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

by Margaret Lashley

  “How quaint.”

  “I told him I’d have just one glass. He ordered that, along with a dozen raw oysters for us to share. If he thought it was going to be an aphrodisiac, he should have asked me first. I could have saved him even more money.”

  “Nice.”

  “You won’t believe this part. He counted the oysters, then divided them on the plate so we both got six each.”

  I shrugged. “Eh.”

  “After I’d eaten my six, he took his tiny seafood fork and went to work on the meat left on the shells. Val, he was so caught up in getting every last morsel that I could have been all the way home before he noticed I’d left!”

  “Geeze!”

  “Then came the piece de résistance. When he was finally done picking over the oysters, he used that same little fork to pick his teeth for – I dunno. Five minutes? I ordered another glass of wine. It was worth it just to watch him wince. When the check came, I insisted on splitting it. I wanted to make sure he didn’t feel like I ‘owed’ him anything. I handed him my half in cash and said I had to go. I wasn’t lying, either. If I’d stayed another second I’d have kicked my own self in the ass.”

  “That sounds pretty shitty. But at least he didn’t take you for all you were worth.”

  Milly’s angry, sneering face melted.

  “No. You’re right. Just thirty bucks.”

  “So count yourself lucky.”

  “Your German guy, Val. How much did he cost?”

  “Monetarily? Eh. Just everything.”

  “That’s horrible! I’m sorry.”

  “It wasn’t a total loss. I figure if I can survive him, I can survive anything. Puts silly things like your date into perspective, you know?”

  “Are you saying I should have given this guy more credit?”

  “Hell no! If he’d lie about his height, he’d lie about anything. I guess I’m just saying that the guy isn’t worth getting all worked up over. Thirty bucks? Small change. By tomorrow he should be nothing but a stupid, distant memory.”

  “Like your Germany guy?”

  “Friedrich? No. If the going rate is thirty bucks a day, I’ll still be thinking about him into the next millennium.”

  ***

  It was nearly five o’clock by the time Milly and I finished eating lunch and window shopping the entire Main Street of Safety Harbor. The sun hung low in the sky, but Milly’s manic need for speed this morning had mellowed considerably. It was nearly six when Milly hooked a left off Gulf Boulevard into Bahia Shores.

  As she turned onto Bimini Circle, I saw Tom’s silver 4Runner parked in my drive.

  “What’s he doing here?” I asked.

  “I thought you two lived together.”

  “Well, not exactly.”

  Milly pulled her BMW up behind Tom’s 4Runner and cut the engine.

  “I’ll take that tour of your place now, if you don’t mind.”

  Did she really want to see my place, or did she want to see Tom?

  “I’m kind of tired. How about another time?”

  “Come on, Val, there’s no time like the present.”

  Shit. I guess I had no choice.

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  I opened my front door and nearly fell over.

  “Surprise!”

  A pile of familiar faces grinned back at me. Winky. Winnie. Laverne. Goober. Jorge. And Tom.

  “What’s going on?” I asked.

  “Welcome to your proper birthday party,” Tom said.

  He slapped a sparkly plastic tiara on my head. I adjusted my crown and looked around my place. Peeking out from behind my friends, colored balloons floated toward the ceiling, tied to every chair, picture and lamp. A huge cake lay on the kitchen counter, covered in a forest of candles. A ton of food and drinks surrounded it.

  “Wow! This is too much!”

  “There’s more,” Laverne said and pointed to her left. “Look.”

  I followed the line of her manicured finger. My mouth fell open. My new sofa sat against the wall. I could barely make it out for all the gifts heaped upon it.

  “My couch!”

  “It got here today,” Laverne said. “I threatened them with the wrath of a Vegas showgirl if they didn’t deliver it before four today.”

  “Looks like it worked,” I said.

  “Ready for a TNT?” Winnie asked.

  “Sure, thanks!”

  I turned to Milly. “You knew.”

  “Of course. We’ve been planning this for weeks.”

  “Oh.” Tears filled my eyes. I hugged Milly. “Thanks,” I whispered in her ear.

  “You’re welcome. I got you a gift, too, girlfriend.”

  “Really? What is it?”

  “Let’s just say I won’t be the only one riding into the sunset on a Pleasure Pony.”

  I laughed out loud. Winky, Jorge, Goober and Laverne came up to me carrying a beautiful pink-foiled gift bag.

  “Happy birthday, Val! We all chipped in for these.”

  I took the bag. “It’s so pretty! I like the pink –”

  “Open it, gaul-dang it!” Winky demanded impatiently.

  I shot the freckle-faced redneck a mock scowl.

  “Okay, already!”

  I pushed aside the tissue paper. Inside were a jumble of figurines. I blushed.

  “Ha ha. Very funny.”

  “Let’s see ‘em,” Winky hollered.

  They all grinned at me like a pride of Cheshire cats. I pulled the figures out one by one and stood them on the counter next to the cake. A slender, red-headed ballerina. A black-haired girl with glasses. A cocoa-skinned boy. A freckled kid in overalls. A bald shoemaker with a big moustache. A blonde girl with a shopping bag. When I unwrapped Petie the Police Boy, I finally realized the trinkets were meant to represent each of my friends. But there was still one in the bag. I pulled it out. It was a brunette with a saw and a hammer. I smiled up at them wryly.

  “I take it I’m Sassy Sallie.”

  “Woo hoo!” Winky hollered.

  “Right on the money,” Goober said.

  “Took us a month of yard-saling, but we finally found what we were looking for,” Laverne said.

  “Well, they’re…amazing. Thank you all.”

  “Now I need to show you something,” Tom said. “Here, put on this blindfold.”

  “You can’t show me something when I’m blindfolded,” I argued. “Besides, someone already tried to kidnap me once this month.”

  “Ha ha. We’re not taking you anywhere. Just put it on.”

  I slipped the mask over my eyes. I felt Tom’s strong hand take mine and lead me across the living room. I heard the sliding glass door move and warm air hit my face. Tom led me outside and took off my mask. My jaw dropped to my chest.

  My former trash-heaped, weed-infested yard had been transformed into a tropical oasis. A stone walkway wove a path through freshly laid grass to a swing by the water with a canopy top. A hammock hung between two palm trees. And in one corner, a thatch-roofed tiki bar was lit up with Christmas lights. Mr. Fellows was behind the counter. He waved at me and raised his margarita glass.

  “Do you like it?” Tom asked, and wrapped his arms around me.

  “I love it.”

  He took my chin softly in his hand and looked me in the eyes.

  “Good. Because I love you, Val.”

  Oh my god! Tom had never said the ‘L’ word to me before! But…I wasn’t ready to say it back. I’d made a promise I’d never again force myself to say or be something I wasn’t. I had to keep my word to myself, or I’d be lost…again.

  “I…I don’t know what to say, Tom.”

  Tom smiled at me tenderly and kissed my nose.

  “It’s okay. ‘Thank you’ will do for now.”

  Epilogue

  After Laverne hobbled home in her high heels and the squeaky old Dodge full of party guests left, I fixed another TNT. I sat at a barstool and studied the funny figurines lined up on the kitchen counter as Tom f
inished up the dishes.

  “So this is my new circle of friends,” I said.

  Tom glanced up at me and smiled. “Looks like.”

  “They really do look like everyone. Especially yours, Petie the Police Boy.”

  Tom laughed. “I think Sassy Sallie has you pegged, too.”

  “Ha ha. You know, we’ll have to find one for Mr. Fellows.”

  “I’m sure he’d appreciate that.”

  I picked up Sassy Sally and Petie the Police Boy. I glanced over at Tom to make sure he wasn’t watching, and made the two kiss. I smiled to myself and carried them to the mantle. They and the other figurines were going to take pride of place next to Glad in her piggybank.

  As I reached up to put the figurines on the mantle, I realized that Glad wasn’t there. Where had I seen her last? Oh yeah. I wandered out into the beautiful, tropical backyard, then came back into the house.

  “Tom, where’s my mom’s RV?”

  Tom looked up from the dishes.

  “Oh. I sold it. To a scrapper. He hauled it away this morning.”

  “No!”

  “Val, it was just a piece of junk.”

  “Tom, you don’t understand. My mother was in there!”

  Thanks for Reading Val & Pals Series of Humorous Fiction!

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  Ready for more Val?

  Where does Val Fremden go from here? Will Val find the RV and rescue Glad before the old Minnie Winnie ends up crushed and thrown on the scrap heap?

  Find Out in Book Four:

  Three Dumb: Wheelin’ & Dealin’!

  Turn the page for a sneak peek at Val’s next wild adventure

  Sneak Peek of Three Dumb:

  Chapter One:

  “How could you do it, Tom?”

  I stared into the sea-green eyes of Lieutenant Thomas Foreman, my cop boyfriend. He was in the kitchen drying dishes, as happy as a clam on Prozac. He’d just pulled off a surprise 49th birthday party for me right under my nose, and was swaggering in self-pride about it.

  The festivities had ended just a moment ago, when Laverne, my next-door neighbor and former Vegas showgirl, finally took the hint and wobbled back over to her place on those stork legs of hers. It hadn’t been easy to convince her it was time to go. I’d had to change into my pajamas, tidy the couch cushions around her, take the wineglass from her hand, and, when all that failed, I’d resorted to yawning in her face. Laverne never was one for subtlety.

  Tom raised a blond eyebrow on his smug, unforgivably handsome face. “Val, with you on my case, keeping it under wraps was no piece of cake.”

  He winked and grabbed a glass from the kitchen drain board. His lip curled into a satisfied smile as he wiped the glass dry with a dishcloth, oblivious to my growing rage. I crossed my arms and planted my feet. My mind was made up. I had a right to be pissed, and no one was going to take that away from me.

  “I would hope not, Tom,” I hissed, “as it probably involved forgery on your part.”

  Tom blanched and looked up, surprised at my anger. “Wait a second. You’re not talking about the party?”

  “No! I’m talking about selling my mother’s RV – without even asking me!”

  “Oh…that.”

  Tom grinned at his own cleverness. He obviously didn’t realize how close he was to being strangled to death with that damned dishtowel.

  “Well, that was the tricky part, Val. And you almost caught me. I had to rifle through your silly shoebox filing system to find the title to it. It was still registered in Glad’s name, but I signed it over. Seeing as she’s dead, I didn’t think she’d mind.”

  “Arrgh! Tom, I didn’t mean how did you do it logistically. I meant how could you do it at all? The Minnie Winnie was mine. My mother’s. It was….”

  Tom dropped the cloth on the counter and folded his arms over his chest, mirroring mine.

  “It was a piece of junk, Val. I traded it for the tiki hut. I don’t know why you’re so angry. I think you got the better half of the deal.”

  I raised my hands in frustration. “You still don’t get it. It was all I had left of Glad – besides the piggybank with her ashes. And Tom, the piggybank was inside the RV.”

  Tom’s face drooped. His arms fell limp to his sides. “Oh. I…I didn’t know.”

  “Well, now you do. Why couldn’t you have just asked me first?”

  Tom bit his lower lip and scrunched his nose. “I don’t know. It sounds lame now, Val. But it would have spoiled the surprise.”

  “And avoided this one.”

  Hot, angry tears rimmed my eyes. Tom winced sympathetically and put his arms around me.

  “I’m sorry, Val. But how in the world did Glad’s piggybank end up in the RV anyhow?”

  I thought back to the drunken night a week and a half ago, when my imagination and half a bottle of gin had convinced me that Tom and my best friend Milly were having an affair. I’d spent a lost night in the old RV, commiserating with my mother’s spirit as she’d stared back at me, wise and all-knowing, through a plastic, holographic monocle….

  My face flushed. I jerked away from Tom’s arms.

  “Look. I don’t have to explain myself to you, Tom. What I need now is to know where I can find the RV and get Glad back.”

  Tom took a step backward and showed me his open palms. “Okay! Take it easy! A buddy at work gave me the name of a junk dealer out in Pinellas Park. I’ve got his card around here somewhere.”

  Tom’s eyes scanned the kitchen counter for the card, then his face registered a thought. He reached toward his right butt cheek and pulled his wallet out of the back pocket of his jeans.

  “Tom, I know you meant well. I don’t mean to sound ungrateful. I mean, what you did with the backyard…the makeover…it’s beautiful. But I’m so mad at you right now I have half a mind to charge you with grand theft.”

  Tom’s tan, clean-shaven face lost the remainder of its usually good-natured, boyish charm.

  “So that’s the thanks I get. Nice one, Val. You know, I put up with a lot from you, but tonight takes the cake. I tell you ‘I love you,’ and you return the favor by telling me you’re going to have me arrested. Not an even swap.”

  A pang of remorse hurtled toward my heart. I knocked it away with a baseball bat.

  “Well, neither was you’re swapping my mother’s RV for a blasted tiki hut!”

  Tom pulled a business card from his wallet and tossed it on the kitchen counter. “I guess it’s true what they say. No good deed goes unpunished.”

  Tom glared at me, pursed his lips, shook his head and marched out the front door. He slammed it behind him. I waited until I heard the engine start and his SUV drive away before I picked up the card. Maybe I should have felt guilty. After all, Tom had meant well. But not a single speck of slithering guilt dared crawl close enough to be scalded by my boiling anger. Not this time. I was tired of always paying the tab for others good-intentioned misdeeds.

  Why did everything nice have to come with a shit-smeared string attached?

  I looked down at the business card. It read, “Lefty’s Hauling: We make your troubles disappear!” The bitter irony forced a puff of jaded air through my pinched lips. It was 11 p.m. on a Saturday night. I took a chance and called the number. No one answered. The card stated the business was closed on Sundays. It seemed I was going to have to wait – something I was definitely no good at.

  Chapter Two

  I idled away Sunday morning swinging i
n my new hammock, going back and forth as to whether I should call Tom and apologize or call Tom and rip him a new one. I should have been ecstatic. Tom had just told me he loved me for the very first time. I’d been contemplating whether to say it back to him when I’d been blindsided by the news he’d gone and traded away my mother for a thatch-roofed shack. How could the man have been so insensitive?

  I scowled and looked across the freshly landscaped backyard. It was so gorgeous I nearly forgave Tom again. The comfy, macramé hammock I was swaying in was tied between two palm trees and offered a beautiful view of the sparkling Intracoastal Waterway. A set of six floral-cushioned lawn chairs formed a ring around a circular fire pit made of terracotta-hued pavers. Even the traitorous tiki hut was charming, with its shaggy, conical roof of thatched palm leaves. It was all so beautiful – and in need of a lifetime of constant maintenance.

  By 9 a.m., the newly installed plants had already begun to wither in the tropical heat of the first day of May. I got out my old garden hose and spent the second half of the morning watering the freshly planted lantana bushes, canna lilies, pygmy date palms and St. Augustine grass. To save work, I took a quick trip to the little Ace Hardware store on Boca Ciega and bought a sprinkler to irrigate the neat swath of newly lain lawn.

  When I returned, an itchy irritability crawled across my brain. Sweat dripped off my chin as I stood in the glaring sun and fiddled with the new sprinkler. I tried to set it to the correct angle. I clicked it to 45 degrees and turned on the tap. Before I could say, “Oh shit,” the hose swelled up like a pregnant snake and blew the sprinkler off the end like a bottle rocket. It slammed into my shin, prompting me to scream all the curse words in my repertoire and perform the one-legged hip-hop. While I was dancing around, the hose, like a heckler in the audience, curled itself upward and, with deadly accuracy, shot a stream of cold water into my obscenity-hurling face. Given the horrid heat, it should have cooled me off. But the only thing the cold blast managed to refresh was my seething anger at Tom.