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

by Margaret Lashley

  “The time I need? I’m sorry, but I’m officially done with the case. Tom…uh…Mr. Foreman will have the lab forward its DNA findings to you. It’s all in your hands now.”

  “Very well. But tell me the truth, Ms. Fremden. Why are you really involved in this case?”

  “If you knew Glad like you say you did, you already know.”

  Mr. Fellows looked at some distant point and smiled. “Yes. And you…as I said before, certainly are an interesting woman, Ms. Fremden. I hope you’re right.”

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Two days had passed since I’d heard from Tom. I flopped onto my ugly couch and checked my phone again. No voice messages. No texts. I presumed, like the rest of the world, Tom just wasn’t interested in someone as messed up as me. I tossed my phone onto the other end of the couch and bit my lip. Another potential relationship in the dustbin. I vowed to myself not to call Tom, then tromped to the bedroom to change into my bathing suit. A trip to Sunset Beach might cheer me up – or at least keep me from going nuts.

  I was halfway through pulling my shirt over my head when I heard a loud banging sound. I pulled my shirt back on and went into the living room. Someone was banging on my front door. I peeked out between two slats in the blinds that covered the window section of the door. To my horror, Bulldog Bitch’s angry eyes stared back at me! I dropped the blinds like they were molten lava. Bulldog tried the locked knob, then began beating on the door even harder.

  “Who the hell do you think you are?” she screamed through the door. “Keep your busybody nose out of my business!”

  She was silent for a minute. Perhaps she expected a response from me. I didn’t give her the satisfaction. Besides, I had no idea what to say.

  “This was my husband!” she screamed again. “My money. Keep your trashy ass out of my affairs!”

  She must have gotten wind of my visit to J.D. Fellows. Adrenaline pumped through me, blanking my mind and making me itchy to flee. I screamed out the only response I could think of. It had appeared like a whispered inspiration in my ear. “Screw you, Kiddo!”

  Bulldog Woman stopped banging the door with her fists and began kicking it instead. “I’ll teach you to curse at me, you meddling whore!”

  “The police are already on their way!” I lied.

  The banging stopped. I peeked through the blinds. Bulldog’s sausage-link ponytail swung wildly to and fro as she waddled a hasty retreat. I trotted over to the living room window where I had a view of the staircase. When her wide-load butt reached the bottom of the rickety stairs, I decided to run out the door to give her a piece of my mind.

  I flung my front door open and raced to the staircase landing leading down to the street. Bulldog must have heard me coming. She turned around at the base of the stairs and sneered at me. My stomach turned to ice and my mind went blank. Bulldog put one foot on the bottom step. Panic shot through me like a hot-mustard enema. I fled back into my apartment and bolted the door behind me.

  I flung myself on the couch and stared at the door, waiting like a frightened, guilty child. Would she come back and punish me? I sat still as a stone for five minutes. Nothing happened. Somehow, that made me even more scared. Not knowing what else to do, I decided to break my promise to myself. I called Tom.

  ***

  “Well, technically, Val, it’s not a crime unless she hit you or threatened bodily harm,” Tom explained.

  “She threatened me! She threatened to…to…she said she would teach me not to curse at her.”

  “That sounds brutal. Sorry, Val. Close, but no legal cigar.”

  I felt foolish. “Okay. Thanks. Sorry to bother you. Goodbye.”

  “Hold up!”

  My heart fluttered. “What?”

  “Are you okay? By yourself, I mean?”

  “I guess…I don’t know. Should I be worried, Tom?

  “I’m not sure. I’ll check on some things and get back with you.”

  “Okay,” I said. I felt dejection kicking in again.

  “Goodbye, Val.”

  “Goodbye, Tom.”

  Our goodbyes sounded like final ones to me. It was as official as the tone in Tom’s voice. Our budding romance was never going to bloom. Crap! I was already sad from giving up my role in helping to find Glad’s daughter. This “back-to-business” attitude from Tom was another low blow. I felt purposeless again. My life was officially empty. A clean slate. Nothing on my plate. Nada. Zilch. Zero. What am I going to do now?

  My phone rang, saving me from self-inflicted penance like a mission bell.

  “Hello?”

  “Hello. Is this Valiant Stranger? I’m in desperate need of being rescued from certain death caused by prolonged boredom.”

  I perked up and laughed. It was Darren. “How did you find my secret lair?” I teased.

  “A beautiful woman came by my office with a clue.”

  “What kind of clue?”

  “Her phone number and address on a release form.”

  “Clever. You must be a prodigal genius.”

  “Some say I have a few brain cells knocking around in the old noodle. Speaking of noodles, want to have dinner with me tonight at the new Vietnamese place on Central? I hear they make a mean pho.”

  “A mean foe. Sounds like a job for Valiant Stranger.”

  “Ha ha! You’re funny. Meet you there at six? Say yes. Please!”

  “Yes.”

  And just like that, I had something to do.

  ***

  I was in a wrestling match with a pair of black leggings, getting ready for my first official date since the Bush administration, when Tom called.

  “Hi, Val. I want to drop by tonight to discuss what’s going on with that Jacob fellow and Bulldog Goldrich.”

  “Hi, Tom. I’m sorry. I can’t tonight. I’m busy.”

  “You’re busy? Doing what?”

  “I have a life, you know.”

  “Oh, sure. Hot date?” he joked.

  My silence said it all.

  “Oh. I see,” he said, his tone back to business. “Well, how about tomorrow. I really do need to speak with you. I have some news. But it can wait.”

  “Sure, Tom.”

  “Hooker Tea at ten?”

  “Okay.”

  He clicked off before I had a chance to say goodbye. Then I thought about his suggested meeting place. Was he suggesting something else as well? Sparks of hurt and guilt and anger started a bonfire of conflicting emotions within me. Why should I care? I don’t owe Tom anything. I put away the jean skirt and button-down shirt I was planning to wear on my date with Darren and picked out a sexy little sundress instead.

  ***

  It didn’t take long for my date with Darren to hit an iceberg. He was handsome. And nice enough, I’d give him that. But all he wanted to talk about was work. Call me squeamish, but cadavers just didn’t make for good dinner conversation. Neither did morbid humor. As the date dragged on, I felt a wall of insulation thicken between me and Darren. My initial excitement and anticipation tarnished into dull, familiar disappointment. When Darren reached over the table and touched my hand, the thought of what that hand had been doing all day proved the Achilles’ heel for Valiant Stranger. His appeal vanished like a cartoon villain, leaving a trail of palpable awkwardness in its wake.

  “Thanks for a nice evening, Darren,” I said as we left the restaurant.

  “You’re welcome. I guess I blew it.”

  “Why do you say that?”

  “The look on your face at dinner. I was a train wreck. I know I shouldn’t talk about dead bodies at the dinner table. But you made me nervous. I didn’t know what else to say.”

  “Next time, why don’t you just ask some questions? Let the girl do some talking.”

  “Next time? Does that mean you want to go out again?”

  “I guess I should have said, ‘With the next girl.’”

  “Got it. Thanks for being straight up with me, Valiant Stranger. I guess from now on, you’ll just be str
anger.”

  I smiled and hugged Darren. “No. I think you’ll be stranger.”

  We laughed together for a moment, thawing the awkward chill a bit. We said goodbye and I walked alone down Central to Beach Drive. I took a left and watched the lights twinkle in the oak trees as I passed Vinoy Park. I sighed as I shuffled my sad ass back to my little hovel of a life in my little hovel of an apartment above somebody’s garage.

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  I woke up determined to quit sulking and get out more. I decided to start with a trip to Sunset Beach. It was the perfect July day. The early morning sun had started out nice and toasty on my beach stroll. By 8 a.m., however, it was hot enough to melt wax. When I got home an hour later, the heat had approached nuclear meltdown. I needed a cool shower and an even cooler drink. I thought about my meeting with Tom at ten. Hooker Tea my ass. Screw you, Tom! I cracked the tab on a tallboy Fosters and headed for the bathroom.

  I set my superhero dial to self-destruct mode. In keeping with the theme, I decided to wear the same dress that sank last night’s love boat. I hadn’t eaten breakfast, and the pint of Fosters in my empty stomach was making the world all glassy and far away and untouchable. I left the coolness of my apartment and picked my way carefully down the sidewalk on Beach Drive. Hooker Tea was just a few blocks past the oak hammocks of Vinoy Park. It was blazing hot. So hot! Maybe I could stop and take a nap on a bench under the trees. Then I remembered about those damn new armrests and got angry.

  “Nobody cares about the downtrodden,” I said out loud to no one in particular. That was when I knew I was in real trouble. I was drunk off my ass. I turned my butt around, took two steps toward home and ran right into Tom’s hard chest.

  “Hey! You alright?” he asked.

  “Yeah, suurre,” I said, slurring my words a little.

  “How was your date?” His damn cop voice sounded like an interrogation.

  I thought about coming clean for a second, but a painful streak of humiliated pride wouldn’t let me admit defeat. Besides, I was a really bad liar. Especially when I was drunk. I decided the best strategy was to keep my answers short and simple.

  “Fine.”

  Tom took me by the arm and we walked to Hooker Tea. I was desperate for a coffee, but they didn’t serve it. Just tea. I settled for a chai tea and leaned against a wall while Tom ordered and paid. Then I followed him like a sad puppy to the table he’d picked out in the corner by a window.

  “Have you talked to Jacob?” he asked, handing me my tea.

  I stuck with my plan. “No.”

  “I tried to reach Jacob but his phone number’s been disconnected.”

  I studied Tom. Why did he have to be so handsome? Why? “Why?”

  “I just wanted to see if it was still working, actually. In case I needed to reach him.”

  “Oh.”

  “Just so you know, Thelma Goldrich was granted access to the house. This whole will thing might get sticky before it’s all over. I want to gather up any information you have on Jacob Timms and Bulldog Goldrich while it’s still clear in your mind.”

  Clear in my mind. That’s a hoot! “Okay.”

  “Are you trying to use up all your little words today?” Tom asked. He looked kind of pissed.

  “No.”

  “Then what’s up?”

  “Nothing!”

  “In other words, everything.”

  “Right. Mr. Cop know-it-all. You know everything.”

  “Are you…have you been drinking, Val?”

  “No!”

  Tom studied me with his sea-green eyes. I didn’t want him to add hopeless drunkard to my already impressive list of crazy-ass-loser-woman attributes. I tried hard to focus. Concentrating made something click in my head. “Wait a minute. You said Jacob Timms.”

  “Yes.”

  “How did you find out his last name?”

  “Like you said. I’m a cop. I know everything,” Tom said sarcastically.

  I looked down at my cup. “I’m sorry.”

  “I’m sorry, too, Val.”

  I looked back up at Tom and we exchanged sad smiles.

  “You know how I found out?” Tom spoke like it was a confession. “Jorge. He got a meter maid to tell him. She’d given Jacob a ticket for parking illegally. He’d been a real jerk about it and she’d remembered his name. Anyway, I ran his priors. If Jacob Timms did kill Bobby Munch, he got away with it. Not even so much as an assault charge was filed. He’s clean.”

  The caffeine in the tea was doing its job. Everything was coming back into focus. “I’ve been thinking about it, Tom. That night I met Jacob at the park, then saw Bulldog Woman on my way home…she must have been waiting for Jacob.”

  “Most likely.”

  “But why would Jacob tell me all that horrific stuff about Glad? Why would he tell me about yanking Bobby’s teeth out? Was he setting me up for something?”

  “More than likely he was trying to gain your trust. Classic criminal tactic. I tell you something in confidence, you tell me something. I’m sure he wanted you to tell him what you knew about Glad and Tony’s daughter. If you had any hard evidence of her existence. In other words, he was fishing around to see if there was anyone else in the running for Tony’s inheritance.”

  “Yeah. That makes sense. And they got away with it. They took the letter from Tony and the picture of Glad with the baby. That was the only evidence that Glad and Tony had a child together…until Winky found the actual birth certificate.” I snorted out a sad laugh. “I was such a sucker. I actually started to trust Jacob. Then he creeped me out with that story about Bobby, among other things.”

  Tom straightened up in his chair. “What other things, Val?”

  “Oh, I don’t know. Nothing, probably.”

  “Any detail could be important.”

  “Well, he asked how my lunch date with you had gone. At Ming Ming’s, remember?”

  “Yeah. Shitty day, as I recall.” Tom grinned.

  I smiled back at him sourly. “I’m being serious. Thing is, I don’t remember telling him about having lunch with you.”

  “That’s interesting,” Tom said.

  “Also, Jacob said he’d been pretty close friends with both Tony and Glad. But he didn’t know Glad was dead. If they really had been so close, wouldn’t Tony have called him and told him his wife died? Anyway, Jacob could have been lying about all of it. I only wonder if maybe he was the reason Tony and Glad had kept a low profile. Jacob said Bobby had abused Glad. But Jacob knew where Glad was for six years before he told Tony. Instead of rescuing her, could he have taken his own turn treating her just as badly?”

  “Wow. That’s dark. And highly possible. Anything else?”

  “Yes. Jacob told me about Bulldog’s sham marriage to Tony. That she got a BMW and lifetime alimony out of the deal. How would he know that?”

  “That’s good, Val. In case we need to prove conspiracy to defraud. Or build a case for a restraining order.”

  “A restraining order?”

  “Yes. We’ve got to keep you safe, Val.”

  “From what?”

  “You’ve already seen what these two will do for money. They don’t seem to have any qualms about squashing anyone who stands in their way, friend or foe. Right now, you and your theory about loony-bin Thelma are standing in their way.”

  I gulped down a knot of rising fear. “What can I do about it?”

  “I suggest house arrest until the DNA results come back.”

  “House arrest?”

  “Stay home. Lock your doors. I’ll put Jorge back on your street. He did a good job last time. If you need someone quick, he’ll be a minute away. It’d be good for you, and for him. Help him rebuild his confidence.”

  “So I can be Jorge’s target practice.”

  “Something like that.”

  “You sure know how to make a girl feel special.”

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  The next week under house arrest dragged on endles
sly like a washed-up old tranny. I couldn’t afford cable, so I never bothered to buy a TV. On day five I’d watched every show known to Netflix and played 10,000 games of solitaire on my computer. On day six I even got desperate enough to start writing a first draft of Double Booty, just in case. Thankfully, Bulldog Woman and her tooth-pulling sidekick hadn’t come banging at my door again. Sadly, neither had Tom.

  I was down to naming the tiny red ants crawling in a line up my kitchen wall and wearing a facemask I’d concocted from a half-rotten avocado when the phone rang. It was Tom. My heart skipped a beat.

  “Val?”

  “Yes. Hi, Tom.”

  “It’s a match.”

  “What is?”

  “I just got off the phone with my friend at the lab. It’s a match. We’ve found her, Val! Looney-bin Thelma is Glad’s missing daughter!”

  My knees buckled. “That’s great!”

  “Yeah. It really is. You know, I couldn’t believe it. I really thought all of this was going to turn out to be a wild goose chase.”

  “Thanks for the vote of confidence.”

  “Don’t be a sore winner, Val. Anyway, that’s the good news. The bad news is we don’t have much time left to deliver the evidence. I called Mr. Fellows to let him know about the match. He told me he’s postponed the distribution of the will as long as he can. Bulldog Goldrich has her attorneys breathing down his neck. They’re busting his chops, saying there’s no reason to wait. They know about the old DNA test. They’re arguing that the woman in Chattahoochee isn’t related to Tony. Fellows did what he could, but with no evidence he had to agree with the other attorneys on a date for distribution. It’s official, Val. At 5 p.m. tomorrow, the estate goes to Bulldog Woman.”

  “That’s horrible!”

  “We’re not totally sunk yet. Unless, that is, we don’t get the DNA proof to Fellows on time. Fellows says irrefutable proof would trump any other claims Bulldog Woman might have. He told me that originals of the new DNA results and that birth certificate Winky found should be all he needs to get that money-hungry she-wolf out of the loop for good.”