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

by Margaret Lashley

  “Let me out!”

  “Nope. No time.”

  The Cadillac turned right on First Avenue South. Finkerman followed suit.

  “They must be heading for the interstate. Can’t let that happen.”

  “You’re crazy, Finkerman. Pull over and let me out!”

  “Shut up, I’m trying to think, here!”

  Finkerman hit the gas. The Caddy turned left, then right again onto Central Avenue

  “Have you lost your mind? What are you planning on doing?”

  “I’m not losing that million. They have to pull over sometime. I…I’ve got sedatives. I could drug them. Take the money. Help me out and you’re free. I won’t bother you again.”

  “Are you insane?”

  The gold Cadillac pulled off Central up to the Taco Bus restaurant. Loo and Latrina climbed out.

  “Perfect,” Finkerman said. “Here’s the plan. You distract them, I’ll slip in the sedatives.”

  “Then what?”

  “I’ll grab their keys, then the money. They’ll wake up later. Boo-hoo. Money gone. Couldn’t happen to a nicer couple.”

  Finkerman parked the Hummer and pulled out a bottle of pills.

  “Are you in?”

  I glanced around and nodded.

  Finkerman unlocked the doors. I jumped out, ran into the street and flagged down the police car I’d spotted a block behind us. He turned on his lights and stopped in the middle of Central. I ran to his window.

  “Help! I was being held against my will by that man!”

  I pointed at Finkerman. He made a run for his vehicle. The cop pulled his cruiser up in front of the Hummer, blocking his escape. Finkerman looked at the cop and wilted like lettuce on a patty melt.

  “Shit.”

  “Mr. Finkerman, we meet again,” the cop said. “You know the drill.”

  Finkerman leaned up against the Hummer and put his hands behind his back. The cop cuffed him and turned to me.

  “And who are you?”

  “Val Fremden. This man was trying to kidnap me and steal those people’s money.”

  “Not surprising. Finkerman, I’m going to have to bring you in for questioning.”

  Finkerman sneered at me as he was led to the police car.

  “He said, she said. I’ll be home for supper.”

  I patted my boob. “I don’t think so, Finkerman. I’ve got it all on tape.”

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  A lot happened over the next week. On Tuesday, I worked out a deal with Finkerman. I dropped the charges of kidnapping and false imprisonment, and he dropped his nuisance lawsuit against me. I was finally free of the fickle finger of fate, even though I didn’t know how or why it had pointed at me. On Wednesday, my attorney, Bernard Charles, finally returned my call. He apologized for the delay, and explained that his offices had to relocate suddenly. He couldn’t tell me why, but he did let me know his team was still on the case of Bingo Bob. He told me to keep his number, in case I ever needed it.

  Finkerman called on Friday to tell me Loo and Latrina had settled out of court with him on Mickie’s behalf for an undisclosed sum. Their vacant lot on Gulf Boulevard sold the same day it was listed. Finkerman also said Loo and Latrina told him they were moving to The Villages in Ocala. I hoped they did – before they lost whatever they had left at the dog track.

  As for the rest of us, we stayed put in sunny St. Petersburg. We hadn’t settled on a new hangout yet, but a picnic table in the soft sand at Caddy’s on Sunset Beach would do for now.

  “Heard yore off the hook for false infingerment,” Winky said, then tipped his head back to let in some beer.

  “I’m gonna miss Water Loo’s,” Jorge sighed.

  I grimaced. “You all know they ‘recycled’ the coffee there, don’t you?”

  “Never did nobody no harm, Val,” Winky said.

  “Are you sure?”

  Goober tipped his baseball cap at me and smiled.

  “With this crowd, it’d be hard to spot true brain damage.”

  “Hey, speak for yourself, com-pardre,” Winky shot back.

  “Jorge, I’m curious,” I said. “What are you going to miss about that place? It was a dump.”

  “Yeah. But it was our dump.”

  I sighed. “True enough.”

  “I’m gonna miss the rag box,” Winky said. “I enjoyed partakin’ of the recycled clothing amenities.”

  “You’re the only one,” I sneered. “I never saw anyone else go near that mangy box.”

  “Sure they did. All the time.”

  “Yeah. Right.”

  “Okay, Miss Smarty Pants. I remember one. ‘Bout a month ago. This feller was going through the rag box and picked out that old jacket Winnie made me wear to your party. I warned him it was itchy as a chigger bite. He took my advice and put it back. I remember he was a real sociable feller. Even asked about your party. When I told him I’d fixed your air conditioner, he told me his was busted too. Poor feller couldn’t find no reliable, honest repair man. Asked if I’d do it. All he needed was a reference. So I give him your name and number.”

  “Oh yeah,” I said. “I remember you talking about him before. He never called. What was his name?”

  “Not good with names, Val. But I remember he was a funny little fella. What’n no more than four feet tall, tops. I was kinda surprised he wanted to hire me. The way he’d gone through the pockets on that jacket, you’d think he didn’t have a dime to his name.”

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Saturday morning, I woke with a nasty hangover. But it had been worth it. The last piece of the puzzle had fallen out of Winky’s mouth last night, and I’d celebrated with drinks all around.

  Loo must have cut Mickie’s finger off to pay a debt to Bingo Bob – either his or Mickie’s. Loo stuck the finger in the jacket pocket for Bingo Bob to pick up, figuring nobody would go near the rag box. Unbeknownst to Winky, he’d brought the finger along with him when he’d worn the jacket to my party. He told me last night that he’d taken the jacket off and laid it on top of the couch when he’d helped Tom move the ratty old thing into my place. The finger must have fallen out of the pocket in transit, and gotten wedged between the cushions.

  The way I saw it, the day after my party Bingo Bob must have sent Green Dwarf to get the finger from the jacket. By then, Winky had already put it back in the box, minus the finger. It was Winky’s big mouth that had led Albert Greene right to my place. But I couldn’t complain. It was Winky’s love of Easter eggs that had made it all good again.

  I settled back into bed with an Advil and a cappuccino. I didn’t even bother to google the news. I was just about to doze off again when my phone rang.

  “Yeah?”

  “Val? Is that you?”

  I cleared my groggy throat. “Yeah. Hi Milly.”

  “Hey yourself. I’ve been trying to get ahold of you for two weeks. Would you like to go to Safety Harbor Spa with me today? I know it’s last minute. But I’ve got free passes and they expire tomorrow.”

  “Free passes?”

  “Yeah. The works…for two. Massages, facials, pedicures. Are you in?”

  Tom still hadn’t explained what was going on with him and Milly. But he’d told me last night that I had to trust him for just a few more days. I liked Milly. I didn’t want to let her go. I’d lost so many friends already. I decided to take a chance. I hoped she would turn out to be worth the risk.

  “Uh…okay. Sure, Milly. What time –”

  “Great! I’ll pick you up in ten minutes.”

  “Geeze. That’s barely enough time to shave my legs!”

  “Are you complaining?”

  “No.”

  “Good. I declare this is a bitch-free day.”

  “Okay. Fair enough.”

  I clicked off the phone and jumped in the shower. I only needed four minutes to shave, but it took me five minutes to decide which panties to wear. With massages, it was a tricky subject. Too sexy panties and I’d send the
wrong message to the masseuse. Too matronly panties and I’d send the wrong message to myself.

  I was inching into my shoes when the doorbell rang. I opened the door to find Milly shifting from one foot to the other like she needed to pee.

  “Come on! Let’s go!” She reached out and tugged on my arm.

  “Hold on! Don’t you want to see the place? You’ve never even been here before.”

  “I will when we get back. We gotta go! I made massage appointments for nine.”

  “That’s like thirty minutes from now.”

  “Exactly. Come on!”

  I locked the door behind me and jumped in the passenger seat of Milly’s red Beemer. It was just the opposite of Shabby Maggie. The BMW was shiny, new, and had all the latest gadgets – like power steering, power brakes and a CD player. I tried to hide my envy from Maggie as we peeled out of the driveway and left her behind in the dust.

  “How can you afford this thing, Milly? It’s got more controls than a space shuttle.”

  “I work at an accounting office, remember? When you’re in charge of the numbers, you’re in charge of the numbers.”

  “Don’t say another word. My boyfriend’s a cop, remember.”

  “Yes, I know.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “What’s what supposed to mean?”

  I studied Milly’s body language. She was too perky. And she looked nervous, like she’d been caught in a lie. Was she having an affair with Tom? Or was I just the most paranoid idiot on the planet?

  Milly maneuvered her BMW down US 19 like a race car driver on crack. The tires squealed when she took the exit toward Safety Harbor. I had to hang onto the door handle to keep from toppling over. As we sped across the Bayside Bridge, I tried to keep my eyes on the scenery and my trap shut, but sometimes my mouth had a mind of its own.

  “Milly, do you think it’s okay to go through someone’s phone…when you’re in a relationship, I mean?”

  “Hell no! There ought to be a law against it!”

  She glanced over at me, then backpedaled.

  “I mean, unless you did already. Then it’s okay.”

  I was glad for Milly’s support, but it wasn’t like her to back down like that. Did she do it out of friendship? Guilt? Pity?

  “No, I didn’t go through anyone’s phone. I just saw someone do it on TV.”

  “Oh. In that case, it’s definitely a big no-no in my book.”

  Milly was either a good friend or a good liar. For the moment, I decided to give her the benefit of a doubt.

  ***

  Milly and I sat in a small, dimly lit reception room with two other women, wearing nothing but thick, white-cotton robes and whichever panties we had fated ourselves to. The door opened and a short, unattractive man with curly hair and a big split nose came in. He was dressed in a white polo shirt, white shorts, white socks and black tennis shoes.

  “Valerie?” he asked, and looked around the room.

  “That’s me,” said the woman to my right.

  “This way, please.”

  The woman got up and left with him. Milly and I sneered and rolled our eyes at each other like schoolgirls. The door cracked open again. A fat woman of around fifty with a butch haircut peeked in. She looked as out of place in her white dress as a pig in a ball gown.

  “Teresa?”

  The woman next to Milly blew out a breath. “That’s me.”

  She disappeared with the woman in white, leaving Milly and me alone.

  “Milly, did you tell them you wanted a male masseuse?”

  “No. I just took the luck of the draw.”

  We both grimaced as the door cracked open again. In stepped a guy too gorgeous to be anything but gay. His jet-black hair was slicked back into a neat curl behind his ear. Trendy stubble darkened his square jaw, and his tan, buff arms rippled with muscles. Milly and I both held our breath.

  “Val?”

  I smirked. Milly sneered.

  “Um. That would be me. Bye, Milly!”

  As I sashayed out the door with my hunky man-masseuse, I was glad I’d opted for my sexy panties. I followed him down the hall like a lost fawn.

  “Here we are,” he said. He opened the door to a small room glowing with scented candles and humming with soft, relaxing music.

  “I’m Kevin. Undress to your comfort level and lie down on your stomach. I’ll be back in a minute to check on you.”

  He winked a dark-brown eye at me and I suddenly needed to pee. After he left, I peeked out the door. Down the hallway on the right, I saw a restroom sign. I scampered to the toilet, pulled down my tiny, tiger-striped panties and squatted over the bowl. I emptied my bladder and reached for the roll. It was empty.

  “No! This can’t be happening!” I said aloud.

  My thighs began to wobble from hovering over the toilet.

  What now? I put my hands on my thighs to brace them, and heard a crinkling sound. Paper! In my robe pocket! I reached in and pulled out a handful of wrinkly coupons and advertisements. Better than nothing. I wiped myself as best I could with them and flushed them down the toilet. I pulled up my panties, scurried back to my room, flung off my robe and dove, face-down on the massage bed. The sheet was still settling down on my derriere when Kevin knocked on the door.

  “Ready for me?” he asked.

  “Yes.”

  “Good!” Kevin entered and closed the door behind him.

  “I’ll start with your legs,” he whispered.

  “Okay.”

  Kevin ran his warm, strong fingers along my right calf. I bit my lip. His hand moved up past my knee to my lower thigh. As he massaged my hamstrings, I closed my eyes. He moved the sheet up higher, all the way to my panties.

  His hand stopped suddenly. I felt a slight tug on my thigh. Kevin started to snicker.

  My eyes flew open. I bolted upright, red-faced, and pulled the sheet around me.

  “Is my ass really that funny, Kevin?”

  “No! I’m sorry! It’s just that…” Kevin buckled and burst into laughter again. “I’m sorry. It’s just…I never got a tip like this before. Here. This was on your thigh.”

  Kevin reached toward me. Between his elegant finger and thumb was a dollar-off coupon for Anusol hemorrhoid salve.

  ***

  I was probably the only woman on earth who ever wanted to leave a day spa early. I didn’t mentioned a word about my coupon catastrophe to Milly. I let her think the special looks I got from Kevin during our side-by-side pedicures had nothing to do with discounts on itchy-ass crème.

  “Do you want to do the sauna next?” Milly asked, eyeing me jealously. “Or are you hot and bothered enough?”

  I looked at the ox of a woman filing callouses off Milly’s heels. A foot away, handsome Kevin was busy massaging oil onto my toes. The touch of his hands made me squirm. Not from delight, but embarrassment. I didn’t dare make eye contact with him. I put on a brave façade.

  “Sour grapes, Milly. Sour grapes.”

  Milly stared at Kevin. “Yeah. Li’l bit.”

  “After this, let’s leave, Milly. I’m starving.”

  “But I hear they make a great spa lunch here, Val. And we can stay and eat in our robes.”

  “Yeah. I’m not in the mood for grass clippings on cardboard.”

  “Are you sure? It’s included.”

  “Milly, sometimes coupons aren’t worth using.”

  Kevin stifled a laugh. His hand jerked and he painted a stripe of red nail polish across my big toe. Milly eyed me with suspicion, but said nothing.

  ***

  Milly and I were standing beside her Beemer in the spa parking lot. I wanted to go home.

  “Val, it’s only two o’clock. Let’s go shopping. Have a drink somewhere.” She shot me an envious look. “Maybe you can ask Kevin to join us.”

  “Milly, like I said, he’s gay. I just want to go home.”

  “Oh! Look at all the shops! Come on. I’ll buy you lunch.”

 
; My traitorous stomach gurgled. “Okay. Then we’re going home.”

  We walked along Safety Harbor’s quaint old main street. Between a seafood restaurant and a guitar-picking barber shop was a boutique selling the kind of tacky, nautical tourist crap visitors to Florida found oddly irresistible. A sign in the window read, “Starfish Wishes and Mermaid Dreams.” Milly pointed at it and sneered.

  “Makes me want to bust a cap in a barnacle’s ass.”

  I grinned. “How about this place? Raw oysters. Eight bucks a dozen. Not bad.”

  “Anything but oysters, please!”

  “I thought you loved them, Milly.”

  “I do. Or let’s just say I did. I’m still recovering from a bad date last night.”

  “What’s that got to do with oysters?”

  “Let’s order a drink and I’ll give you all the gory details.”

  A waitress led us to a table by a window and took our order. Milly looked over at me.

  “Two margaritas and two fried shrimp baskets?” she asked.

  “That’ll work.”

  The waitress wrote down our order and left. Milly turned and gave me the lowdown.

  “Okay. I met this guy on MatchMate. He said he was five-foot eight. So I thought I’d give him a break and wear flats. I meet him a PJ’s Oyster Bar last night. No heels and he’s still eyeballs to tits with me. He couldn’t have been more than five-foot two. There ought to be a law against lying about your height. I mean, did he think I wouldn’t notice?”

  “He can’t help that he’s short.”

  “I get that. But he can help lying about it.”

  “True enough.”

  “He was bald, too. Before you go judging me, Val, I know he had no control over that either. But he could help the fact that he wore Birkenstocks, a ridiculous Hawaiian print shirt and a baseball cap. What hair he had left was tied in a greasy ponytail. It hung down his back like the tail of a drown rodent.”

  “Eww. The rat tail. That’s the worst!”

  “Oh no. The worst is yet to come. When we sat down to dinner, the first thing this guy asked me was whether I was going to have one glass of wine or two, because it was cheaper to order by the bottle than by the glass.”