Glad One: Starting Over is a %$#@&! (Val & Pals Book 2)

by Margaret Lashley

  “Next time, why don’t you just ask some questions? Let the girl do some talking.”

  “Next time? Does that mean you want to go out again?”

  “I guess I should have said, ‘With the next girl.’”

  “Got it. Thanks for being straight up with me, Valiant Stranger. I guess from now on, you’ll just be stranger.”

  I smiled and hugged Darren. “No. I think you’ll be stranger.”

  We laughed together for a moment, thawing the awkward chill a bit. We said goodbye and I walked alone down Central to Beach Drive. I took a left and watched the lights twinkle in the oak trees as I passed Vinoy Park. I sighed as I shuffled my sad ass back to my little hovel of a life in my little hovel of an apartment above somebody’s garage.

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  I woke up determined to quit sulking and get out more. I decided to start with a trip to Sunset Beach. It was the perfect July day. The early morning sun had started out nice and toasty on my beach stroll. By 8 a.m., however, it was hot enough to melt wax. When I got home an hour later, the heat had approached nuclear meltdown. I needed a cool shower and an even cooler drink. I thought about my meeting with Tom at ten. Hooker Tea my ass. Fuck you, Tom! I cracked the tab on a tallboy Fosters and headed for the bathroom.

  I set my superhero dial to self-destruct mode. In keeping with the theme, I decided to wear the same dress that sank last night’s love boat. I hadn’t eaten breakfast, and the pint of Fosters in my empty stomach was making the world all glassy and far away and untouchable. I left the coolness of my apartment and picked my way carefully down the sidewalk on Beach Drive. Hooker Tea was just a few blocks past the oak hammocks of Vinoy Park. It was blazing hot. So hot! Maybe I could stop and take a nap on a bench under the trees. Then I remembered about those damn new armrests and got angry.

  “Nobody cares about the downtrodden,” I said out loud to no one in particular. That was when I knew I was in real trouble. I was drunk off my ass. I turned my butt around, took two steps toward home and ran right into Tom’s hard chest.

  “Hey! You alright?” he asked.

  “Yeah, suurre,” I said, slurring my words a little.

  “How was your date?” His damn cop voice sounded like an interrogation.

  I thought about coming clean for a second, but a painful streak of humiliated pride wouldn’t let me admit defeat. Besides, I was a really bad liar. Especially when I was drunk. I decided the best strategy was to keep my answers short and simple.

  “Fine.”

  Tom took me by the arm and we walked to Hooker Tea. I was desperate for a coffee, but they didn’t serve it. Just tea. I settled for a chai tea and leaned against a wall while Tom ordered and paid. Then I followed him like a sad puppy to the table he’d picked out in the corner by a window.

  “Have you talked to Jacob?” he asked, handing me my tea.

  I stuck with my plan. “No.”

  “I tried to reach Jacob but his phone number’s been disconnected.”

  I studied Tom. Why did he have to be so handsome? Why? “Why?”

  “I just wanted to see if it was still working, actually. In case I needed to reach him.”

  “Oh.”

  “Just so you know, Thelma Goldrich was granted access to the house. This whole will thing might get sticky before it’s all over. I want to gather up any information you have on Jacob Timms and Bulldog Goldrich while it’s still clear in your mind.”

  Clear in my mind. That’s a hoot! “Okay.”

  “Are you trying to use up all your little words today?” Tom asked. He looked kind of pissed.

  “No.”

  “Then what’s up?”

  “Nothing!”

  “In other words, everything.”

  “Right. Mr. Cop know-it-all. You know everything.”

  “Are you…have you been drinking, Val?”

  “No!”

  Tom studied me with his sea-green eyes. I didn’t want him to add hopeless drunkard to my already impressive list of crazy-ass-loser-woman attributes. I tried hard to focus. Concentrating made something click in my head. “Wait a minute. You said Jacob Timms.”

  “Yes.”

  “How did you find out his last name?”

  “Like you said. I’m a cop. I know everything,” Tom said sarcastically.

  I looked down at my cup. “I’m sorry.”

  “I’m sorry, too, Val.”

  I looked back up at Tom and we exchanged sad smiles.

  “You know how I found out?” Tom spoke like it was a confession. “Jorge. He got a meter maid to tell him. She’d given Jacob a ticket for parking illegally. He’d been a real jerk about it and she’d remembered his name. Anyway, I ran his priors. If Jacob Timms did kill Bobby Munch, he got away with it. Not even so much as an assault charge was filed. He’s clean.”

  The caffeine in the tea was doing its job. Everything was coming back into focus. “I’ve been thinking about it, Tom. That night I met Jacob at the park, then saw Bulldog Woman on my way home…she must have been waiting for Jacob.”

  “Most likely.”

  “But why would Jacob tell me all that horrific stuff about Glad? Why would he tell me about yanking Bobby’s teeth out? Was he setting me up for something?”

  “More than likely he was trying to gain your trust. Classic criminal tactic. I tell you something in confidence, you tell me something. I’m sure he wanted you to tell him what you knew about Glad and Tony’s daughter. If you had any hard evidence of her existence. In other words, he was fishing around to see if there was anyone else in the running for Tony’s inheritance.”

  “Yeah. That makes sense. And they got away with it. They took the letter from Tony and the picture of Glad with the baby. That was the only evidence that Glad and Tony had a child together…until Winky found the actual birth certificate.” I snorted out a sad laugh. “I was such a sucker. I actually started to trust Jacob. Then he creeped me out with that story about Bobby, among other things.”

  Tom straightened up in his chair. “What other things, Val?”

  “Oh, I don’t know. Nothing, probably.”

  “Any detail could be important.”

  “Well, he asked how my lunch date with you had gone. At Ming Ming’s, remember?”

  “Yeah. Shitty day, as I recall.” Tom grinned.

  I smiled back at him sourly. “I’m being serious. Thing is, I don’t remember telling him about having lunch with you.”

  “That’s interesting,” Tom said.

  “Also, Jacob said he’d been pretty close friends with both Tony and Glad. But he didn’t know Glad was dead. If they really had been so close, wouldn’t Tony have called him and told him his wife died? Anyway, Jacob could have been lying about all of it. I only wonder if maybe he was the reason Tony and Glad had kept a low profile. Jacob said Bobby had abused Glad. But Jacob knew where Glad was for six years before he told Tony. Instead of rescuing her, could he have taken his own turn treating her just as badly?”

  “Wow. That’s dark. And highly possible. Anything else?”

  “Yes. Jacob told me about Bulldog’s sham marriage to Tony. That she got a BMW and lifetime alimony out of the deal. How would he know that?”

  “That’s good, Val. In case we need to prove conspiracy to defraud. Or build a case for a restraining order.”

  “A restraining order?”

  “Yes. We’ve got to keep you safe, Val.”

  “From what?”

  “You’ve already seen what these two will do for money. They don’t seem to have any qualms about squashing anyone who stands in their way, friend or foe. Right now, you and your theory about loony-bin Thelma are standing in their way.”

  I gulped down a knot of rising fear. “What can I do about it?”

  “I suggest house arrest until the DNA results come back.”

  “House arrest?”

  “Stay home. Lock your doors. I’ll put Jorge back on your street. He did a good job last time. If you need someone quick,
he’ll be a minute away. It’d be good for you, and for him. Help him rebuild his confidence.”

  “So I can be Jorge’s target practice.”

  “Something like that.”

  “You sure know how to make a girl feel special.”

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  The next week under house arrest dragged on endlessly like a washed-up old tranny. I couldn’t afford cable, so I never bothered to buy a TV. On day five I’d watched every show known to Netflix and played 10,000 games of solitaire on my computer. On day six I even got desperate enough to start writing a first draft of Double Booty, just in case. Thankfully, Bulldog Woman and her tooth-pulling sidekick hadn’t come banging at my door again. Sadly, neither had Tom.

  I was down to naming the tiny red ants crawling in a line up my kitchen wall and wearing a facemask I’d concocted from a half-rotten avocado when the phone rang. It was Tom. My heart skipped a beat.

  “Val?”

  “Yes. Hi, Tom.”

  “It’s a match.”

  “What is?”

  “I just got off the phone with my friend at the lab. It’s a match. We’ve found her, Val! Looney-bin Thelma is Glad’s missing daughter!”

  My knees buckled. “That’s great!”

  “Yeah. It really is. You know, I couldn’t believe it. I really thought all of this was going to turn out to be a wild goose chase.”

  “Thanks for the vote of confidence.”

  “Don’t be a sore winner, Val. Anyway, that’s the good news. The bad news is we don’t have much time left to deliver the evidence. I called Mr. Fellows to let him know about the match. He told me he’s postponed the distribution of the will as long as he can. Bulldog Goldrich has her attorneys breathing down his neck. They’re busting his chops, saying there’s no reason to wait. They know about the old DNA test. They’re arguing that the woman in Chattahoochee isn’t related to Tony. Fellows did what he could, but with no evidence he had to agree with the other attorneys on a date for distribution. It’s official, Val. At 5 p.m. tomorrow, the estate goes to Bulldog Woman.”

  “That’s horrible!”

  “We’re not totally sunk yet. Unless, that is, we don’t get the DNA proof to Fellows on time. Fellows says irrefutable proof would trump any other claims Bulldog Woman might have. He told me that originals of the new DNA results and that birth certificate Winky found should be all he needs to get that money-hungry she-wolf out of the loop for good.”

  “That’s wonderful!”

  “Yes, but like I said, the clock’s ticking. I don’t want to leave this to chance. I’m going to make a quick run up to the lab in Tallahassee, then over to the state hospital to tell Thelma in person. I thought you might want to come along.”

  “I…uh…when?”

  “Right now. I’m on my way over. We can be back late tonight, if we get a move on.”

  “Uh…okay.”

  “I’ll be by in 10 minutes to pick you up.”

  I clicked off the phone and made a mad scramble to the bathroom. A slimy green corpse stared back at me from the mirror. I scrubbed the avocado mask from my face and pinned back my scraggly wet hair. I dove into a denim sundress and was trying to slap on some blush when the clock ran out. Tom texted me. He was waiting downstairs in the 4Runner.

  I flung on some sandals, grabbed my purse and sunglasses, and dashed out the door.

  ***

  Bittersweet relief washed over me as I flew down the rickety steps of my apartment. We’d found Glad’s girl! I tried to read Tom’s face as I climbed in the 4Runner, but it was undecipherable. I stole a glance in the backseat. Empty. No Winky. This time Tom and I were on our own. Part of me was thrilled. The other part was scared shitless. I sat close to the passenger door and held onto the armrest. Tom seemed all business, and the gulf between us seemed a mile wide. We traveled in awkward silence for about ten minutes. When Tom pulled onto I-275, he finally spoke.

  “So tell me, how does it feel to have solved your first case, Detective Fremden?”

  I breathed a sigh of relief. That was good old joking Tom’s voice. “It feels great. Not so much for me, but for Glad.”

  I thought the ice was broken, but it was only cracked. The silence returned and filled the 4Runner like a million Styrofoam peanuts. I stared at the sparkling blue water of Tampa Bay as we crossed the Howard Frankland Bridge. I wracked my brain for something to say, but for once in my life, I was completely at a loss for words. Tom came to the rescue, again.

  “Off in Lady Lala Land?”

  I shrugged. “I guess.”

  “Seriously, Val. What are you thinking? Are you nervous?”

  His question caused me to unexpectedly bristle. “Nervous? About what?”

  “About seeing loony-bin Thelma again.”

  “Oh. Until you mentioned it, I hadn’t thought that far ahead.”

  “Sorry. My bad. If we have a drink, you’re not going to drug me, are you?”

  I smirked. “We’ll see.”

  Tom laughed, then turned soft and serious. “Why so quiet?”

  Because it’s torture to sit here, knowing you don’t want me. Knowing that you think I’m a lunatic. A drunkard. A hooker! A drug pusher! “I dunno. Just don’t know what to say.”

  “Fair enough. How about telling me about your time in Germany.”

  I watched the big green sign for Bearss Avenue flit by, the last exit for Tampa. Nothing but two hours of boring highway ahead. “What do you want to know?”

  Tom reached in a little cooler by his feet. He handed me a can of Dr. Pepper. “How about starting with why you went.”

  “Thanks,” I said. I took the soda and cracked it open. “Honestly, I guess I just wanted to see if I was in the wrong country. The US, I mean. For some reason, I’ve always felt like I didn’t belong. That’s why I went to Europe.”

  “Didn’t belong?”

  I shot him a knowing glance. “You’ve met my mom.”

  “Oh. Yeah. But what about later, when you made your big escape from Two Egg?”

  I looked over at Tom and a ping of sadness flitted across my heart. He was wearing a white button-down shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, and the same jeans I’d picked French fries from just a century-long few weeks ago. My heart began to ache. “You really do remember everything people say.”

  “The interesting things, yes.”

  “You thought Two Egg was interesting?”

  Tom looked over and cocked his head. “Sure. Why wouldn’t it be?”

  “I dunno. You’ve seen so much of my life…my crazy, screwed-up life. Why would that be interesting to you?”

  Tom laughed, making crinkles next to his sea-green eyes. “The crazy parts are the best parts of life, Val. Don’t you know that by now?”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “I’m talking about our imperfections. Our quirks. They’re what make us real. They make us who we are. They’re like…the best part of us, Val. Without them, we’d be like…like generic zombies. Everybody the same.”

  Something loosened inside me and let me breathe for the first time since I got in Tom’s car. “Oh,” I said, and blew out a sarcastic laugh. “When you look at it that way, I must be the Queen of Quirkiness.”

  Tom laughed. “The secret to quirks is to own them, Val. Don’t fight them. Celebrate them! If you don’t, it’s kind of like…disowning part of yourself. And you know what they say about a house divided….”

  “It cannot stand. I get it, Tom. But I can’t stand…I mean, I can’t stand myself, sometimes.”

  “Oh. That’s normal. That’s when you need a friend to lean on.”

  I looked over at Tom. He was grinning at me from ear to ear. There was nothing I could do to keep myself from grinning back.

  “Are you my friend, Tom?”

  “Of course!”

  I sat back and grinned some more. “Nice to know.”

  ***

  We made good time, stopping to refuel in Lake City and grabbin
g a quick bite at the Krystal Burger drive-thru. I was too embarrassed to order fries. By the time I got over my indigestion, we were driving by the capitol building in downtown Tallahassee. The odd, red-and-white striped awnings on the façade always made me think of the place as a peppermint-candy whorehouse.

  Tom made a few more turns and maneuvered the 4Runner into the parking lot of Phelps Labs, a shiny glass building that looked like a three-story block of blue-grey mirrors. He cut the ignition and looked over at me. “Here we go.”

  We entered the lobby and Tom asked to see his buddy, Darryl Gonzales Foreman. The receptionist punched some numbers in a switchboard and motioned for us to take a seat. “Is your buddy a relative?” I asked Tom.

  Before he could answer a woman appeared from behind a glass door. She was a knockout. A stunning Latina in a lab coat, she could have made J-Lo scratch her own eyes out in envy.

  “Hello, Tom!” she said, raising her arms to embrace him.

  “Hello, Darryl.”

  The two exchanged hugs and kisses on the cheek. Then the woman turned and looked at me. “You must be the budding detective Tom told me about.”

  I felt like a total shlub. I shook her hand and bemoaned my sorry state. No makeup. Greasy hair in a ponytail. I couldn’t have felt any frumpier if I’d been wearing curlers and a ratty bathrobe. “Yes, I’m Val Fremden. Nice to meet you.”

  “Nice to meet you, too. I’m Darryl, Tom’s ex-wife.”

  ***

  I tried not to collapse from the surprise punch to my gut. I bit my tongue, raised my chin an inch and slapped on my best fake smile. “Well, then, Tom’s ex. Should we get down to business?”

  Darryl led us to a small conference room. She closed the door behind her, then opened a green file. She showed us some papers with dots and charts, but all I could see were disillusion-filled stars. I half-listened as she droned on with her perfect, beautiful, pouty mouth.

  “Tests confirm the mitochondrial DNA from the woman’s hair and the…”

  This should be a great moment for me. Why do I feel like sh….

  “…man’s toenail clippings prove patriarchal bonds. The McGoldrick-Gesson test…”