Two Crazy: Fickle Finger of Fate (A Val Fremden Mystery Book 2)

by Margaret Lashley

  “I guess you were right about that. I think it did help. The last message he left me…he actually sounded kind of nice.”

  “Good. Val, life isn’t a fairytale. I can’t be there for you all the time. I’m no superhero. I’m not like you, Valliant Stranger.”

  Tom took my chin in his hand. We locked eyes and smiled.

  “I’ve got my weaknesses, too,” I said.

  “I know. Chocolate…roaches…yard sales…”

  I snickered.

  Tom laughed and continued, “…can’t take a compliment….”

  “Don’t forget the worst one,” I added. “Inability to smell bullshit until it hits me in the face.”

  “Ah. My personal favorite.”

  Tom pulled me to his chest and kissed me hard on the mouth. My knees buckled. He whispered in my ear.

  “I’m hoping I can add sexy cop to your list of weaknesses.”

  My thigh bumped against the crotch of Tom’s jeans.

  “Maybe I should add jealous, untrusting brunettes to yours.”

  Tom kissed me hard again.

  “I said I was sterile, Val, not impotent. Big difference.”

  Big difference, indeed.

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Forever was a long time to swear off something. I’d lasted about twelve minutes with booze, twelve days with men. I looked over at Tom in bed beside me. Maybe fate hadn’t given us the finger after all.

  A week had passed since I’d smashed any figurines. Petie the Police Boy had gotten his last-minute stay of execution. The tension between Tom and me had slacked off, but wasn’t totally erased. He still had a week before he had to spill his guts about Milly.

  Milly and I were talking again, too. It was a tenuous time for me. I tried my best to find a way back to our old routine, but it was a struggle, given my lingering feelings of mistrust. On top of all that, I had to dodge Finkerman’s calls while I waited for the DNA results to come in on the finger. I was cleaning up breakfast dishes the morning after a very nice Taco Tuesday when the phone rang. My attorney, Bernard Charles, was on the other end of the line.

  “Ms. Fremden?”

  “Yes. Hello, Mr. Charles.”

  “We’ve analyzed the tape. Good and bad news. Good news, you got Loo and Meyers on tape plotting the arson.”

  “Meyers?”

  “Bingo Bob.”

  “Oh. Right. That’s good for your case, right?”

  “Yes and no. The fire investigation report came back. They can’t prove arson. Looks like either they covered their tracks well or faulty wiring beat them to it. The place burned down due to a grease fire. Can you believe that?”

  “Yes. I was in the back kitchen once. I’m scarred for life.”

  “Bad luck all around.”

  “Where do you go from here?”

  “We’ve got other angles to pursue.”

  “What about Loo’s confession? Cutting off Mickie’s finger?”

  “Well, your tactics were dubious at best, Ms. Fremden. But I promise I’ll do all I can to get you off. You won’t be facing direct charges. The only charge that has a chance of sticking at this point is conspiracy. Unless, that is, you’ve figured out the connection. How the finger ended up with you.”

  “No. Nothing yet. Could I get a copy of the tape?”

  “Certainly. I’ll leave one at reception for you. Hopefully, with any luck, DNA will prove the finger wasn’t even Mr. Michaels’.”

  “Really? Do you get a lot of missing fingers in your line of work?”

  “You’d be surprised.”

  I hung up and padded over to my computer and googled the news. “No Evidence of Arson in Local Restaurant Fire.” Some people have all the luck. I’d just stuck my hands in the dishwater again when my phone rang. It was Finkerman.

  “Ms. Fremden, your ‘bigger fish’ just slipped off the hook.”

  Nope. This was definitely not turning out to be my lucky day.

  “What do you want, Finkerman?”

  “Why, your money, of course. Don’t be silly.”

  “Silly?”

  “Hey, it’s nothing personal. But a million dollars just went up in smoke. I’ve got a client here says you cut his finger off. You had the finger. You’re low-hanging fruit.”

  I hate you! You disgusting excuse for a human being! I took a deep breath and swallowed my anger. “Okay. How much do you want?”

  “Ah. The voice of reason at last. Twenty-thousand ought to do it.”

  “But that’s twice what you –”

  “That’s the price of adding on a wild, million-dollar goose chase, Ms. Fremden.”

  “Okay. But I want to do this face-to-face.”

  “My pleasure. When and where?”

  “Water Loo’s parking lot. Two o’clock.”

  “I’ll be there with the paperwork. Don’t forget your checkbook.”

  “I won’t.” And I won’t forget to bring my recording of Loo’s confession, either. I can’t wait to see the look on your smarmy face when your last fish jumps out of the fryer.

  ***

  I squeezed the last drop of Ty D Bol into the toilet. I flushed and watched it swirl away. Hopefully the recording would be enough to rid me of Finkerman. My house chores were done. It was time for my reward. I slipped on a sundress, inched into some sandals and headed to the drugstore on 107th. I was in desperate need of Ty D Bol and chocolate.

  I was standing at the checkout with a Mounds bar and a family-sized bottle of my favorite toilet cleaner when I saw Pops walk in, grinning from ear to ear.

  “Hey, Pops!”

  “Val! How’s my girl?”

  “She’s running great, as always.”

  “No, I meant you.”

  “Doing okay. Hoping to finish off some business this afternoon. You’re all smiles today, Pops.”

  “I finished off some business myself. Sold me a car. Remember that gold Cadillac? The one that crazy woman put five-hundred down on?”

  “Yeah.”

  “She and her boyfriend came by this morning. Bought the Caddy full price. I told her I couldn’t give her that deposit back, being as she was late and all. She didn’t bat an eyelash. Said she’d always wanted her a gold Cadillac, and she was gonna have it no matter what.”

  “Hey, good for you!”

  “Yeah. You know, Val, normally, you can’t trust a crow-eyed woman. But this time she up and proved me wrong. Whipped out a wad of hunnert-dollar bills and peeled sixty of ‘em off right into my hand. Didn’t even make a dent in that roll of hers.”

  “Wow. Where’d she get that kind of money?”

  “Said they just won a million dollars. The man with her opened up a duffle bag and flashed me a wad of cash that could choke a wood chipper. Said they was gonna live like a king and queen down in Mexico. I wished ‘em well and they drove that Caddy right of the lot. Gonna miss her. She was a beauty.”

  “Yeah. She sure was.”

  ***

  I drove toward the law offices of Charles & Charles with a mouth full of Mounds and a mindful of angst. Should I tell Mr. Charles what I’d just heard? What if the people who bought Pops’ Cadillac really were lottery winners and weren’t Loo and Latrina? I’d have made a fool of myself. But what if they were!

  I parked Maggie sideways in the empty parking lot at Charles’s office. The door was locked. I banged on it and a small, brown envelope fell out of the mailbox slot. It had my name on it. I tore it open. The recorder was inside. I slipped it into my pocket and leaned over a window and peeked inside. The place was empty. Not a stick of furniture or a piece of paper on the floor. Nothing.

  I called Mr. Charles’s number. No answer. What was going on here? I left a message for him to call me and glanced at the time on my phone. It was 1:30 p.m.

  I didn’t have enough time to go home, change clothes and get back to Water Loo’s by two o’clock, so I took a slow tour down Gulf Boulevard and parked in the empty lot that used to surround the restaurant. A man was there, w
alking around with a tape measure and a clipboard.

  “What are you doing?” I asked.

  “Lot measurements. I’m a property appraiser. You interested in buying the lot?”

  “Maybe. What’s it going for?”

  “Hard to say. Somewhere between quarter and half a mill, it being on Gulf, you know.”

  “Yeah. Location, location, location.”

  “Exactly. Well, I’m all done here. Should be on the market in a few days. Crown Royalty Group, if you’re interested.”

  “Thanks. I’ll keep it in mind.”

  The man drove off. I thought about all the times I’d been in Water Loo’s with the gang. Now the place was erased as if it never existed. A few minutes later, a huge, lemon-yellow Hummer pulled up. A tinted window zipped down, revealing the frizzy-haired head of Ferrol Finkerman.

  “Geeze, woman. Get in my vehicle. It’s too hot to sit outside.”

  I got out, walked to the passenger side of the hummer and pulled open the door. Inside, Finkerman had a laptop desk set up in the console between two swiveling seats as big as living-room lounge chairs.

  “Geeze. This thing is bigger than my old apartment.”

  “Lap of luxury is the way I roll, Ms. Fremden. Here’s the agreement.”

  Finkerman handed me a stack of papers.

  “This looks pretty complicated.”

  “It’s all routine stuff. Standard contract. Here. Use my lucky pen. You have your checkbook?”

  I took the pen. It was lemon-yellow like his Hummer, with a round smiley-face head on top. I thought about jamming it in his eye, but settled on a sweeter kind of revenge.

  “I didn’t bring the checkbook. I have something better. Listen.”

  I hit play on the recorder. Finkerman’s smugness disappeared like July snow as he listened to loopy Loo slur out his confession under the influence of Jack Daniels. Suddenly, he smiled and reached out a hand for me to shake.

  “Well played, Ms. Fremden. I’m back on track with Loo and his million. My client will be pleased.”

  “So I’m off the hook?”

  “Not exactly. As I recall, you still had possession of the finger.”

  “Not if it turns out to be someone else’s finger instead of Mickie’s.”

  “True. But you and I both know it most likely belongs to him.”

  I grabbed the recorder and stuck it in my bra.

  “If you don’t let me off, Finkerman, you don’t get the tape.”

  “Don’t need it. I’ve got my own copy, now.”

  Finkerman patted his pocket. I picked up the yellow pen. A gold Cadillac pulled up in the lot, saving me from assault charges. I stared and pointed out the windshield.

  “There’s your real money, Finkerman.”

  We watched from the tinted windows as Loo got out, walked over to the spot where Water Loo’s front door used to be, and took a piss. Latrina climbed out and recorded it on her phone.

  “Look at them. Disgraceful,” Finkerman said.

  “They’re disgraceful?”

  “Look, someone has to do my job. I’m just looking out for the little guy.”

  “How little is it?”

  I patted my groin. Finkerman stared at me blankly for a second, then laughed out loud.

  “You’re clever. I like you. Tell me why I should drop this nuisance case against you. I’m in a good mood. I might just listen.”

  “What if I told you that those two people over there are Water Loo’s owners Loo and Latrina stopping to take souvenir photos?”

  “What?”

  “They cashed in their insurance settlement. Got the money in a duffle bag in their car. They’re heading to Mexico.”

  Loo and Latrina got back in the gold Cadillac and pulled out onto Gulf Boulevard.

  “What? Are you serious? We can’t let them get away!”

  Finkerman shifted the Hummer into drive and took off after the Cadillac.

  “What are you doing?” I yelled at him.

  “I don’t know. I’ll think of something.”

  “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.<
br />
  “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.