Fifty is the New F-Word

by Margaret Lashley

  “The ones that –”

  “I heard you!” I said, and hobbled to the phone.

  “Then what in tarnation did you ask –”

  “Shhh!” I picked up the receiver to call Tom, but a flash of movement in the driveway made my heart leap with fear. Finkerman! I peeked out the window, but it wasn’t a yellow Hummer I saw. It was a silver 4Runner. Tom was home.

  “Tom!” I cried out when he walked in the door. “Winky has some news for you!”

  “Huh?” Tom said, taken aback by my verbal assault.

  “Tell him, Winky. About the earrings!”

  “Well, he already knows,” Winky said. “We’re makin’ earrings outta fishing tackle and sellin’ ‘em at –”

  “Arrgghh!” I groaned in frustration. “Tom. My earrings. They’re made from hard-bodied grubs.”

  “I’m sorry, Val,” Tom said. “What are you talking about?”

  Winky shot me a smug sneer.

  “The old guy in the beekeeper’s hat, Tom. Hard-bodied grubs. That’s what he kept saying to me. He must be some kind of fisherman.”

  “Well, he was wearing fishing gear, Val,” Tom said. “So I guess that makes sense.”

  My excitement evaporated. “Oh. I guess you’re right. I thought it might have been a clue. Crap. I guess it wasn’t.”

  “I know you’re trying to help, Val,” Tom said, taking my hand. “But the best thing you can do right now is stay off that foot and out from under the hair of – ugh – away from Detective Stanley. Can you do that for me?”

  A few hours ago, I could have easily complied. But now that Finkerman was in the picture, it was practically an impossibility. “I’ll try,” I offered.

  “Try hard,” Tom said to me sternly, then softened his tone. “Remember, Cold Cuts has only been missing for a day.”

  My mouth fell open. “Only a day? Geeze! It feels like a year!”

  “No. Only about thirty hours, Val. Anything’s still possible. The preliminary results of the CSI tests should start coming in tomorrow. Hopefully they’ll start to clear some of this up.”

  “CSI?” Winky asked. “Nobody told me nothin’ about no crime stuff investigators!”

  Tom shot me an apologetic grimace. “Winky,” Tom said. “Why don’t you and I go out for a beer? I’ll tell you more about what’s going on, then drop you at Davie’s Donuts after.”

  “All right. That sounds good to me.”

  Tom squeezed my hand. “Can I get you anything while I’m out?”

  “Just another box of tissues and a bottle of Tanqueray.”

  Tom kissed me on the forehead. “I’ll be back in an hour with something for dinner.”

  “Thanks,” I said.

  As he headed out the door with Winky, my land line began to ring. “Go on, I’ll get it,” I said. Tom nodded and closed the door behind him. I read the name on the phone’s LED display and yanked the cable from the wall.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  The spicy green curry Tom brought home for dinner last night woke me up at 1:03 a.m. Tom lay sound asleep beside me, seemingly impervious to the wrath of the chili pepper gods. I stared at the clock on my nightstand and listened to his rhythmic breathing.

  I wondered if Cold Cuts was still breathing, too.

  Tears welled in my eyes. To keep from blubbering, I made myself concentrate on recalling, in detail, the conversation Tom and I had shared over supper last night.

  “Winky told me about you sneaking out to get lunch,” Tom had said. I remembered how his eyes had been mixed with suspicion and curiosity. “I thought to myself, now why would you do that? Val, is something going on?”

  I’d lied to him. “Tom, I was stuck with Winky all day. I needed a break.”

  Tom had believed me, or at least pretended he did, and changed the subject. “I wanted to talk to you about the guy in the beekeeper’s hat. I asked around today and the resort. No one else has seen him.”

  I’d gotten defensive. “I know I saw him, Tom. I didn’t make it up. Cold Cuts saw him, too.”

  “I’m not saying you made it up, Val.”

  “Then what are you saying?”

  “Listen, this isn’t a ‘me-against-you’ situation here. I’m on your side.”

  I’d immediately felt like a turd. “I’m sorry. It’s just...I’m so worried about Cold Cuts.”

  “I know. Me, too. So help me out here. Work with me, not against me.”

  “Okay. I’m sorry. You’re right. So, what does it mean, that no one but Cold Cuts and I saw this guy? Is he a ghost or something?”

  “No,” Tom had said. “You told me he was a big guy, right? Do you think he’s strong enough to take on Bill Robo?”

  “I don’t know. He was old. But he looked pretty big. And he was in good shape. All over.”

  Tom had let that one slide. “You ran into him along the trail that night after the sailboat ride.”

  “Well, more like I spotted him in the bushes.”

  “Right. If you hadn’t, I wonder if things would have turned out differently.”

  “What do you mean, Tom?”

  “I just wonder if he might have been planning on watching you pass, then sneaking up behind you and abducting you.”

  Chills had run through my body. “You think I was his intended target?” I’d asked. “You think when I spotted him there in the bushes, he changed his plans and went after Cold Cuts instead?”

  “I dunno,” Tom had said. “It’s just a theory.”

  “He blinded me with a flashlight, but he didn’t try to grab me or anything. Why would he do that, then let me go and take Cold Cuts instead?”

  “Maybe he saw the three of you come off the boat together. He waited on the trail until the odds got better. Two against one isn’t great, but it’s better than three against one.”

  “Two against one?”

  “Cold Cuts and Bill Robo.”

  “You think he got them both?”

  “Maybe. Did Cold Cuts have the keys to the RV with her?”

  I’d thought about it for a moment. “Yes. I mean, I’m pretty sure. We couldn’t get in the room yet. All she’d brought for luggage was some grocery bags. I don’t think she’d leave the keys in them. Why do you ask?”

  “From what you’ve told me, that old fisherman is a sketchy character, at best.”

  “He’s probably psycho.”

  “Right,” Tom had said. Then his face had gone deadly serious. “I’m just thinking out loud here, Val. But the guy could have blinded Cold Cuts and Bill with the flashlight, like he did you. Then threatened them with a knife – or a gun – and forced them to drive him somewhere in Glad’s old RV.”

  “That makes sense...but Tom, I sure hope you’re wrong.”

  “Me, too, Val. Me, too.”

  THE THOUGHT THAT COLD Cuts could have been abducted by the psycho fisherman made me antsy. I was still lying beside Tom, thinking about waking him up when his phone alarm went off. He rolled over and gave me a gentle bear hug. “Did you get any sleep?”

  “Not as much as you.”

  “Well, you can nap today,” Tom said and kissed me on the forehead. “I’m going to fix us a couple of cappuccinos, then I’m taking off to Sarasota to see what I can find out.”

  He started to roll away, but I held him tight. “Let me come with you.”

  “No can do. You need to rest that ankle.”

  “I’ve got a cane. I can manage.”

  “Yeah. Winky told me how you ‘managed’ to sneak out the window and drive off. Please don’t do that again.”

  “What’s the big deal?”

  “You need to rest, Val. Not to mention that your car is running like crap, and you don’t even have a cell phone when you get into trouble.”

  “Don’t you mean if I get in trouble?”

  Tom gave me a look that made me sigh in defeat. I let go of him and rolled onto my back. “When will I get my phone back?”

  “I don’t know. I’m going back down to the stat
ion today. I’ll check.” Tom sat up onto the edge of the bed.

  “Let me come along, Tom. I promise I’ll be good.”

  Tom stood up and winked at me. “Sorry. But I don’t need your help today. Or your promises. I’ve got insurance.”

  “What do you mean?”

  Tom grinned and waggled his blond eyebrows. “Goober’s coming over to make sure you stay out of trouble.”

  “Tom! How could you?” I bellowed. I grabbed a pillow and threw it at him. He laughed and ducked out the door.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Frustration descended on me like a shroud as I watched my handsome, blond, hard-working cop walk out the door and a bald, peanut-headed deadbeat walk in. Goober must have read between the lines on my face.

  “Good morning to you, too, Val,” Goober laughed. “It’s not a death sentence, you know.”

  “Speak for yourself,” I snarled. “There’s coffee in the pot. Help yourself.”

  Goober bowed and tipped an imaginary hat. “Thanks for your hostility.”

  I snickered despite myself. “Sorry. I just...I feel so useless. I want to help, but –”

  “Your phone’s unplugged,” Goober said, cutting me off. He reached down and plugged it back into the wall.

  “If it rings, don’t answer it,” I said.

  Goober looked me up and down.

  “I’m going to the ladies’ room,” I said. I didn’t really have to go. At least not that badly. It was a ploy to escape Goober’s questioning eyes. He had a way of seeing right through me that was disconcerting, to say the least. Plus, I figured I might as well use the facilities while they were still Ty D Bol fresh.

  When I returned to the living room, Goober was at the kitchen counter, slurping coffee and yacking on his cellphone. His words set my heart to thumping.

  “Was there any blood?” he asked, and furrowed his bushy eyebrows. “Clothes in a heap outside?”

  Goober caught my worried look and rolled his eyes as if to say I shouldn’t worry. “Food smell like rat poison?” he asked the person on the other end of the line. “How about your guitar? Was it smashed to smithereens?”

  I flopped on the couch and pretended to read a magazine as I eavesdropped.

  “Uh huh,” Goober said. “Well, as I see it, you might still have a chance.” He clicked off the phone and shook his head in disgust. “Romance. Who needs it?”

  “Who were you talking to?” I asked.

  Goober twisted his lips, making his caterpillar mustache undulate. “This guy I know. He and his wife are having a so-called lover’s quarrel.” Goober had sneered and formed air quotes with his fingers when he’d said the last two words.

  “What happened?”

  “The usual.” Goober took another swig of coffee and walked from behind the kitchen counter. “His wife told him to get out last night. He went back this morning, and the old gal wasn’t there. He called me wondering if he still had a chance with her. Pathetic, right?”

  “And your advice was along the lines of, if she hadn’t destroyed all of his stuff and tried to poison him, he was probably good to go?”

  Goober sat in the easy chair with a sigh. “Sure. You should know that, Val. You’ve been married before.”

  I shook my head and laughed. “Fair enough. So, what’s going on with Jorge? Why didn’t he come with you?”

  “He’s at some relaxation thing.”

  “Huh?”

  “Tom didn’t tell you?”

  “No.”

  Goober seemed pleased at the fact I didn’t know. “It’s like a retreat, Val. You know, for people to learn how to calm their own nerves and deal with jerks. It’s called Give Me Serenity or some such horse hockey as that.”

  “I take it you don’t think it’s a good idea,” I said.

  Goober rolled his eyes.

  “How do you think Jorge did on his tests?” I asked.

  Goober shrugged his big shoulders. “Who knows? What I want to know is what’s up with you and Cold Cuts. Winky said she ran off and left you at the beach.”

  My gut flipped over. “You know?”

  The land-line rang. My stomach did a summersault. I glanced at the display and my internal organs completed an Olympic gymnastics routine.

  “Aren’t you going to get that?” Goober asked.

  “No.”

  Goober eyed the phone, then me. “What’s Finkerman calling about?”

  I flinched. “That depends. What do you already know?”

  Goober’s bushy eyebrows met in the middle of his forehead. “Is this some kind of game show, Val? What’s My Crime? I’m not going to sit here and guess. Tell me. What’s going on?”

  The phone kept ringing. “Goober, it’s too horrible to explain.”

  Goober’s face softened. “Val, you’re talking to a man who lives on a full-time basis with Winky and Jorge. What could be more horrible than that?”

  I bit my lip and sighed. “I guess you’ve got a point there.”

  WHILE WE POLISHED OFF the leftover Chinese takeout from last night, I spilled most of the beans to Goober.

  “We don’t know Bill Robo’s real name, or the identity of this fisherman guy. Hell, Goober, we don’t even know how long Cold Cut’s has been missing.”

  “Why not?” Goober asked, then stuck a chopstick full of spicy beef and noodles into the gaping hole underneath his moustache.

  “Because I don’t know for sure if it was even Cold Cuts in the bed next to mine.”

  “Well, I can tell you, it wasn’t.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Cold Cuts doesn’t snore.”

  I dropped a chopstick. “How do you know that?”

  Goober snorted. “And no one thinks I can keep a secret.”

  Two and two added up in my mind, and I nearly dropped my little cardboard takeout box. “Oh my lord! You and.... No! That means...you...spent the night with Cold Cuts, and I spent the night with...who knows who! Maybe a murderer!” I wasn’t sure which thought horrified me more.

  Goober shrugged. “I dunno if you could make that big a leap, Val. Maybe you should leave the deducing up to Tom.” Goober looked up at the window behind me. “Speak of the devil, here he comes now.”

  Goober grinned slyly and dumped the rest of the takeout container into his mouth. I turned and looked out the window. Tom’s silver 4Runner was pulling into the driveway. I whipped back around to face Goober. He was munching on a mouthful of food like a bald chipmunk.

  “Goober! Tom doesn’t know about Finkerman yet. I want to keep it that way for now.”

  Goober smiled, causing the noodle caught in his moustache to fall into his lap. “Don’t worry, Val,” he mumbled through his mouthful of food. “Your secret’s safe with me.”

  “I’VE GOT GOOD NEWS and not-so-good news,” Tom said as he sat down on the couch beside me. Goober and I looked at each other like kids waiting outside the principal’s office for a paddling.

  “I pulled some strings,” Tom said, “and was able to get one of the guys doing the investigation down in Sarasota to tell me what he knows. Anyway, it turns out that the glob of flesh they found on the beach wasn’t human after all. It was sea pork.”

  “Sea pork?” Goober and I asked simultaneously.

  “Yeah,” Tom said, then tried to explain. “It’s kind of complicated, but basically that’s what they call these little sack-like things in the coral reefs. They live together in globs. Anyway, when they die, they turn grey and sometimes end up washing up on the beach, looking a lot like a chunk of human brain tissue.”

  “So the stuff they found,” I said. “It wasn’t human.”

  “Right,” Tom said. “And there’s more good news. The blood all over the bathroom wasn’t blood. It was some sort of corrosive chemical compound.”

  I nearly jumped in Tom’s arms. “So that means Cold Cuts wasn’t murdered!”

  Tom fended off my embrace. “Not so fast, Val. We don’t know that for sure. She’s still missing. Right no
w, this only means that she probably wasn’t killed in the room.”

  My hopes sunk as fast as they’d risen. “Oh.”

  “You said there was bad news,” Goober said.

  Tom sucked in a breath and let it out. “The blood on the pliers they found under the mattress was human. The tooth, was, too. And the blood trail leading from the cottage to the beach was a mixture of human and fish blood.”

  “The fisherman!” I cried out.

  Tom nodded. “There’s been no trace of him, Cold Cuts, or this Bill Robo guy since the incident.”

  “What does that mean, Tom?” I asked.

  “It’s really too soon to say,” Tom answered. “I just wanted to tell you face-to-face what I found out, before I head back to the resort.”

  “What are you gonna do down there?” Goober asked.

  “I’m gonna see what else I can find out about this Bill Robo character. He worked there, after all. Hopefully, they did a background check on him. But maybe not. I mean, with all the illegal aliens here in Florida. It’s not a given. I’m also going to write down all the license plates in the lot. If Robo took off with Cold Cuts in her RV, his vehicle ought to still be in the lot.”

  “Unless he used alternate transportation,” Goober said. “He could have taken the bus or a bicycle. Or hitched a ride with a friend.”

  “Goober’s right,” I said. “As weird as Robo was, I wouldn’t be surprised if he rode there on a magic carpet.”

  My land-line rang again. Goober locked eyes with me.

  “Aren’t you going to get that?” Tom asked.

  Goober glanced at the display. “Telemarketer,” he lied.

  I turned to Tom and smiled, then practically pushed him off the couch. “I think your idea about the plates is brilliant, Tom. The sooner you get going, the sooner you can get back here.”

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  My land line rang off and on all afternoon. I’d wanted to unplug it, but Goober insisted otherwise. He looked up from the paper and checked the phone’s display for what seemed like the hundredth time.