St. Pete. I didn’t dare stop for nothing but gas. Glad was afraid of everything. But when I introduced her to Angela, Glad fell to her knees and wept like she’d seen the Virgin Mary. I remember my sister getting teary-eyed, too, but I whispered in Angela’s ear that angels don’t cry. Ang caught on quick and spoke to Glad like she thought an angel would. Kind. Gentle. But with authority, you know? From that moment on, Ang – or Angel, if you want – had the last word with Glad. That poor, broken woman followed her ‘angel’ around like a donkey follows a carrot.”

  “Your sister really does sound like an angel.”

  “Yeah. I guess our mom got it right when she named her.”

  “So what happened next?”

  “Glad stayed with Angela for a few weeks. I called every day to make sure everything was going okay. Ang said Glad was no problem at all except when it came to going to bed. She said Glad feared open spaces. She was afraid that ‘all that air’ was going to get her. Well, one day Ang called me and said she was expecting a friend for a visit. An old friend of Ang’s who’d recently lost his wife and was feeling pretty low. He was in the area camping and had called to see if he could stop by. She wanted to know if it was okay with me. She was worried that Glad might freak. You see, there hadn’t been no man at Ang’s house since I left. I told her I thought it would be alright, since Glad didn’t seem to be bothered much by me. Besides, Glad was beginning to eat better by then and was actually talking a bit.”

  I glanced at the clock. Five minutes to eleven. Jacob noticed me check the time.

  “Long story short, Miss Val, Ang’s friend turned out to be her old high-school flame. It was love at first sight all over again for them. He moved right in and they took up where they’d left off. As good hearted as Ang was, it was awkward having Glad in the house with them all the time. But I guess Ang’s angels were looking out for her, too. You see, this fella had driven over to Ang’s in an RV. His late wife had been a butterfly freak. The whole RV was covered inside with fake butterflies. They were on the curtains, the bedspread, wind chimes, knick-knacks. You get the picture. Well, the guy was going to sell the RV. But Glad took a look inside, climbed in and didn’t want to leave. So Ang and her boyfriend moved the RV into the backyard and Glad moved in for the duration.”

  “So that’s how she ended up in the Minnie Winnie!”

  “How did you know it was a Minnie?”

  “I saw the receipt of sale. Some guy sold it to her for a hundred bucks.”

  “You mean Billy Jonson, Ang’s boyfriend. Ang told me he’d given the RV to Glad. I didn’t realize he’d transferred title, too. I don’t think he charged her anything. How could he? Glad didn’t have a dime.”

  “Wow. None of this even remotely resembles the stories Glad told me.”

  “Well, Val, can you blame her? Who would want to remember any of that horrific shit? Glad was so messed up back then she spent nearly a decade cooped up in a fantasy world of butterflies and angels in a tiny RV.”

  I thought back to the empty shoebox Glad had labeled 1974 to 1985. It started to make sense now. The box was empty because she had been, too. I grabbed my purse and wiggled out of the booth.

  “Thank you, Jacob. I’ve got to be somewhere at noon. Let me give you a ride back.”

  Chapter Twenty

  I left Jacob in the Water Loo’s parking lot with a promise to meet up again that evening. I wanted to find out if he knew any more about Glad’s baby, but we’d run out of time. My head was spinning. So much to take in. But there was no time to ponder. If I was lucky, I had just enough time left to make it to Ming Ming’s by noon. I hit the gas and headed south toward 107th Avenue. It morphed into Central Avenue once it crossed the Intracoastal Waterway. Ming Ming’s was on Central Avenue, right in the middle of what had to be the ugliest little strip center in the world. The low-rent, grey concrete structure with cheap metal siding for awnings was home to the usual suspects: A nail salon, a tax-prep service, a florist and, of all things, a British restaurant. Who in the world ever got a hankering for kidney pie or blood pudding?

  When I pulled up, I could see through Ming Ming’s shiny glass storefront that Tom was already seated inside at a table for two. He was facing the parking lot and could see me through the large panes of glass. I shut off Maggie’s ignition and discreetly checked my face in the rearview mirror. Powdering my nose wasn’t going to help the red schnoz shining like a beacon in the center of my face. WTF. I sighed and stepped out of the car, right into a steaming pile of dog shit. Crap! I could see Tom smiling and waving at me through the window as I scraped the sole of my sandal on the curb. So much for making a grand entrance.

  “Having a shitty day, I see,” he said as I came through the door.

  “Let’s hope it doesn’t get any shittier,” I shot back.

  Tom laughed. “I can’t make any guarantees.”

  My stomach flopped. “What do you mean? Bad news?”

  “I wouldn’t call it bad, exactly.”

  “What would you call it?”

  “Whoa there, Val. How about we start with some social niceties. How are you today?”

  I blew out a breath and smiled. “Sorry. It’s just been a pretty interesting day so far. I’m fine, Tom. How are you?”

 
; “Feeling a bit fishy. How about we share a sea creature roll and a seaweed salad?”

  Tom held up the shiny, laminated menu and I remembered why I liked Ming Ming’s so much. Not only was the sushi fantastic, the menu was simple – almost like a children’s book – all pretty pictures and large print. No overwhelm. No reading glasses required.

  But my favorite aspect of Ming Ming’s that day turned out to be the tiny tables. The table Tom chose was so small that his knees brushed against mine whenever he shifted his legs. It wasn’t long before this cheap thrill had me almost drooling. When the waiter came to take our order, I sobered a bit and watched Tom as he talked and laughed with the guy. I realized then that it hadn’t been my overactive imagination. Tom really did look like a blond Adonis. The blue in that button-down shirt he was wearing really accented his eyes….

  “Val?” It was Tom’s voice.

  “What?”

  “Where were you? I was asking if you wanted anything else.”

  “Oh. Uh…an order of edamame, please.”

  The waiter scribbled in his notepad and left. Tom turned his attention to me, making me squirm in my chair.

  “So, interesting day, you said?”

  “Yeah. I met a guy who knew Tony and Glad. He was a friend of theirs. He knows their whole history.”

  “Wow. That is interesting. What’s his name?”

  “Jacob.”

  “Jacob what?”

  “Uh, I don’t know.”

  “Nice detective work, Miss Plum.”

  I shook my head and pursed my lips. “Not you, too. Have you been talking to Goober and his Raisinets?”

  Tom smiled. “Among others.”

  The waiter delivered the edamame on a beautiful square china plate along with two tall glasses of house-blended iced tea. I took a sip and savored hints of blackberry and orange. I reached for a soybean pod and noticed Tom playfully watching me.

  “So, what’s your news, Tom?” I asked matter-of-factly.

  “News?”

  “What did you find out about the white woman named Thelma G. Goodrich?”

  Tom’s face shifted gears. I’d managed to nip flirting in the bud yet again. Great going, Val.

  “Besides the fact that she’s in a prison for the criminally insane, you mean?”

  “Yes. Besides the fact she’s in Chattahoochee State Mental Hospital.”

  “You remember the name from yesterday. Good work, Miss Plum.”

  I sneered. “Not really. I’ve got relatives up there.”

  “You? Miss Snooty Two-Shoes?”

  “Yes, Mr. Copper. You found the skeleton in my closet.”

  “Chattahoochee? That’s some skeleton!”

  “My relatives aren’t in the hospital! They’re in the area. My mom’s from Greenville. My aunt lives in Two Egg.”

  “Two Egg? That’s not even grammatically correct!”

  “Now you know why I had to escape.”

  Tom laughed and picked up a bean pod. He squeezed it and a soybean shot across the table onto the floor. I giggled.

  “Letting another perpetrator escape justice, I see. So what’s this Thelma in for?”

  “Garden variety craziness, mostly. She also likes to set fires.”

  “Great.”

  “Here’s her mugshot.”

  Tom reached in his shirt pocket and pulled out a piece of paper. He unfolded it and laid it on the table in front of me. Thelma looked like Miss Piggy after a bar fight and a bareback romp in the hay. Despite her angry, dirty and disheveled appearance, some aspects of her reminded me of Glad.

  “A real looker, wouldn’t you agree?” asked Tom.

  “She’s blonde. Big boobs. Like Glad.”

  “Still, it doesn’t make her the one. Val, I still don’t understand how your Thelma can’t be one of the other two women.”

  “Because Mister…because Jacob confirmed that Glad’s baby was definitely Tony’s, and that Glad had named her Thelma…after her own mom. Tony and Glad are both white, so that rules out the other two, obviously.”

  “Obviously,” Tom agreed. “I guess Jacob didn’t have any information on where the daughter is, or you’d have led with that.”

  “No. He told me a lot about Glad and Tony, and what happened with her and her first husband Bobby. But we ran out of time. I’m meeting him later this afternoon to find out what he knows about their daughter. When I dropped him off at the Water Loo’s, he told me he didn’t know much. But he’s been known to tell lies.”

  “How so?” asked Tom. He sat up and looked serious for the first time.

  “Long story. Just take my word for it. Of course, if Jacob doesn’t know where Thelma is, he also doesn’t know if she’s dead or alive.”

  “I’m rooting for alive.”

  I smiled up at Tom. “Thanks. Me too. What makes you so positive?”

  “Tony and Glad. Think about it. If they had known for sure their daughter was dead, why would they have made the will out to her?”

  “You know, you’re pretty smart for a cute guy.”

  Tom sat back and showed me his perfect, pearly whites.

  “Thanks, Val. You’re not too dumb yourself. You know, I’m off until Tuesday. We could go up there and meet this crazy Thelma woman. It’s just a five- or six-hour drive. We could spend the time getting to know each other.”

  My neck flushed with heat and my brain went into sabotage mode. “I’m picky about who I spend my time with, Tom.”

  Tom grinned back at me. “So, pick me.”

  A knot of panic clogged my throat. Why did he have to be so cute and charming?

  “I’m not sure I’m ready for another relationship, Tom.”

  “Whoa, Val. I’m just talking about a long drive here.”

  “Yeah. Every relationship I’ve ever been in began with a long drive and ended in a long, painful death.”

  “Wow. Pretty heavy, Val. If you don’t stop carrying that giant chip on your shoulder you’re going to turn into Quasimodo.”

  Chapter Twenty-One

  I jerked on the handle of my overnight bag, trying to dislodge it from between two boxes on the top shelf of my bedroom closet. For the first time since I could recall, I was actually busy. Triple-booked, even. A synopsis to write. Jacob to interview. And now this trip with Tom. What happened to my quiet little life as a washed-up writer wandering the beach and getting wasted?

  Tom was going to pick me up at eight tomorrow morning. I was supposed to meet Jacob at six this evening. It was already after two. I had about three hours to pack and take a final stab at Double Booty. I needed to focus. I needed a clear head. I needed a TNT.

  I gave a final tug and the bag let loose, sending me careening to the floor along with it. The tremor created by my medium-large bottom hitting the wooden floor sent a small blue box tumbling off one of the shelves. As it hit the ground, the lid flew off and a tiny object fell out, ricocheted off the floor and landed on my lap. I stared at it and shuddered. It was the broken-off piece of jewelry I’d found in one of Glad’s shoeboxes.

  I’d kept the silver oval embedded with green rhinestones as a memento. I figured no one would miss it. That’s what I’d told myself at the time, anyway. Now I could feel the full weight of the truth on my conscience. I had rescued it. No. I had needed it. No. I had stolen it. After looking through Glad’s memorabilia a few weeks ago, my heart had ached to keep a little piece of her with me. It had felt right at the time to take it. Who would care about a worthless, broken little piece of junk? But now I realized that maybe this piece of junk belonged to someone else. Maybe that crazy woman in Chattahoochee. It might mean the world to her, for all I knew.

  I turned the tiny object over and over in my hand, feeling as lost and out of place and incomplete as it was. Then I remembered something – I didn’t have time for sappy sentiment. I grabbed the blue box and put the broken piece of jewelry back into it. I hauled myself up off the floor, unzipped my overnight bag and dropped the little box inside.


  ***

  Short on time, I’d told Jacob to meet me in Straub Park. I could walk there from my apartment in under five minutes. Situated on the waterfront downtown, Straub Park was a long, rectangular patch of green grass dotted by statues and skirted by sidewalks and benches. It was sandwiched between small shops and restaurants lining Beach Drive on the west and the expansive blue water of Tampa Bay on the east. The Vinoy Hotel sat at the northern end of the park. St. Pete’s Museum of Fine Arts completed the rectangle to the south.

  Designed intentionally as a respite for city dwellers, the north end of Straub Park was almost entirely shaded by beautiful old oak trees. Their canopies provided a natural refuge from the blazing Florida sun, and made sitting outside tolerable most days, even in summer.

  I recognized Jacob’s thick head of steely-grey hair from a hundred feet away. He was waiting for me on a park bench under the trees. I’d made some progress on Double Booty, but I knew it was nowhere near ready for prime time. I needed to hit pay dirt during this meeting with Jacob. Something juicy for my novel, and hopefully something useful for my trip with Tom. As I passed the corner sidewalk lined with miniature azalea bushes, flop sweat trickled down my back. What if Jacob had nothing worthwhile to tell me about what happened to the baby?

  Jacob was facing the water, intent on the boats in the bay. He didn’t see me walk up.

  “Hi Jacob,” I said. My voice caused the old man to jump.

  “Oh! Hello there, Miss Val.”

  Jacob was dressed in his tidy uniform of white t-shirt, white tennis shoes and socks, and a white belt to hold up his white and plaid shorts. What a dork. Then I realized I was wearing almost the same thing – a white t-shirt and plaid skorts – a cross between shorts and a skirt. But I didn’t have on tennis shoes or socks. I couldn’t bear to wear them in summer. The combination made me hotter and crankier than a menopausal redhead on her fourth divorce. Not good for me or anyone around me. So I’d opted for sandals instead.

  “Any problem finding the place?” I asked.

  “Huh? Oh, no. None at all. How was lunch with Tom?”