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

by Margaret Lashley

  Thelma made her right hand into a pair of scissors and, quick as a rattlesnake strike, reached out across the table and snapped her two fingers together an inch from my tender red nose. I flinched.

  “You ain’t got no scissors has ya?” Thelma said, and stood abruptly.

  I jerked backward and nearly tipped my chair over.

  “No, Thelma, we don’t,” Tom said in a calming voice. I shrunk back in my chair.

  “You’s all liars,” said Thelma. Her voice grew louder with each word. “Liars, liars, pacifiers!”

  Thelma covered her hair with one hand and grabbed for the doorknob with the other. “I ain’t gonna let you cut me again!” She jerked the door open and disappeared behind it.

  I looked over at Tom. I was still reeling with shock. “I didn’t know what to expect, Tom. But it sure as hell wasn’t this.”

  “It’s okay. It’s over.” Tom got up and peered over the wastebasket. “Only three cups in here, and only one shredded to smithereens.” He took the plastic bag and a pair of tweezers out of his pocket and gingerly placed the cup inside the bag. “Looks like we’ve got what we came for. Too bad she’s such a loony-toon, Val.”

  “I don’t know, Tom. There may have been some truth to what she said. You know, Jacob mentioned something to me about Glad saving a lock of Thelma’s hair when she was a baby. Do you think Glad might have tracked down Thelma here and taken another sample…for comparison or something?”

  “Could be. To be honest, I’d be surprised if they hadn’t. She wasn’t that hard to find. But don’t take too much stock in what this woman just said. Crazy people aren’t renowned for their reliability.”

  “I guess you’re right.”

  Tom took my hand and his voice grew serious. “Val, with Glad and Tony dead, we’ll probably never know for sure if they knew about miss loony-toon here. But there’s no use in wasting any time speculating about it until the DNA test comes back. If this nut job is their Thelma, I wouldn’t blame them for not making her part of the family. Geeze. They’d probably have been better off never finding her at all.”

  I hung my head, feeling sad. “I just thought of something. Tom, what are we going to compare the DNA sample to? We need Glad’s and Tony’s DNA, right?”

  “Already on it, Val. At Tony’s memorial ceremony, you made it pretty clear how sure you were that he wouldn’t name his ex-wife as the heir. What was it you said? Something like, ‘He wouldn’t leave her a pile of his own fecal matter, much less his estate.’”

  I cringed. “Yeah, something like that.”

  “Well, I have to say, the eloquence of your words stuck in my mind.” Tom was joking, but for some reason it made me cringe even harder.

  Tom grinned at me mischievously with his cat-green eyes and let out a short laugh. “What can I say, Val. You inspired me. So I decided to go over to Tony’s house and get samples. Just in case. I found some good ones, too. A matted hairbrush and some fairly large toenail clippings. I sent them off to a private forensics lab in Tallahassee. My buddy Darryl there owes me a few favors.”

  “Wow. I didn’t know a cop’s life could be so glamorous, fairly large toenail clippings and all.”

  “How’s this for glamorous?” Tom grabbed me in his arms and kissed me hard on the mouth. His strong, warm arms embraced my trembling body. His tongue circled the tip of mine until I forgot my first name – hell, and my last one, too. When Tom finally unlocked his lips from mine, I saw red and white stars swirling around on the pickle-green walls. Holy Crap!

  ***

  When we got back to the truck, Winky was curled up in the front seat of Tiny’s rusty old Ford, sawing logs like a seasoned lumberjack with a brand new Black & Decker. I had to smile as I peered in the passenger window. Tom’s kiss had softened my hard façade. I felt all mushy inside. And cute little Winky looked as cozy as a baby bird in his jumbled nest of empty beer cans and plastic moon pie wrappers. Oh crap, Val! Girl, you’re in deep!

  A sudden movement from across the cab made me look up from Winky. Tom was waving at me from the opposite, driver’s-side window. A mischievous look crawled across his face and he put a finger to his lips. I watched and tried not to giggle as he quietly opened the truck’s squeaky door. He stealthily leaned inside and thumped Winky right on the nose. The freckled little piggy snorted to life.

  “What the gaul-dang it is goin’ on?” he bellowed. “Can’t a feller catch a nap around here?”

  “Rise and shine, Winky-dink,” I chimed from the passenger window. Winky-dink? Really? Girl, you’ve lost it!

  Winky wrestled his way up to sitting and scratched at his beer belly. His faded red t-shirt appeared to have lost both sleeves in some tragic accident. “Oh! Hey, y’all. How was that girl? Thelma? Is she the one?”

  “Can’t tell for sure at the moment. But I got her DNA sample right here.” Tom patted his breast pocket. He reached around Winky and took a manila envelope from the grey box. He slipped the plastic bag containing the mangled cup inside. “Let’s see if there’s a Fed-Ex around here. I was planning on dropping this off in Tallahassee on the way back this afternoon. But who knows how long before Tiny has the 4Runner up and going again.”

  “Shot gun!” Winky called out. I pretended to be disappointed. I let Winky have his victory and walked around to the driver’s side of the truck cab. I climbed in and wiped sticky yellow Moon Pie crumbs off the bench seat as I scooched my way toward the middle. Winky smirked at me like a bratty child. “Naner naner.” I didn’t even care.

  We got lucky and found a Fed-Ex carrier picking up packages from a drop station just outside the hospital entrance. I watched from the cab as Tom put the manila envelope containing the cup inside an overnight package and filled out a delivery form. He handed the carrier some cash and shook his hand, then headed back to the truck.

  “That Tom there’s got some green. And some balls,” said Winky. “Let’s just hope he don’t got green balls!”

  Winky snorted with laughter, cracking himself up. Then he caught me off guard, grabbing me in his infamous headlock hug. I almost suffocated in his armpit before I could escape. An untold number of days without a shower had raised Winky’s body odor to near lethal. When he finally let me loose, I felt like I’d been slimed by a dead catfish. I looked in the rearview mirror and tried to straighten my disheveled hair and smeared makeup. Shit!

  “The guy said he’s on his way to Tallahassee from here,” said Tom, climbing into the truck. He eyed us both like kids who’d been up to no good. “Said he could deliver it in an hour or two. The sooner the better. Florida heat doesn’t do DNA any good. I’m sending the cup to that friend of mine at the forensics lab. Should know something in a couple of weeks.”

  “Thanks, Tom.” I hugged his arm and inched toward him in the seat, partly because I wanted to and partly to get away from Winky and his cloud of stink. My move didn’t go unnoticed by the foul-smelling redneck.

  “Whoa nelly! You two hookin’ up now?” Winky wagged his tongue at me like a deranged tequila worm.

  I punched the freckled, half-drunk jerk in the arm. “Stop it, Winky!”

  “Is that what she says to you, too, Tom?” Winky asked raunchily.

  Tom winked at me. “So far. But I’m not giving up that easy. Anybody else starving? I think it’s time for a Chatterburger.”

  “It’s Chattaburger, not Chatterburger,” I said, then cringed when I realized how much I sounded like my mom. “But who cares?” I said too gleefully, overcompensating. I felt awkward and out of control. So I kept on talking, of course. “We better not forget Tiny’s order. What was it again?”

  “Burger, fries, Mountain Dew,” answered Tom in his just-the-facts cop voice.

  “Right!” Cut the enthusiasm, Val. You’re getting weird! It was just a kiss. Don’t blow it out of proportion! “I’m starving, too. Who knew that police work was so demanding?” What? Shut up, for crying out loud!

  “Tom prob’ly did, since he is one,” Winky replied in a dry, obvi
ous way that made us all snort with laughter. Tom turned the ignition and pointed the old Ford east on Hwy 90 away from Chattahoochee State Hospital and toward Chattahoochee proper, home of the world-famous Chattaburger.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  There was no way to have a real conversation with Winky in the seat beside us, so on the drive to the burger joint Tom and I kept our thoughts to ourselves. We decided to save time and get our Chattaburgers to go. We ate our burgers and fries on the ride home. Tiny McMullen’s order was in a sack between my knees – a not-so-subtle attempt to keep Winky’s dirty hands off of it.

  “I have to admit, this Chattaburger is pretty darn good,” I said, trying to make conversation to drown out the sound of Winky chomping and slurping mere inches from my right ear. “No wonder Tiny wanted us to bring him back one.”

  “Yeah,” Winky agreed, smacking his lips. “Who would a thought a cheetah could taste so good.”

  “It’s Chatta, not…oh, who cares,” I said, reminding myself some battles were not worth fighting. “How do you like yours, Tom?”

  “Pretty tasty,” he said, then nudged me and whispered. “But nothing compared to something I tasted earlier.”

  I blushed with an uncomfortable mixture of pride, embarrassment and lust. To compensate, I did the only mature thing I could think of. I punched Tom in the arm. The impact made him drop his bag of fries. They scattered over his lap, putting grease marks all over his crisp, ironed jeans.

  “Oh no! Sorry!”

  “You’re going to have to clean that up, young lady,” he said in a mock-stern cop voice.

  I looked into Tom’s sparkling green eyes, and smiled coyly. Then I shot a glance over at Winky. He’d already finished wolfing down his food and was in his own well-fed nirvana. His head stuck out the window like a freckled hound dog – complete with open mouth and wagging tongue. With Winky distracted, I turned my attention back to Tom.

  “Yes, sir, Mr. Officer,” I said, chipping the rust off my “sexy voice.” I picked the French fries from his thighs one by one. Each time, I’d offer him one, then eat one myself – slowly and suggestively. That certainly got his attention, if you know what I mean.

  “I see you like fries,” he said distractedly, trying to keep one eye on the road and one on me.

  “I love fries.” I moved my hand slowly down the inside of his thigh on the pretense of searching for any stray fries. His leg felt strong and muscular. “Just making sure I did a good job, officer.”

  Tom inhaled sharply, then blew out a breath. “Believe me, you did.”

  “Why we goin’ so gaul-dang slow?” bellowed Winky. He’d pulled his head in from the window.

  I looked down at the speedometer and bit my lip to keep from laughing. We were going about twelve miles an hour.

  “I like to take my time,” Tom answered too loudly, his face scarlet.

  “Me too,” I said, smirking into his green eyes.

  “Well if that don’t beat a goat a gobblin’,” said Winky.

  Whatever that meant.

  ***

  Not-so-tiny Tiny grabbed the Chattaburger bag with delight and explained Tom’s car troubles between mouthfuls of fries and slurps from a huge, half-gallon cup of Mountain Dew.

  “It’s the earl line,” the huge man said. He leaned against the hood of the 4Runner and sucked some antifreeze-colored soda from his straw.

  “The earl line?” Tom asked politely.

  “Yep. Been cut clean in two. Earl nearly completely drained out. Good thing you didn’t go nowhere. Would a blown the block. Need to replace the line. Gonna need a few quarts a earl, too. Take six or eight to fill her?”

  “Oh. I’d say six quarts of oil should do it,” said Tom.

  “Alrighty then. I got enough earl at the house. I done ordered the earl line. Should be here tonight. Or first thing in the morning. Won’t take but a jiff to have her ready. I figure $30 and a box a donuts and we’re square. Deal?”

  Tiny wiped his right hand on the thigh of his filthy overalls, then held it out toward Tom. Tom shook it without hesitation.

  “Deal.”

  Tiny eyed me and Tom, then whispered, “Wouldn’t take him, huh?” He nodded his head in Winky’s direction.

  “Nope, too far gone,” I said before Tom could answer.

  Tiny nodded solemnly. “Yeah. Purty obvious. Prob’ly coulda saved you a trip by sayin’ so.”

  “Don’t worry. We got an aunt in Valdosta who’ll take him,” I said in a serious, hushed tone.

  “You can always count on family,” said Tiny.

  I looked over at Tom. His face registered a hint of unease and regret. I hoped he knew I was just joking, and that I wasn’t really part of all this craziness. But wait. I was!

  “Okay then,” said Tom, in a way that seemed to close the discussion. “Looks like I’m taking the day off tomorrow. I’ll call the office and give them the heads up.”

  Tom walked off to make a call. I left Tiny and Winky standing in the shade of the pecan tree in mom’s front yard and went into the house. Mom and Dale were in their matching recliners watching The Price is Right at five million decibels.

  “Hey,” I called out to the backs of their heads, trying to trump the volume on the TV. “Looks like we need to stay another night. That okay with you two?”

  “Sure,” said Mom, her eyes never leaving the set. “What you wanna do about dinner?”

  “I’ll think of something.”

  “Good.”

  I poked around in the fridge. Off hand, I didn’t know any recipes that called for pudding packs, Velveeta and buttermilk.

  “I’m going to the store,” I hollered in their general direction, then I went back outside. “We’re good to stay another night,” I said to Tom. He nodded.

  Across the street I saw Tiny’s large backside disappear behind a junked car in his yard. Winky was in the process of trying to aggravate that poor squirrel with a stick again. Winky heard my news and hurled the stick across the yard. He kicked the ground with his bare foot, making me wonder whether or not he’d been wearing shoes on our trip today.

  “Gaul-dang it! I was hopin’ to hightail it outta here!”

  “Why? You got somewhere to be?” Tom asked.

  “Not partic’lar, but I know when I ain’t wanted.” Winky looked me in the face. “Excuse me for sayin’ so, Val, but right now I’m about as welcome with your mammy as a turd on a cherry sundae.”

  I laughed. “Don’t worry, Winky. It’ll blow over. I’ve been the human sacrifice for Mount Saint Mom’s volcanic moods for over forty years now, and I’m still standing.”

  “And still smokin’ hot, I might add,” said Tom in a half-joking, half-sexy way that made my neck flush with heat. I might have been offended if he weren’t so damn cute.

  “Well, I ain’t used to gettin’ such dirty looks,” Winky whined.

  “Really?” I asked, truly incredulous.

  “Ha ha, Miss Val Pal. Your humor ain’t lost on me.” Winky shot a sore glance over at Tom’s truck. “Crap. Looks like I’ll be settin’ up camp in the 4Runner again.”

  “Sorry, Winky.” I felt bad about making him feel bad. “Look, let’s take the golf cart up to IGA and get some donuts or ice cream or something. That’ll get my mom in a better mood. I need to find something to fix for dinner anyway.”

  Winky brightened at the prospect. “Shotgun!”

  ***

  Okay, I admit it. I chose to fry chicken for dinner not because I was a good hostess. Or because I was trying to impress Tom with my Southern culinary skills. Nope. I chose to fry chicken because I knew it would take a long time and keep me out of that familiar line of fire I called, “Conversation with my mother.” I smiled smugly at my cleverness and dredged a raw chicken thigh in seasoned flour, then buttermilk, then back through the flour again. I dropped it carefully into the sizzling oil in the last open spot in the cast iron skillet, then clamped on the glass lid. I stirred a huge pot of collard greens and listened in on th
e boys in the battlefield. Despite their peace offering of a half-gallon of Rocky Road ice cream, they never stood a chance.

  “How come yer a cop.” It was Mom’s voice. “You got some kinda problem with aw-tharity?”

  “No ma’am. I just like helping people.”

  “Hmmm.”

  I chuckled to myself. “Hmmm” was Mom’s typical response to something she didn’t believe. I guess it was more polite than screaming “bull hockey” or “liar,” something I’d also seen her do plenty of times. Maybe she was mellowing in her old age. To my surprise, Winky stepped up and saved Tom from further interrogation.

  “I shore do like your spare toilet roll holder, Mrs. Short. I ain’t never seen a purtier crocheted poodle. You do that yourself, ma’am?”

  “Why no, Winky. My sister Vera Jane done that. God rest her soul.”

  “Well that’s a real keeper, fer shore. I seen me a pink one a’fore. And a yeller doll-type one, you know. But I never seen a yeller poodle. Yep, it’s a real keeper.”

  “I ’preciate that, Winky. You and me got off on the wrong foot. But now I see you got good manners and good taste. Val could do a lot worse than to settle on you.”

  “Oh. Thanky, ma’am. But they’s nothin’ goin’ on with me and Val. Strictly platonical, if you know what I mean. Besides, I think she’s sweet on Tommy boy, here.”

  I was desperate to hear what came next, but the damn oil in the frying skillet boiled over and sent a plume of white-hot smoke through the dingy kitchen. I ran around opening windows and fanning the air like an idiot to keep from setting off the smoke alarm. By the time I got the air cleared and the chicken pieces turned, the battlefield topic had moved on.

  “No I ain’t much on flea markets,” Mom was saying. “Growin’ up, just about everything we had was give to us. We was poor. I mean dirt poor. I won’t have nothin’ now ’less it’s new and we can pay cash money for it, right Dale?”