Val Fremden Mystery Box Set 1

by Margaret Lashley

  Jacob laughed bitterly and looked out toward the harbor again. He turned back to face me with a sadistic grin that made my spine squirm.

  “Just for fun, I left Bobby’s two front teeth alone,” he said coolly. “When we untied him and drove off, he looked like a bloody, bucktoothed water rat. He tried to cuss us, but he couldn’t say squat with that mangled mouth. We might not a got any information out of Bobby Munch, but we sure as hell got our revenge.”

  “What happened to Bobby after that?” I asked, trying not to sound horrified.

  Jacob’s smile evaporated. “What do I care? At that point, he was worthless to me. I didn’t have any more reason to see his worthless face again.”

  “Did you tell Glad what you did?”

  Jacob shook his head almost violently. “No! I figured there was no use opening up old wounds. Glad was in pretty good shape by then. A little skittish, but well enough. For years she’d begged me not to tell Tony that I’d found her. She’d needed all that time to recover, you see? But a week or two before Bobby got out, she’d asked to see Tony for the first time. I didn’t want to set her back and mess that up.”

  “I get it. But tell me Jacob, if things were so bad with Bobby, why didn’t Glad just leave him?”

  “If you’d seen her, you wouldn’t be asking. I’m sure she figured no one would have her. Bobby made darn sure she was no looker no more.”

  I gazed across the street at a small sailboat as it bobbed in the harbor. Its long, thin mast pointed up to a pale blue sky already fading to pink at the edges. Jacob’s story had drained me of something vital. It was getting late and I still had to pack for the trip tomorrow. In the hot, humid twilight, the white lights strung in the oak canopies glistened eerily, like Christmas Eve in hell.

  “I’ve got to go, Jacob.”

  “Sure. Just one more thing. You said you found papers. Was one Glad’s birth certificate? Or her daughter’s?”

  “Uh...no. Just a marriage certificate.”

  Jacob’s shoulders straightened. “So you still don’t have any proof her daughter existed. Except for what I told you and that letter from Tony to Glad.”

  “Right.”

  Something in Jacob’s eyes changed that made me even more uncomfortable. I stood up to go.

  “I’ll touch base again next week,” I said and took a step toward home.

  Jacob reached out and grabbed my arm. My skin crawled to the top of my head. I wanted to scream, but held my breath. Jacob stared intently in my eyes and said, “Just wanted to shake your hand goodbye.”

  I blew out a breath of relief.

  You’ve watched too many scary movies, you silly twit!

  I tried to convince myself nothing creepy was going on. Still, Jacob’s capacity to hurt someone had chilled me to the bone. Now, contact with his hand was sending ice cubes up my spine.

  “Goodbye, Jacob.”

  I let go of the old man’s hand and walked quickly through the park, my relief expanding along with the growing distance between us. Jumpy, I fought the urge to look back as I waited for the light to change at the corner of Beach Drive and Fifth Avenue. Like a kid who just heard a story about a hook-handed murderer on the loose, I scurried my way north on Beach as if I was being chased by the wind.

  Just a block from my apartment, I passed a row of cars parked across the road. In the fading light of dusk, I made out the form of a person sitting in the driver’s seat of one of the cars. The plump figure turned its face away from me as I walked by, and I thought I saw a row of white, sausage-like links trailing down its back.

  I TOLD MY BODY TO KEEP walking like nothing happened. It probably wasn’t her. But my body wasn’t listening. My right knee buckled. I nearly fell, face-first on the sidewalk.

  I recovered in time to save my healing nose from certain annihilation, but it cost me a turned ankle. My heart thumped like a drum in my ears. I limped as fast as I could the rest of the way to my apartment. My thoughts whooshed by blankly, like a speeding car down a pitch-black stretch of country road.

  What is the world is going on here?

  My aching ankle made climbing the stairs arduous and painful. Getting the key in the lock was even harder. My hands shook so badly I dropped the rattling bundle three times. Finally, I took a deep breath to steady myself.

  With the focused intensity of a well-hammered drunk, I managed to get the right key in the hole and hobbled inside. I slammed the door and jerked the deadbolt in place – the first time I’d used it since moving in. All I could think of was to call Tom.

  I nervously punched in his number. He answered on the second ring.

  “I saw her! I think I saw her!”

  “Val? Is that you?”

  “Yes, it’s me! I think I saw her!”

  “Okay. Slow down. Who did you see?”

  “Thelma Goldrich!”

  “The daughter? That’s great!”

  “No! The other one. The one who punched me in the nose!”

  The line was silent for a few seconds.

  “Where?” Tom asked. His tone had turned dead sober.

  “On the street near my apartment. In a car.”

  “How do you know it was her?”

  “I’m not one hundred percent sure, but I saw her ponytail. I mean, I think it was her ponytail.” I fought rising hysteria. “How many people in the world have a ponytail like that?”

  “Okay, Val. Calm down. I got you. I’ll check it out. Where did you see her exactly?”

  Tom’s calm demeanor caused something inside me to relax. The whooshing inside my head stopped. I took a breath. It felt like the first one in a long time.

  “She was parked on Beach Drive. Between Seventh and Eighth.”

  “I’m on it. Now get some rest, Val. You’re going to need it for the trip. See you around eight tomorrow morning. Good night.”

  “Good night, Tom. And thanks.”

  “You’re welcome. One more thing. Make sure all of your doors and windows are locked.”

  Tom clicked off the phone. The whooshing sound roared back inside my head.

  I scrambled around my tiny apartment and double-checked each window lock. Then, for good measure, I hooked every chain-latch on the front door.

  Spent both physically and emotionally, I grabbed a beer from the fridge, plopped onto my hideous couch, hugged a lumpy brown pillow, and tried not to think.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  I HAD TO HAND IT TO him, Tom was a man with a plan. Overnight he had set quite a few gears into motion, including a scheme to keep an eye on the whereabouts of “bulldog witch” Thelma Goldrich so we could drive up to meet “loony-bin” Thelma Goldrich.

  I never realize irony could get so weird.

  “More coffee?” I asked.

  Tom leaned back, relaxed and comfortable on my wrinkled old lump of a couch. The contrast between the ugly brown sofa and his clean, shiny good looks was almost blinding. Tom’s white sport shirt and crisp ironed jeans made him look like Mr. Clean – with a really good blond toupee. In fact, compared to Tom, everything in my apartment looked dull and dingy and faded. Including me.

  “Sure. That’s good coffee, Val.”

  I reached for Tom’s cup. He gently caught my hand in his and tugged me toward him.

  My apartment shrank to the size of a closet. My heart pounded in my ears. I pulled my hand away.

  “I’m glad you like it,” I said. “It’s my special blend.”

  “I like your special blend,” Tom teased.

  I cringed out a smile and padded over to the coffee machine in my tiny kitchen. My neck was as hot as the coffee carafe. I forced myself to take deep, yoga breaths while I filled his cup and bit my lip. I was resolved not to make a fool of myself.

  “Here you go,” I said, and handed Tom his coffee.

  He patted the sofa next to him, but I didn’t dare sit down. A crappy voice inside my head said it was too good to be true. Unfortunately, I listened.

  “So what’s the plan, speci
fically?” I asked.

  Tom’s face shifted to neutral. My mood switched to disappointed self-loathing.

  “Goober’s going to drive his dodgy Dodge over to Bimini Circle and stake out Tony’s old house,” Tom explained. “Jorge will park his Buick on your street and keep an eye on your apartment. Anyone sighting Bulldog Goldrich is to report back to me, then try to follow her discreetly back to her hideout.”

  “Why?”

  “We need to find out where she’s staying so we can keep track of her,” Tom said.

  I cringed. “Do you think she was stalking me?”

  “I don’t know, Val. But I’d rather be safe than sorry.”

  I nodded. “Thanks. How did you get the guys to do it on such short notice?”

  Tom laughed. “Let’s just say their schedules were free at the moment. And the incentive was right.”

  “Incentive? Did you pay them? I’ll pay you back....”

  “Val, the incentive was you. They’re doing it for you.”

  Unexpectedly, hot tears filled my eyes. Tom stood up and hugged me. Suddenly, I couldn’t breathe. My legs began to wobble like a drunk in an earthquake. I felt weak and vulnerable and awkward. Freefalling into feelings was not my forte. I needed to find a branch to grab onto. I pushed away from Tom’s embrace and reached for an old standby.

  I tried to crack a joke.

  “Your plan makes sense,” I quipped hoarsely. “Goober and Jorge both have cars, and they’re both used to living in them.”

  Tom studied me as I plastered on the worst fake smile ever and carefully wiped my runny nose with a tissue. I’d had one in my hand perpetually since receiving Bulldog Woman’s face-rearranging right hook.

  “So, what did you come up with for Winky to do?” I asked.

  “Oh. He’s coming with us.”

  “What?” Dashed expectations dropped my stomach three inches.

  “Yeah. Jorge should be here with him any minute.”

  “But...why?”

  “Because Jorge is coming here anyway to stake out your apartment. Remember?”

  “Yes, I remember!” I groused. “Tom, I didn’t mean, ‘Why is Jorge the one bringing Winky.’ I meant, ‘Why does Winky have to go with us?’”

  Tom grinned, and his sea-green eyes sparkled with mischief. He’d played me like a cat with a string. My feelings for him had been tricked out of me. Part of me was embarrassed. But another part of me kind of liked it.

  I snorted out a laugh. Tom took my hand in his, and rubbed the back of my hand gently with his thumb as he spoke.

  “Winky’s from up there, Val. He knows the area. He might come in handy.”

  “I’m from up there, too. Remember, Mr. Detective?”

  “I do remember. But Winky has a certain, how can I say it, redneck flair.”

  “You mean he’s a good-old boy?”

  Tom smiled and kissed the back of my hand.

  “Precisely. And we might need that kind of manpower.”

  “But....”

  “No buts, Val. Somebody’s got to babysit Winky. Would you rather we take Jorge and leave Winky to guard your place?”

  Dang. He had a point. I wasn’t even sure if Winky was potty-trained.

  I was trying to come up with a snappy response when Tom’s cellphone jingled.

  “Buena dias, amigo,” Tom answered, then hung up. “They’re here.”

  “They’re coming up?” I asked, slightly horrified.

  “Don’t you want them to?”

  I felt too guilty to say no. After all, they were doing me a huge favor. But still. Two homeless guys in my apartment?

  Tom studied me for a moment. “You don’t have to let them stay, Val. But it would be nice if Jorge could come up and use the restroom once in a while. Maybe make a sandwich?”

  I felt like such a jerk.

  “Of course!” I said, beating back every instinct in my body and brain. I reluctantly handed Tom a key.

  At least Jorge was domesticated. He’d been married, once.

  Tom smiled and took the key. Someone knocked on the door. Tom let go of my hand and opened it. Jorge and Winky came tumbling in like...I hated to say it...two stooges.

  “Nice digs, Val Pal! Use your crapper?”

  I stood there, stunned.

  Winky didn’t wait for an answer. He barreled across my tiny living room straight into the bathroom. He shut the door, but the close proximity lent no privacy other than visual. As Winky grunted and farted on the throne, I took the time to show Jorge the ropes. Or in the case of my miniscule apartment, maybe it was just the strings.

  “Here’s the coffee machine,” I said. I reached into the kitchen cabinet and pulled out the coffee and filters. “I’ll leave these on the counter for you. Help yourself to coffee and anything else in the fridge.”

  “Tank you, Val,” Jorge said, looking at the floor. “Berry nice of you.”

  “No, Jorge. It’s very nice of you. Thanks for doing this for me. You can sleep on the couch, if you want.”

  “Tanks, but I like my car. The Buick’s backseat is really comfy. You should try it sometime.”

  I was pondering how to respond to that when Winky emerged in a cloud of stink reminiscent of my beer-and-bratwurst days in Germany.

  “Woo hoo! I wouldn’t go in there for at least an hour,” Winky said proudly.

  “I’d say better make it at least two days,” Tom quipped. “Let’s get out of here before the mustard gas kills us.”

  “Road trip! I call shotgun!” Winky hollered.

  “Dang it!” I griped.

  “That’s right. Dang it, Winky,” Tom said. “Val’s already beat you to it.”

  Winky wilted like lettuce in a microwave.

  “I’ll dang it, all right,” he sulked. “Dang it, dang it, dang it. But them’s the rules.”

  I smiled at Tom. He winked back at me, then took my overnight bag in one hand and shook Jorge’s hand with the other. “Take good care of the place, mi amigo.”

  “I will,” Jorge replied. “Via con Dios.”

  “Will do, padre,” Winky shot back. “I got your ‘vehicle-deos’ right here.” Winky held up a small green piece of cardboard shaped like a Christmas tree. “Took it right off your rearview mirror, Jorge. Figured we’d need it more than you.”

  “I can’t argue with that,” Jorge said.

  None of us could.

  WINKY CLIMBED INTO the backseat of Tom’s silver 4Runner. I hopped in the passenger’s side next to Tom. As I buckled my seatbelt, my foot scraped against a grey case that looked like a fancy tackle box.

  “What’s this?” I asked Tom.

  “Nothing mysterious. Just where I keep envelopes and bags for collecting samples from crime scenes and suspects. I am a cop, you know.”

  “I know. Why did you bring it along?”

  “I always have it with me. Besides, it might come in handy. Nothing says ‘daughter’ like a matching DNA sample.”

  “What! You’re going to get a DNA sample from Thelma?”

  “If I can. You got a problem with that?”

  “Well, uh...,” I started, but was cut off.

  “Tom, you gonna cut a chunk off’n her or stick a Q-Tip down her throat?” Winky bellowed from the backseat.

  “Not sure, yet, Winky.”

  “I’ll hold her down if you need me to, buddy. You can count on my co-operation.”

  “Thanks for the offer, bud. I’ll keep it in mind.”

  “I thought we were just going to visit her,” I said.

  “We are,” said Tom. “But we might as well try for DNA. Chances are, she won’t even notice.”

  Something inside me contracted.

  This crap was starting to get real.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  TRAVELING WITH WINKY was like transporting a wild orangutan without a cage. He whooped and hollered and bounced around in the backseat of Tom’s silver 4Runner until I was afraid we might be pulled over for reckless endangerment. Something had to g
ive. We were driving on I-275 just north of Tampa when I made an executive decision.

  “Tom, why don’t we stop at Westley Chapel and get some refreshments?”

  Tom looked over at me, then followed the downward movement of my shifting eyes toward my lap. Inside my open purse, I held a bottle of Dramamine up for him to see. He looked at me quizzically. I shifted my eyes to the left and gave a quick nod toward the backseat. His eyebrows relaxed.

  “Roger that, Val.”

  Tom hit the gas and the exit for SR54 came into view a few minutes later. Tom made a right and pulled in to a Lil’ Champ convenience store. As he parked the car, visions of a fat, freckled chimp going wild in the snack aisle made my stomach flop. I started to speak, but Winky beat me to it.

  “I can’t get this gaul-dang door open!”

  It was Tom’s turn for shifty eyes. He arched his right eyebrow and cocked his head down toward his left hand. His finger was on the child safety lock.

  Man, this guy thinks of everything.

  I smiled and turned toward the backseat. Winky’s face was flushed with frustration.

  “Winky, we need you to stay in the car and guard it while we go inside.”

  “Dang it!”

  “We’ll only be a minute. What would you like? My treat!”

  Winky’s savage beast was instantly soothed. “Really?”

  “Really.”

  “Woohoo! All righty, then, Val! I’ll have me a RC Cola and a moon pie. ’Naner-flavored if they got it.”

  How appropriate.

  “I’ll check it out.”

  I found the RC Cola on the bottom shelf of the glass cooler case in the convenience store. I popped the cap on a bottle and dropped in two Dramamine tablets as Tom watched.