Three Dumb: Wheelin' & Dealin' (A Val & Pals Humorous Mystery Book 3)

by Margaret Lashley

  I thought back on the last time Laverne dressed me. I’d had to free myself from the stranglehold of the red-sequined dress with a pair of scissors. “Oh. Thanks, Laverne, but Milly already volunteered.”

  “Oh.” Laverne’s shoulders slumped. “Well, I guess I should be going.”

  “All right.”

  Laverne dawdled hesitantly, then headed for the door. “I’ll see you around.”

  I hadn’t planned on getting Laverne involved in the stakeout to find Cold Cuts. But she’d been a big help last time. And she looked like she could use the company.

  “Wait. Laverne, would you like to come over tonight? I’m having a meeting…uh…a little get together about –”

  Laverne perked up like a puppy on Paxil. “Really? That’d be great! Can I do anything to help? Should I bring something?”

  “No. Don’t bother. It’s not necessary.”

  “I tell you what, Val. I’ll make us a banana cream pie.”

  “Great.” Just so long as Mr. Happy doesn’t end up in it.

  ***

  It was nearly 6 p.m. and the stakeout team was assembled in my living room. As I looked around at the goofy, eager faces of Laverne, Jorge, Goober, Winky and Winnie, I suddenly got the feeling I should have been dressed in white – and dispensing pills in little paper cups. Milly stood by my side. She punched me on the arm.

  “So, are you ready to get started?”

  “Uh…yes. Thanks for coming everybody. As you all know, Tom sold my RV to Lefty’s Scrapyard…and that Glad’s ashes were in the RV.”

  Heads nodded around the room like bobble-head cartoon figures.

  “Well, before I could get to Lefty’s to recover the RV, a woman bought it. Two days ago, I think I spotted her driving it at Publix.”

  “Oooo, Publix,” heckled Winky. “Too fancy for Winn Dixie?”

  I scowled. “Anyway, I think it was her. I had a conversation with her over coffee –”

  “Oooo, cof –”

  I shot Winky a dirty look. He stopped mid-word. Winnie shoved a peanut-butter cookie in his open mouth, then looked at me apologetically through her thick, red-framed glasses.

  “The thing is, I talked with this woman before I knew she was the one who had bought the RV. Her name is…well, her nickname is Cold Cuts. And she makes a habit of uh…interacting…with bad conversations.”

  “Interacting?” Goober asked. He ran a thumb and index finger over his bushy moustache. “What do you mean, interacting?”

  Milly jumped in before I could answer. “She tells awful guys who are harassing women to get lost.”

  “Oh,” Goober nodded his peanut-shaped head. “Why didn’t you just say so in the first place?”

  “Sounds like a public service to me,” Laverne said. Winnie nodded in agreement.

  “Well, yes. So, that’s where you guys come in.”

  “What do you mean?” Jorge asked.

  I tried to tread lightly. “You guys are going to pretend to be men harassing women.”

  Milly interjected again. “And by women, Val means us.” She pointed a thumb at herself, then at me.

  “Wait a minute,” I balked.

  “You didn’t think I was doing this alone, did you Val?” Milly mocked with feigned innocence. “Oh no, dear. You get to play, too.”

  Everyone eyed me expectantly as I tried in vain to find a way out of the corner Milly’s backed me into. Well played, Millicent. “Why of course not. We’ll all do it together.”

  “A double date,” Milly purred. “We’ll lure Cold Cuts with twice the bait.”

  Goober raised his hand as if he were in school. “Wait a minute,” he said. “We’ve gotta go out with you two? What do we get in return?”

  “A free meal,” I said dryly.

  Goober’s suspicious expression dissolved into mild approval. “Oh. Okay. Works for me.”

  “Me, too,” Jorge agreed.

  Winky raised his hand. I began to feel I was teaching a special needs class. “Yes?”

  “Does that include doggy bags?” Winky asked.

  “Uh…yeah, sure.”

  “Okay, I’m in.”

  “Then it’s settled,” I said. “All we need now is a place to set up the stakeout. Publix’s coffee shop is an option, but it could have been a one-time fluke. Any ideas?”

  “Oh, that’s easy,” Milly said. “Garvey’s.”

  “Garvey’s?”

  “Sure. It’s the tri-county mecca for bad dates. It’s common knowledge among on-line daters. If a guy asks you to Garvey’s, you can pretty much count on him being a douche.”

  “How do you know this?” I asked.

  Milly eyed me jadedly. “You really gonna go there?”

  I looked around at the ring of bobble heads and sighed.

  “Okay, then. Garvey’s it is.”

  Chapter Ten

  As usual, Laverne was the last to leave the party. She wobbled around in her gold heels and gathered up empty beer bottles while I wiped down the kitchen counter. Overall, the stakeout meeting had gone to plan. Everyone had been assigned their roles. We were to meet at 6:30 p.m. at Garvey’s tomorrow night, dressed and ready for our fake dates. We were also, by Laverne’s decree, to keep our fingers crossed that Cold Cuts showed. The Vegas veteran admitted it wasn’t statistically helpful, but it never hurt anything, either.

  Laverne added two empty beer bottles to the impressive collection at the end of the counter. “What about me?” she asked.

  “What do you mean?”

  “What do I do? For the stakeout?”

  “I told you. You’re on emergency call. In case we need backup.”

  Laverne frowned. “That’s not much of a role. I know a bit part when I see one.”

  “Would you rather go out with Winky?”

  Laverne grimaced, then laughed. “No, I guess not. But sitting at home waiting for the phone to ring is a bad habit I broke a long time ago, honey. I don’t want to get that lonesome Bugaboo stirred up again.”

  “Bugaboo?”

  “Oh. Pet name someone used to call me. Whenever he bothered to call.”

  “Hey, I know, Laverne. You can help me with logistics.”

  “Huh?”

  “We need to do some reconnaissance work.”

  Laverne cocked her horsey head. I dumbed it down for her.

  “You can help me check out Garvey’s tomorrow.”

  “Oh!”

  “So we’d better get rested up. A good night’s sleep, you know?”

  “Yes. Sure!” Laverne smiled at me brightly.

  “In our beds.”

  She nodded eagerly. “Uh huh.”

  “Soon.” I yawned like a lazy lion.

  I was about to go grab Laverne’s purse and hand it to her when she beat me to it. She picked up her pocketbook and headed for the door.

  “Okay, Val. See you in the morning. What time…6 a.m.?”

  “Uh…I don’t think they open until 11:30.”

  “See you at 11, then.” Laverne scooted happily through the door, then turned and waved goodbye. “This is gonna be so much fun!”

  Fun? For the moment, I’d settle for non-catastrophic.

  ***

  With Winky scratching at my backdoor and Laverne’s imminent arrival at 11, my casual Sunday morning was shot to hell. I should have had a cappuccino in my hand and Tom in my bed. Instead, I had a pair of rubber gloves on my hands and a bathroom so revolting it made me wish I owned a hazmat suit. I tied my hair back, grabbed my bottle of Ty D Bol and set my resolve to ‘annihilate.’ This was not the life I’d signed up for. Something needed to give, and it needed to give ASAP.

  Tom had called around four o’clock yesterday. He’d told me his buddy at the DMV was on vacation, so there’d been no chance to run the license plate search yet. Oddly, Tom hadn’t mentioned coming over last night, so I hadn’t had to lie about what I’d been up to. He had, however, asked about dinner tonight. I’d told Tom I needed to color my hair, and opted for lun
ch tomorrow instead. When he’d agreed without a fuss, my radar went up. Was he giving me space – or had he just given up on me ever taking him seriously?

  Just as I finished showering and dressing the doorbell rang. Laverne was right on time. I opened the door to find the six-foot tall, skinny old broad dressed in a skin-tight black body suit. She held a ski mask in her hand.

  “What are you wearing?” I asked.

  “Well, you said we were spying, right? I googled ‘reconnaissance’ when I got home last night.”

  WTF? “Yes. Sure. But…it’s in the daytime, Laverne.”

  “Oh.” Laverne scratched her empty head.

  “Wait here,” I said.

  I riffled through my bedroom closet and grabbed a jean skirt.

  “Just put this on over your tights. And lose the ski mask.”

  “You’re a good spy, Val. Always ready to improvise. Like MacGyver.”

  “Yeah. Just give me a roll of duct tape and I can save the world.”

  ***

  Garvey’s turned out to be one of those places people picked mainly because the parking lot was in the back of the building, away from prying eyes. I squeezed Maggie into a tight space next to the alley dumpster. I shoved the gear into park and looked over at Laverne. She winked at me and my wavering convictions about the whole stakeout idea took a nosedive off a short pier.

  “Maybe this isn’t such a good idea,” I mumbled.

  “Nonsense!” Laverne shoved me on the arm, then pried her black grasshopper legs out of the car. She stood up and beckoned me with a wave of her hand. “Come on, Val. Let’s go!”

  I followed Laverne’s thin, black silhouette through the scruffy parking lot to the front door of Garvey’s. The glass doors were painted black on the inside – in an attempt to add to the dining mystique, I supposed. Inside the decrepit foyer was furnished with a dusty-caked fake Ficus tree and a couple of paintings I wouldn’t pay a dollar for at a garage sale. Behind a hostess podium stood a crusty old woman with a swirl of bright-orange hair impressive enough to make Bozo kick a kid in a fit of jealous rage.

  “Welcome to Garvey’s, where we don’t ask no questions. Cash only.”

  How quaint. I did a mental rundown of my wallet. I had two twenties and a five. “Okay.”

  The clown-haired lady led us to one of a dozen or so black vinyl booths that lined the dark paneled walls. The place reminded me of Water Loo’s – minus the vagrants, sticky brown splotches and dead roaches in the corners.

  “Here you go.” She set two menus on the table. As we scooted into the booth, she spoke with the deadpan of a washed-up comedienne. “Our special of the day is….ha ha ha! What am I saying? We don’t have no special.”

  The woman laughed at her own joke. It wasn’t funny to me, but it seemed to tickle Laverne’s fancy. She giggled as the woman walked away.

  “She reminds me of one of those old Vaudeville acts. Those were the days!”

  “Yeah. Looks like this place has seen better days itself.”

  I turned my nose up at the fake red rose in the cheap glass vase next to the salt and pepper. Laverne pulled a pair of leopard-print bifocals out of her purse and ogled the menu. We were the only customers in the place, except for a pair of spritely dressed octogenarians. They were drinking dark-colored liquor out of short glasses and laughing like newlyweds. I secretly wondered if they were having an affair….

  “Know what you’re having?” Laverne asked.

  I took a look at the menu. In a desperate, fruitless stab at sophistication, Garvey’s offered a list of ‘fine wines,’ each of which I’d seen for under five bucks a gallon at Publix. Any polish this place might have once had was scuffed off in the 1970s. To top it off, Garvey’s specialized in fondue. I hadn’t eaten fondue since kitchen appliances came in avocado and harvest gold.

  “You up for the cheese fondue?” I asked Laverne.

  “Sure! You know, I’ve got a fondue set at home. The little handles are made out of –”

  “Let me guess. Dice?”

  “Val, you’re not just MacGyver. You’re like that famous mind reader, too. What was his name?”

  “I don’t know.”

  ***

  Well, at least I knew that a stakeout at Garvey’s wouldn’t cause much suspicion. I had the feeling I could have walked in with a gorilla and old Orange Whip wouldn’t have batted an eyelash. The best thing about Garvey’s, besides leaving, was the fact that it was right across the street from Chocolateers. After paying the bill and feeling the acid already rising in my throat, I had the notion that some chocolate-covered cherries might be just the ticket to nip my indigestion in the bud. I looked across at Chocolateers and smiled.

  I was about to mention the idea to Laverne when my smile switched into a cringe. I hadn’t been back to Jack’s chocolate shop since our last stakeout – when I’d throttled his Easter bunny to death in the display window. I sighed and decided to save Chocolateers for another time.

  “Have you got your outfit picked out for tomorrow?” Laverne asked.

  “What do you mean?”

  “For your first day on the job, sugar.”

  “Oh.” I’d forgotten all about it. Again. “No.”

  The thought gave me a second reason to have heartburn.

  “Well, look over there!” Laverne grinned and pointed. “There’s a used clothing store. Let’s stop inside.”

  Her suggestion made the reasons three.

  ***

  It was after just after 2 p.m. when I returned from Garvey’s with a ninja granny, a gurgling stomach, and two sacksful of used women’s apparel. As I pulled up the driveway, we were greeted by two old ‘friends’ of questionable intent. Winky was one. The other was that hideous, lump of a sofa and its shit-brown cushions. The upholstered hulk leered at me from the side of the curb like a drunken deviant.

  “Hey there, Val Pal! Look who showed up fresh out a the hoosegow.”

  “What’s going on, Winky?”

  “Cops just dropped it off. Said they didn’t need it no more, now that the case was closed.”

  “What case?” Laverne asked.

  “The one that involved me being charged with human dismemberment, remember?”

  “Huh?”

  “The finger? When I found that finger in the couch? The cops hauled it away as evidence.”

  “Oh. Sure. That’s right, honey.”

  Laverne and I climbed out of the car. Winky handed me a piece of paper.

  “It come with this here.”

  The note read: “Many happy returns. Lieutenant Hans Jergen.”

  “What ‘cha gonna do with it?” Winky asked.

  I knew what I wanted to do with the note. The couch, on the other hand, I wasn’t quite sure.

  “Well, honey, I’m heading out of this heat,” Laverne said. “I’m about to sweat through my leotards! Here’s your skirt back.”

  Before I could object, Laverne shimmied out of the skirt and handed it to me.

  “Uh…thanks, Laverne. For your help today.”

  “Loved every minute of it, sugar! Good luck tonight…and tomorrow!”

  I watched Laverne slip off to her house like a geriatric cat burglar. I turned around to see Winky stretched out on the lumpy old sofa.

  “What are you doing, Winky?”

  “Just givin’ her a test drive.” He hauled his chubby butt to standing. “Here. Lemme give ya a hand with it.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “To haul it into the house.”

  Bile rose in my throat. “I don’t want it!”

  “Well, Val, for all intensive purposes, yore stuck with it.”

  “Intents and purposes.”

  Winky stared at me blankly. “Yeah? So, what are your intents?”

  “I dunno. Wait. Let’s throw the piece of crap on the fire pit out back. Have a couch bonfire.”

  Winky grabbed his chin and gave the couch an intense once-over. “As gaul-dang fun as that sounds, Val, I got me a better i
dea. When Winnie gets here, let’s load this bad boy into the Dodge. It’s gotta sleep better than that blasted old air mattress.”

  Chapter Eleven

  What was wrong with my life? The things I wanted to get rid of kept coming back. The things I wanted to hold onto kept slipping away. I pondered this and the meaning of life as I dressed in someone else’s cast-off clothes for a fake date with a derelict Hispanic man who hadn’t been sober since the invention of cellphones. Oh joy.

  On my reconnaissance mission with Laverne, I’d discovered that trying to park Maggie in Garvey’s narrow spots was a bitch – even when the lot was empty. Therefore, I opted to ride with Winky and Winnie in the van. Their role in tonight’s stakeout was to stay outside on “parking lot patrol” in case the RV showed up. Goober and Jorge were to be Milly’s and my dates. They’d told Winky they’d get there “by other means of transportation.” We waited in the van for them to show up.

  “So what’s this woman look like?” Winnie asked. She turned around in the driver’s seat and peered at me through her red-frame glasses. The thick lenses magnified a pair of dark eyes that darted between narrow slits above her puffy, pink cheeks. “You never said.”

  “Yeah,” Winky chimed in. “Who should we be on the lookout for, supposin’ she don’t drive up here in the RV.”

  “Well…,” I fumbled. “She…she could be blonde. Or she could have a rainbow-colored Mohawk. Tattoos…or maybe….”

  “That’s quite a range,” Winky taunted.

  “Sorry. She dresses up. In disguises.”

  “That’s cool,” Winnie said. She fussed with her black bob hairdo in the rearview mirror. “I’d like to –”

  A city bus pulled up and hissed. We all turned to the right in the direction of the noise. The bus doors flew open. Two vagrants tumbled out.

  “There they are now,” Winky said. He yelled out the van window, “Hey fellers! Over here!”

  Goober saluted. Jorge tripped and fell face-down on the asphalt.

  Lovely. We’re off to a great start.

  ***

  It was Sunday night and Garvey’s was packed to the brim with losers. We fit right in. The lady whose orange-swirl hairdo defied gravity and description didn’t bat an eye of recognition at me, even though barely five hours had passed since I’d been here with Laverne. Perhaps for her, discretion was the better part of valor – or Valium? She grabbed a handful of menus from a stack on the reception desk and escorted us through the land of misfit boys to the only open booth on the poop deck.