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

by Margaret Lashley

  “Thanks. Not much to see at the moment. I’m still putting the place back together.”

  “Glad and Tony did let things get a little rangy around here, that’s for sure.”

  “You knew my parents?”

  “A little. But they mostly kept to themselves. Once in a while, Glad would talk to me over the fence. But not too often. In fact, I didn’t even know they had a daughter until you showed up.”

  “That’s understandable.”

  I thought about explaining how I hadn’t known it myself until a few months ago, but I was in a hurry and wanted to keep on topic. I opened the closet door and hit the light switch. Nothing happened.

  “Huh. The closet light isn’t working,” I muttered absently.

  “Hmmm…but your kitchen light is working,” Laverne remarked. “That’s strange. Are you sure you paid the whole light bill, honey?”

  I snickered. Laverne’s face showed genuine concern.

  “Uh. Yeah, I think so.”

  Laverne cocked her head like a puzzled dog and scrunched her horsey brow. I figured I’d better do something to distract her before she blew a gasket in that worn-out little brain of hers.

  “Uh…I’ll go get a flashlight,” I fumbled.

  I padded to the kitchen and grabbed a big black flashlight from the cupboard below the sink. I shone it into the closet. Laverne peeked in and shook her head.

  “Aha! Just what I thought! That’s a Trane!”

  She pointed a shiny red fingernail at the brand name etched into a silver plaque on the air conditioner’s dull, dusty, olive-colored housing.

  “So, what’s the problem? Is that a bad brand?”

  “No. Duh!”

  Laverne shot me a pathetic look. She shook her head softly and pointed at the logo again.

  “See here, Val? It was made for a train, not a house.”

  My mouth fell open. I stared at Laverne like a dead trout in a seafood display case. She smiled back sweetly, like a kindly old schoolteacher. I almost expected her to pat me on the head. She punched me softly on the arm instead.

  “First house, huh, sugar? You’ll get the hang of it.”

  “Wow. Well…uh…thanks, Laverne. Sorry to have bothered you.”

  “No bother at all, honey! Happy to have you around! You just call me any old time you need me.”

  “Thanks. I sure will,” I said as I steered her skinny butt to the door. I meant it, too. Because at that moment in time, I couldn’t conceive of a single scenario where I would ever need her help again.

  ***

  The busted air conditioner was just the latest item on a mile-long list of repairs my parents’ dilapidated little house had needed to make it inhabitable again. Just sorting through and hauling away decades of accumulated junk had taken months. Living with Friedrich’s hoarding issues in Germany had prepared me somewhat for the mess, but he’d been an amateur compared to Glad and Tony. Together, they’d accumulated literally tons of garbage. It was everywhere, strewn from the rafters in the attic to the far corners of the backyard. Among their neurotic stash of loot was every magazine printed since 1985, around twenty-million almost-used up toilet paper rolls, fifty million assorted twist ties, bread bags and yogurt cups, a ball of used tinfoil big enough to choke a blue whale, and swollen cans of fruit cocktail and succotash purchased during the Carter administration.

  But the biggest shocker came when I’d unearthed a mummified black-and-white cat in the back bedroom. Squashed nearly flat under an avalanche of Cat Fancier magazines, there was no telling if it had been my parents’ cat or some unfortunate stray. Or worse yet, one of the neighbors’ precious pets. I’d stuffed the dried-up carcass in a Hello Kitty bag I found under the bed, threw it in the dumpster and never said a word to anyone.

  After clearing away the mountains of crap, I’d gotten started on repairs; new roof, plumbing, electric, water heater, etc. It was German déjà vu all over again as I’d watched my bank account drop like the gas tank indicator on a Hummer stretch limousine. Finally, toward the last week of February, I’d seen the light at the end of the repair tunnel and felt it was safe to give my landlord notice. My goal had been to move into my new place before my birthday. But I knew full well that things didn’t always go as planned. After all, I was the middle-aged poster child for how life could suddenly take a U-turn and dive off a cliff. Armed with that knowledge, I’d covered my bases and paid the rent through the end of April.

  As it turned out, that decision had been more money down the drain. But I wasn’t complaining. After scrubbing and painting every room in the house, I’d managed to get the house livable before the end of March. Yesterday, March 31, I’d piled my belongings into the backseat of Maggie and moved from my ratty, closet-sized apartment downtown to my palatial, thousand-square-foot house on the Intracoastal Waterway. I’d owned next to nothing, so the move had only taken one trip.

  I smiled at the idea of never having to go back to that place. Yesterday, I’d tossed my last handful of clothes onto the pile in the backseat and cranked Maggie’s engine to life. My landlord was gone on vacation, so I’d dropped the apartment keys in the mailbox. There’d been no one to wave goodbye to, so as I’d driven away I’d extended my middle finger to the ugly-ass brown couch I’d ‘inherited’ from the last tenant. I’d left its sagging old carcass in the alley, along with my memories of the eighteen months I’d spent there as a lost, friendless, derelict-in-training.

  Fun times.

  Chapter Three

  With my meager belongings all tucked away in my new place, I was celebrating my good fortune. Tonight I was throwing a birthday-cum-housewarming party. The air conditioner had died, but it was just the first day of April. It wasn’t full-on summer yet in St. Pete. We still had a few good weeks left before the sweltering heat and humidity came and squatted its sweaty, sunburned ass on us and robbed us of our will to live.

  My party guests for the evening included the regular gang, Goober, Winky, Jorge, my parents’ estate attorney J.D. Fellows, and, of course, my boyfriend Tom. Earlier today, when I’d realized I was the only woman attending, I’d thought about inviting Laverne from next door. But given her low IQ and clothing-optional lifestyle, I’d decided she’d been too sketchy.

  Now that it was almost party time, I was revisiting the thought. Laverne too sketchy for this crowd? I laughed under my breath. A spoon-sucking peanut head, a crazy, freckle-faced redneck, a Latin lager lout, a barnacle-sized barrister, and a cop with whom I’m committing crimes of passion…and I’m worried about Laverne being too sketchy?

  I checked the fridge. It mirrored my guest list. The usual suspects. A cheese tray. Carrots and celery. Ranch dip. Chicken wings. A case of Fosters. Tonic and lime. I made a mental note to work on my lineup – of both food and friends.

  A cool blast hit my face when I opened the freezer. I clunked three ice cubes into a highball glass. Next to the ice-cube trays, a half-gallon, emerald-green jug of Tanqueray stood frosty and alone except for the company of two frozen, chicken potpies. The pies were my “going-out insurance.” I hated pot pies. Tom despised them even more than I did. Whenever he came over and asked what was for dinner, I’d pull out the pot pies. He’d take one look and say, “Let’s eat out.” I’d put the disgusting things back in the freezer, and they and I would live to fight another day. Like Rita’s booze bottles back in Germany, my pot pies were “only for looking.”

  I poured a shot of gin into my glass of ice and rummaged around the fridge for the lime and tonic. It was getting close to six. The party was in half an hour. Just enough time to get a quick shower and a TNT buzz….

  ***

  The doorbell rang at 6:30 on the dot. I pinned back my damp hair and thanked my stars that I was almost dressed. I pulled a light sweater on over my tank top and jeans and padded barefoot to the front door.

  “Hey there, Val Pal!” bellowed Winky as I opened the door.

  To my surprise, the short, ginger-haired redneck wore pants that reached all the
way to his bare feet. Stretched over his freckled beer belly was a clean Hawaiian shirt – with all its buttons. And – be still my heart – a brown tweed sport jacket! Compared to Winky’s normal raggedy attire, this qualified as a tuxedo. His effort made me smile.

  “You ‘member Winnie?” Winky hooked a thumb to his left and a short, pudgy girl with black hair and red glasses stepped into view.

  “Oh! Sure. From Water Loo’s. Nice to see you again, Winnie.”

  “You, too, Val.” Her brow furrowed. “You don’t mind I came along, do you?”

  “Oh. No! Not at all! You’re more than welcome. I could use a girl to talk to. Come on in!”

  “Thanks!”

  Winnie showed her teeth, making her puffy cheeks rise like hot biscuits. Her eyes squeezed into curving slits like an Asian Buddha. Combined with her short-cropped, jet-black bob and bangs, she made the perfect Japanese anime character. I stepped aside to let the pair enter, then hooked Winky by the arm as he tried to pass by.

  “Are you two together?”

  Winky grinned like a poorly carved Jack-o’-lantern.

  “Yep. Shackin’ up for nearly a month now. Good thing, too. I got tired of campin’ in the woods all by my lonesome.”

  “I thought you and Goober –”

  “Nope. He took the money you give him and got hisself a place downtown – near your old ‘partment, I think.”

  “Oh. Well…congratulations. On Winnie, I mean. She’s really cute.”

  Winky puffed himself up.

  “Hey now, Val. Keep yore facts straight. Winnie’s got the car and the job. I’m the one’s got the looks.”

  My head wagged involuntarily from side to side. I wasn’t sure if Winky was joking or really thought himself a prize. With men, you never could tell.

  “Right.”

  Winky grinned and slapped me on the back.

  “Damn straight! Got any beer?”

  “In the fridge –”

  Winky took off like a future train wreck, my words trailing behind him like piss in the wind. Winnie followed after him at a slightly slower pace. I turned to face the door again and saw tall, lean Goober standing there, wagging his bushy eyebrows at me. He lifted his Rays baseball cap from his bald pate and set it back again. The act of a true, Florida gentleman.

  Broody, mysterious and perpetually inebriated Jorge stood beside him. Even though Jorge and I were the same height, he rarely looked me in the eyes. He preferred to stare at my shoes. Tonight, he’d have to settle for my bare feet. Both he and Goober sported stubble beards tonight, but they’d showered and put on clean clothes. I could tell because they smelled like the April Fresh Downy packets they sold at the laundromat.

  “Hey Val,” Goober said. “Where’s the beer?”

  “Wherever Winky is.”

  “Cheers.” Goober raised one eyebrow and made a straight shot for the kitchen. Jorge was hot on his heels like a droopy hound dog.

  I started to close the door when I heard a noise.

  “Haruuummm.”

  I looked down and saw the diminutive J.D. Fellows, Esq., standing at the door. Dressed in khaki slacks, a short-sleeved yellow shirt and a light-blue sweater vest, he looked alarmingly like a lawn jockey.

  “Oh! Hello Mr. Fellows!” I nearly shouted. I tried to hide my amusement by faking surprise. “Come in!”

  “Thank you, Ms. Fremden.”

  The attorney straightened his four-foot tall frame and took a tentative step inside. He surveyed the living room like a man used to keeping an eye out for danger.

  “I always wondered what your parents’ abode looked like on the inside…minus all the…extraneous paraphernalia, that is.”

  “You mean hoarder crap? Yes, it looks a lot bigger without the tons of garbola.”

  “Yes. It certainly –”

  “Hiya, Hottie.”

  The familiar voice, deep and sexy, grabbed my attention and curled my toes. I turned to see Tom, my law-enforcement lover. He was leaning against the doorframe, demonstrating his unique brand of laidback, Southern gorgeous. His sea-green eyes twinkled, as if they held a secret just for me. The brawny, blond cop always took my breath away, but tonight he looked like a cowgirl’s dream come true in his denim jeans and blue, button-down shirt rolled up to his elbows.

  “Brought you a little housewarming gift,” he teased. “An old friend.”

  “Really? Who?” I looked around, but didn’t see anyone.

  “Well, it’s more like a ‘what’ than a ‘who.’”

  Tom pointed to the street where his vehicle was parked. Hanging halfway out of the back of his Toyota 4Runner was that butt-ugly couch I’d left on the curb to fend for itself or die. Apparently it had fended for itself.

  “What the…?”

  “Happy forty-ninth birthday,” Tom said with a smirk.

  “Gee, thanks, Tom. It’s just what I always wanted.”

  Chapter Four

  I woke the morning after my birthday party with a cop in my bed and a dead body in the kitchen. Okay, it was just a roach carcass. But I swear it was big enough to draw a chalk line around. It was legs-up in the middle of the floor. I’d fumbled, bleary-eyed, toward the cappuccino machine in nothing but Tom’s t-shirt, and had managed, of course, to step right on it. The disgusting crunch of its carapace underfoot made me scream like a little girl.

  “Aaahhhh!”

  As a native of the Sunshine State, I’d grown up learning to deal with the worst that Florida’s flora and fauna had to throw at me. Poison ivy. Cabbage-palm spikes. Daddy long-leg spiders. Fire ants. Kamikaze tree frogs. Ghoulish house geckos. Deadly rattlesnakes and cottonmouths. Even the occasional gator on the road or in a swimming pool. I’d managed to make my peace with all of them – except one.

  Let a roach get anywhere near me – especially a flying one – and my bravado disappeared faster than Oreos at a Weight Watcher’s convention. When I’d stepped on that nasty bug, I’d let out a scream that could be heard on the International Space Station. If that marked me as a sissy, so be it. But there was something abhorrently primeval about a creature that could live for months without its own head.

  “What’s going on in there!?”

  Tom dashed into the room. He was naked except for his state-issued revolver. The sight of his tan, muscular body almost made me forget about my predicament. Almost.

  “A roach,” I grimaced. I held up my foot like it needed stitches.

  Tom grinned at me and shook his head.

  “There appears to be no permanent damage. What happened to my fearless partner? Valliant Stranger?”

  “Hey. Roaches are my kryptonite, okay?”

  “Duly noted. I thought you put out some traps. Roach Motels, right?”

  I took a paper towel off the roll and ran it under the tap. I bit my lip in disgust and wiped my foot.

  “Yeah, I did. I guess there was no room left at the inn.”

  Tom sniggered. “Don’t those things come with ‘No Vacancy’ signs?”

  “Very funny, Mr. Morning Sunshine. Can we please change the subject now?”

  “Okay.”

  A dirty grin crept across his face. Tom sidled up to me and put his hands on my hips.

  “Have you got a vacancy that I can fill?”

  I knocked his hands off of me.

  “Geeze, Tom. I think that may go down in history as the most disgusting foreplay line ever.”

  Tom scooped me up into his arms. His naughty grin deepened his dimples and crinkled the corners of his hypnotic, green eyes.

  “Okay, how about this? I’ve got a gun, lady. Better do what I say.”

  Both my hormones and my imagination went haywire.

  “Now that’s something I can work with.”

  ***

  After all the crapshoot relationships I’d been in, I kind of hit the jackpot with Tom. He was good looking and he was good with his hands and other assorted body parts. When it came to pleasing me, he’d proven to be a quick study. In fact, this morn
ing he’d just aced another oral exam before he’d disappeared into the kitchen.

  Yes. High marks all around.

  I smiled up at Tom from the bed as he padded back into the room carrying two toasty, yummy cups of cappuccino sprinkled with cinnamon, just the way I’d learned to love them in Italy. I sat up and stuffed a pillow behind my head. Tom handed me a cup and crawled in beside me. My rickety little full-sized bed creaked under his weight. I suddenly wondered if it creaked when we made love. Funny, I never had the presence of mind to notice….

  “Off in Lady La La Land already this morning?” Tom teased.

  “Are you calling me an airhead? Fair warning. I’m armed with scalding coffee.”

  “Aww shucks,” Tom said playfully. “All sweetheart this morning. And you haven’t even had your first sip yet.”

  I sneered and raised the cup halfway to my lips and stopped.

  “If you didn’t make such good cappuccinos, I’d be mad as a hornet at you, Tom Foreman. Whatever possessed you to bring that hideous sofa over here? That roach probably came along for the ride.”

  “Dang it! And that freeloader died before he paid me my cab fare.”

  I giggled and elbowed Tom in the ribs, nearly spilling my coffee in the process.

  “It’s not funny,” I said, trying not to laugh. “It’s disgusting!”

  Tom winked devilishly. “Come on now, sugar doodle. Don’t be like that. I only had to shoo three cats and a possum off-a that there couch. I didn’t see no roaches.”

  “Enough with the hick routine, okay?”

  “Yes ma’am.” He set his cup on the nightstand and snuggled next to me. He kissed me on the shoulder and whispered in my ear. “I like that couch, Val.” His warm breath tickled my neck. “We’ve had some great times on it.”

  “I didn’t know you were the sentimental type,” I sneered, but I knew full well my sarcasm was no match for his persistent sexiness.

  “You’re obviously not.”

  “Not when it comes to flea-infested furniture.”

  Tom gently took my cappuccino from my hand. His tan, muscular arm reached across me and set the cup on my nightstand. He kissed me on the lips, then began to nuzzle my neck. I closed my eyes….