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

by Margaret Lashley

  “We need to find out where she’s staying so we can keep track of her,” Tom explained.

  “Do you think she was stalking me?”

  “I don’t know, Val. But I’d rather be safe than sorry.”

  I nodded my head. “Thanks. How did you get the guys to do it on such short notice?”

  Tom laughed. “Let’s just say their schedules were free at the moment. And the incentive was right.”

  “Incentive? Did you pay them? I’ll pay you back….”

  “Val, the incentive was you. They’re doing it for you.”

  Hot tears filled my eyes despite my fierce objections. Tom stood up and hugged me. I couldn’t breathe. My legs began to wobble like a drunk in an earthquake. I suddenly felt weak and vulnerable and awkward. Freefalling was not my forte. I needed to find a branch to grab onto. I pushed away from Tom’s embrace and reached for an old standby – I tried to crack a joke.

  “Your plan makes sense. Goober and Jorge both have cars, and they’re both used to living in them.” I plastered on the worst fake smile ever and carefully wiped my runny nose with a tissue. I’d kept tissue in my hand perpetually since receiving Bulldog Woman’s face-rearranging right hook. “So, what did you come up with for Winky to do?”

  “Oh. He’s coming with us.”

  “What?” Dashed expectations caused my stomach to drop three inches.

  “Jorge should be here with him any minute.”

  “Why?”

  “Because Jorge is coming here anyway to stake out your apartment. Remember?”

  “Yes I remember! Tom, I didn’t mean, ‘Why is Jorge the one bringing Winky.’ I meant, ‘Why is Winky going with us?’”

  Tom grinned at me. His green eyes sparkled with mischief. He’d played me like a cat with a string. I’d been had, and part of me kind of liked it. I snorted out a laugh. Tom took my hand in his again. He rubbed the back of my hand gently with his thumb as he spoke.

  “Winky’s from up there, Val. He knows the area. He might come in handy.”

  “I’m from up there, too. Remember, Mr. Detective?”

  “I do remember. But Winky has a certain, how can I say it, redneck flair.”

  “You mean he’s a good-old boy?”

  Tom smiled and kissed the back of my hand.

  “Precisely. And we might need that kind of manpower.”

  “But….”

  “No buts, Val. Somebody’s got to babysit Winky. Would you rather we take Jorge and leave Winky to guard your place?”

  Dammit. He had a point. I was trying to come up with a snappy response when Tom’s cellphone jingled.

  “Buena dias, amigo,” Tom answered, then hung up. “They’re here.”

  “They’re coming up?” I asked, slightly horrified.

  “Don’t you want them to?”

  I felt too guilty to say no. After all, they were doing me a huge favor. But still. Two homeless guys in my apartment? I suddenly became aware that Tom was studying me.

  “You don’t have to let them stay, Val. But it would be nice if Jorge could come up and use the restroom once in a while. Maybe make a sandwich?”

  I felt like a shit. “Of course!” I said, beating back every instinct in my body and brain. I reluctantly handed Tom a key. At least I knew Jorge was potty trained. He’d been married.

  Tom smiled and took the key. Someone knocked. Tom let go of my hand and opened the door. Jorge and Winky came tumbling in like…I hate to say it…two stooges.

  “Nice digs, Val Pal! Use your crapper?” Winky didn’t wait for an answer. He barreled across my tiny living room straight into the bathroom. He shut the door, but the close proximity lent no other privacy. As Winky grunted and farted on the throne, I took the time to show Jorge the ropes. Or in the case of my miniscule apartment, maybe it was just the strings.

  “Here’s the coffee machine,” I said. I reached into the kitchen cabinet and pulled out the coffee and filters. “I’ll leave these on the counter for you. Help yourself to coffee and anything else in the fridge.”

  “Tank you, Val,” Jorge said, looking at the floor. “Berry nice of you.”

  “No, Jorge. It’s very nice of you. Thanks for doing this for me. You can sleep on the couch, if you want.”

  “Tanks, but I like my car. The Buick’s backseat is really comfy. You should try it sometime.”

  I was pondering how to respond to that when Winky emerged in a cloud of stink reminiscent of my beer and bratwurst days in Germany.

  “Woo hoo! I wouldn’t go in there for at least an hour,” Winky said proudly.

  “I’d say better make it at least two days,” quipped Tom. “Let’s get out of here before the mustard gas kills us.”

  “Road trip! I call shotgun!” hollered Winky.

  “Dang it!” I said.

  “That’s right. Dang it, Winky,” Tom said. “Val’s already beat you to it.”

  Winky wilted like lettuce in a microwave. “I’ll dang it, alright,” he sulked. “Dang it, dang it, dang it. But them’s the rules.”

  I smiled at Tom and he winked back at me. He took my overnight bag in one hand and shook Jorge’s hand with the other. “Take good care of the place, mi amigo.”

  “I will,” replied Jorge. “Via con Dios.”

  “Will do, padre,” shot back Winky. “I got your via-cle deo right here.” Winky held up a small green piece of cardboard shaped like a Christmas tree. “Took it right off your rearview mirror, Jorge. Figured we’d need it more than you.”

  “I can’t argue with that,” said Jorge.

  None of us could.

  ***

  Winky climbed in the backseat and I hopped in the passenger’s side next to Tom. As I buckled my seatbelt, my foot tapped a grey case that looked like a fancy tackle box.

  “What’s this?” I asked Tom.

  “Nothing mysterious. Just where I keep envelopes and bags for collecting samples from crime scenes and suspects. I am a cop, you know.”

  “I know. Why did you bring it along?”

  “I always have it with me. Besides, it might come in handy. Nothing says ‘daughter’ like a matching DNA sample.”

  “What! You’re going to get a DNA sample from Thelma?”

  “If I can. You got a problem with that?”

  “Well, uh…,” I started, but was cut off.

  “Tom, you gonna cut a chunk off’n her or stick a Q-Tip down her throat?” hollered Winky from the backseat.

  “Not sure, yet, Winky.”

  “I’ll hold her down if you need me to, buddy. You can count on my co-operation.”

  “Thanks for the offer, bud. I’ll keep it in mind.”

  “I thought we were just going to visit her,” I said.

  “We are,” said Tom. “But we might as well try for DNA. Chances are, she won’t even notice.”

  I felt something inside me contract. This shit is starting to get real.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Traveling with Winky was like transporting a wild orangutan without a cage. He whooped and hollered and bounced around in the backseat of Tom’s Toyota 4Runner until I was afraid we might be pulled over for reckless endangerment. Something had to give. We were driving on I-275 just north of Tampa when I made an executive decision.

  “Tom, why don’t we stop at Westley Chapel and get some refreshments?”

  Tom looked over at me and followed the downward movement of my shifting eyes to my lap. Inside my open purse, I held a bottle of Dramamine for him to see. He looked at me again and I shifted my eyes to the left and gave a quick nod toward the backseat.

  “Roger that, Val,” Tom whispered.

  Tom hit the gas and the exit for SR54 came into view a few minutes later. Tom made a right and pulled in to a Lil’ Champ convenience store. As he parked the car, visions of a fat, freckled chimp going wild in the snack aisle made my stomach flop. I started to speak, but Winky beat me to it.

  “I can’t get this gaul-dang door open!”

  Now it was To
m’s turn for shifty eyes. He arched his right eyebrow and cocked his head down toward his left hand. His finger was on the child safety lock. Man, he thinks of everything. I smiled and turned around toward the back. Winky’s face was flushed red with frustration.

  “Winky, we need you to stay in the car and guard it while we go inside.”

  “Dang it!”

  “We’ll only be a minute. What would you like? My treat!”

  Winky’s savage beast was instantly soothed. “Woohoo! Alright Val! I’ll have me a RC Cola and a moon pie. ’Naner-flavored if they got it.”

  How appropriate. “I’ll check it out.”

  I found the RC Cola on the bottom shelf of the glass cooler case. I popped the cap on a bottle and dropped in two Dramamine tablets as Tom watched.

  “I could have you arrested for that, you know,” he smirked.

  “I suppose you’d rather hear him read every road sign from here to Chattahoochee – complete with sound effects?”

  Tom laughed. “God, no. I don’t even want to imagine what he’d do with those sexy billboards near Ocala.”

  I put my thumb over the bottle lip and shook the cola. “Happen to see any moon pies around here, mister?”

  “No. How about a pecan log, miss?” Tom held up a monster-sized candy bar and eyed me lasciviously.

  “Maybe later,” I said nonchalantly, causing his eyebrows to rise nearly to his scalp. I giggled. “Hmmm. No moon pies. That calls for redneck plan B.”

  I grabbed a bag of salted peanuts and poured half of them into the RC. The cola foamed up and out of the bottle, spilling onto the floor.

  “What the heck are you doing?” Tom asked. He grabbed a handful of napkins from next to the hotdog roasting machine and helped me wipe up the mess.

  “Better here than in your car,” I replied.

  “Got-cha. Good thinking, partner.”

  “So we’re partners now?”

  “If you play your cards right.”

  I grinned and grabbed a Dr. Pepper out of the cooler.

  “Hey, I’ll take one of those,” Tom said.

  “Finally, something we have in common,” I quipped. I handed him a Dr. Pepper, then fished around in my purse for my wallet with my free hand.

  Tom touched my shoulder. “Forget it. I’ve got this.” He paid the cashier and we climbed back into the 4Runner. Before I strapped in, I reached over the backseat and handed Winky his foamy reward for good behavior.

  “Sorry, no moon pies, Winky. But I fixed you up real good anyway.”

  Winky’s eyes widened with delight. “All right! I ain’t had me one a these in a coon’s age! Thanky, Val!” Winky flung his head back and took a giant slug out of the bottle. He swallowed hard to get the foamy soda down, then crunched on a mouthful of peanuts. “Mighty good!”

  I turned around to face Tom and slid into my best Southern drawl. “That there’s the original country-man dinner, don’t cha know.”

  Tom shifted into reverse and grinned. “You really do speak redneck.”

  ***

  With the orangutan fed and sedated, we had a different problem on our hands. Winky had a snore that could rattle windows. Between thunderous blasts, Tom and I took turns sharing our life histories. I learned Tom grew up in Orlando and got a degree in business at University of Central Florida. Fresh out of college, he’d tried a desk job for almost a year. But he said he couldn’t adjust to life confined to a cubicle, no matter how big or fancy it might have eventually evolved into.

  “I guess you might call it failure to thrive in the business environment,” he joked. “But it just seemed pointless…shuffling papers around. I’m not much of a theoretical guy. I’m more hands-on.”

  “I’ve noticed.”

  Tom grinned, then reached over and put his hand on my thigh. Electric heat shot through my entire body. I mean my entire body.

  “It’s a long drive. Better pace yourself, tiger,” I said, peeling his hand from my leg.

  Tom grinned, shrugged, and focused on the road.

  “So how did you end up in the police force?”

  “Process of elimination, mostly,” he replied. “I wanted a job that would get me outside. I tried landscaping, but I needed more adventure – and less sun. I would come home from mowing lawns all day so dehydrated all I could do was lie on the couch, drink water and watch TV. In a way, I guess that led me to my next career move. I watched a lot of those TV detective shows and thought, what the heck. I’ll give that a try. I went to the police academy and, voilà, here I am.”

  “How long have you been a cop?”

  “Twenty years this month. Seems like a lot less. Crazy, but I can still remember my first case.”

  “What was it?”

  Tom took his eyes off the road for moment. “Are you really interested or are you just trying to pass the time?”

  “Does it have to be one or the other, officer?”

  “Fair enough. The Buckaroo Bandit.”

  “Huh?”

  “My first case. I called it The Buckaroo Bandit. Back then I was a little less jaded and a lot more creative.”

  “I can see that. So tell me about it,” I said. The exit sign for Dade City passed by.

  “When you’re first on the force, you’re low man on the totem pole. You have to go where there’s a job opening. I ended up spending six months in Chiefland, Florida. Pretty podunk little town back then. Still is, probably. Can’t say, as I haven’t been back. But as small-potatoes as it was, that town still handed me my ass. A pretty weird case I never did solve.”

  “Weird?”

  “Really weird. Some local farmer was trawling for catfish in the Appalachicola River that summer and snagged a skull. A human one. He fished it out and brought it to the station in a Piggly-Wiggly grocery bag. I’ll never forget it. I felt just like Barney Fife on Mayberry RFD. I took one look inside the bag and nearly crapped my pants trying to keep from laughing.”

  “Laughing? Why?”

  “The skull only had two teeth left in it. Two front teeth as bucked out as teeth can be. The guy must have been half rabbit. Maybe that’s why we never found his next-of-kin. They were hiding in a hole somewhere eating carrots.”

  “You’ve got to be shitting me!”

  “Nope. You just can’t make that stuff up.”

  “No you can’t. Tom, pull over. I’ve got something to tell you.”

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  “Wow, Val. If what you’re saying is true, Jacob could have murdered this guy.”

  “I know.”

  We’d stopped at a Steak & Shake in Ocala for an early lunch. Winky was still sawing logs in the backseat of the 4Runner. Tom and I were sitting in a shiny black booth with a shiny chrome jukebox. A shiny pink waitress took our order. Why did everything have to be so freaking shiny?

  “As far as I know, it’s still an open case, Val. I’ve got to report this. What’s Jacob’s last name?”

  “Crap. I think he told me…no…I don’t know.”

  “Phone number?”

  “I only gave him mine. But wait, he called me yesterday. His number should be in my phone.”

  “Okay. I’ll get his number off your phone and get someone working on that.”

  I handed Tom my phone and went to the restroom while he placed the call. I suddenly felt trapped inside a bad horror movie. Even my reflection in the bathroom mirror looked odd and unfamiliar. What the hell am I doing here? Busted nose. Traveling alone with two strange men – to meet a woman in the loony bin! And last night I may have spent time talking with a murderer! My life isn’t going down the drain. It’s going down the toilet!

  “It’s alright, Kiddo.”

  Glad! I grabbed the corner of the stall door next to me and jerked it open. It was empty. What did you expect, Val? I let go of the door and something caught my eye. There was a dragonfly sticker on the top right corner of the stall, exactly where my hand had been. Okay. Maybe I’m the one that should be in the loony bin.

  F
ighting back rising panic and tears, I pushed myself out of the restroom and into the shiny red, white and black world of ecstatically happy hamburgers and shakes. Tom was watching me from the booth. I scrutinized his face for telltale signs he might be a serial killer, but then I realized I had no idea what to actually look for.

  “They’re on it. Shouldn’t take long,” Tom said. He looked at me closely. “You okay, Val? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

  “No. Just heard one.”

  “What?”

  “Oh. It’s nothing…just a lot…to take in.”

  “Never been that close to a potential murderer, I get it.”

  “Do you think he wants to kill me? Jacob, I mean?”

  “I doubt it. If he did, you’d probably already be dead.”

  I started sniffling despite myself. Tom reached over and took my hand.

  “Geeze. Sorry, Val. Cop humor. I don’t see any reason why he’d be after you. We don’t even know for sure he’s involved in the Buckaroo case.”

  “How many bucked-tooth skulls can there be out there?”

  “I don’t know. They could be breeding like bunnies.” Tom contorted his upper lip to imitate a rabbit. “Ehhh, what’s up, Val?”

  I laughed despite myself, causing runny snot to pour from my tender nose. Tom jerked a couple of napkins from the chrome holder and handed them to me.

  “She thought I was his girlfriend, you know,” I said after blowing my nose.

  “What? Who?”

  “Bulldog Thelma. She thought I was Tony’s girlfriend. That’s why she punched me in the nose.”

  “Oh.” Tom’s eyebrows knitted together and his smile drained away.

  “There’s something else, Tom. Jacob didn’t know Glad was dead. When I told him, he wanted to know when she died. Then he wanted to know if I had her birth certificate. He also asked about a birth certificate for her daughter. Does all that mean anything?”

  “I don’t know. Anything else you haven’t told me?”

  I thought about dragonflies and broken brooches and Glad’s voice in my head. “Nope.”