Val Fremden Mystery Box Set 1

by Margaret Lashley

  Oh my lord! She must have gotten wind of my visit to J.D. Fellows!

  Adrenaline pumped through me, blanking my mind and making me itch to flee. I screamed out the only response I could think of, inspired by a whispered voice in my ear.

  “Screw you, kiddo!”

  For a moment, Bulldog Thelma stopped banging the door with her fists. Then she began kicking it instead.

  “I’ll teach you to curse at me, you meddling tramp!”

  “The police are already on their way!” I lied.

  The banging stopped again. I peeked through the blinds. Bulldog’s sausage-link ponytail swung wildly to and fro as she waddled a hasty retreat. I flopped knee-first onto the couch and looked through the living room blinds, which had a view of the staircase. When Thelma’s wide-load butt reached the bottom of the rickety stairs, I decided to run out the door to give her a piece of my mind.

  I flung my front door open and raced to the staircase landing. She must have heard me coming. The sausage-haired witch turned around at the base of the stairs and sneered up at me like a rabid bulldog.

  My stomach turned to ice. My mind went blank.

  Bulldog put a fat foot on the bottom step.

  Panic shot through me like a hot-mustard enema. I fled back into my apartment and bolted the door behind me.

  I flung myself on the couch, wrapped my arms around a lumpy brown pillow, and stared at the door like a frightened child. Would the monster come back and finish me off?

  I sat still as a stone, my heart thumping in my ears, for what seemed like an eternity. Nothing happened. Somehow, that only served to make me even more scared. Not knowing what else to do, I decided to break my promise to myself.

  I called Tom.

  “WELL, TECHNICALLY, Val, it’s not a crime unless she hit you or threatened bodily harm,” Tom explained.

  “She threatened me! She threatened to...to...she said she would teach me not to curse at her!”

  “That sounds brutal. Sorry, Val. Close, but no legal cigar.”

  I felt foolish. “Okay. Thanks, Tom. Sorry to have bothered you. Goodbye.”

  “Hold up!”

  My heart fluttered. “What?”

  “Are you okay? By yourself, I mean?”

  “I guess. I don’t know. Should I be worried, Tom?”

  “I’m not sure. I’ll check on some things and get back with you.”

  “Okay.”

  “Goodbye, Val.”

  “Goodbye, Tom.”

  Our goodbyes sounded like final ones to me. Yes. It was as official as the tone in Tom’s voice. Our budding romance was never going to bloom.

  Crap!

  I was already unhappy about giving up my role in helping to find Glad’s daughter. This “back-to-business” attitude from Tom was just another low blow. I felt purposeless again. My life was officially void of meaning. A clean slate. Nada. Zilch. Zero.

  What am I going to do now?

  Like a mission bell, my phone rang.

  “Hello?”

  “Hello. Is this Valiant Stranger? I’m in desperate need of being rescued from certain death from prolonged boredom.”

  I perked up and laughed. It was Darren.

  “How did you find my secret lair?” I teased.

  “A beautiful woman came by my office with a clue.”

  “What kind of clue?”

  “Her phone number and address on a release form.”

  I shook my head. “Clever. You must be a prodigal genius.”

  “Some say I have a few good brain cells left knocking around the old noodle. Speaking of noodles, want to have dinner with me tonight at the new Vietnamese place on Central? I hear they make a mean pho.”

  “A mean foe. Sounds like a job for Valiant Stranger.”

  “Ha ha! You’re funny. Meet you there at six? Say yes. Please!”

  “Yes.”

  And just like that, I had something to do.

  I WAS IN A WRESTLING match with a pair of black leggings, getting ready for my first official date since the Bush administration, when Tom called.

  “Hi, Val. I want to drop by tonight to discuss what’s going on with that Jacob fellow and Bulldog Thelma.”

  “Hi, Tom. I’m sorry. I can’t tonight. I’m busy.”

  “You’re busy? Doing what?”

  “I have a life, you know.”

  “Oh, sure. Hot date?” he joked.

  My silence said it all.

  “Oh. I see.” Tom’s tone went back to strictly business. “Well, how about tomorrow. I really do need to speak with you. I have some news. But it can wait.”

  “Sure, Tom.”

  “Hooker Tea at ten o’clock?”

  “Okay.”

  He clicked off before I had a chance to say goodbye. As my squirrely mind analyzed Tom’s every word, it latched onto the name of his suggested meeting place. Hooker Tea.

  Was he suggesting something else as well?

  Sparks of hurt and guilt and anger ignited a bonfire of conflicting emotions within me.

  Why should I care? I don’t owe Tom anything.

  I put away the jean skirt and button-down shirt I was planning to wear on my date with Darren, and picked out a sexy little sundress instead.

  IT DIDN’T TAKE LONG for my date with Darren to hit an iceberg. He was handsome. And nice enough. I gave him that. But all he wanted to talk about was work. Call me squeamish, but cadavers just didn’t make for good dinner conversation. Neither did morbid humor.

  As the date dragged on, I felt a wall of insulation thicken between me and Darren. My initial excitement and anticipation tarnished into dull, familiar disappointment. When Darren reached over the table and touched my hand, the thought of what that hand had been doing all day proved the Achilles’ heel for Valiant Stranger. His appeal vanished like a cartoon villain, leaving a trail of palpable awkwardness in its wake.

  “Thanks for a nice evening, Darren,” I said as we left the restaurant.

  “You’re welcome. I guess I blew it.”

  I winced. “Why do you say that?”

  “The look on your face at dinner. I was a train wreck. I know I shouldn’t talk about dead bodies at the dinner table. But you make me nervous. I didn’t know what else to say.”

  “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.” Darren looked away, then back at me. “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 goodbyes that seemed more like farewells, 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 and shuffled my sad-sack little self back to my sad-sack little life in my sad-sack little hovel of an apartment above somebody else’s garage.

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  I FACED THE NEW DAY determined to quit sulking about my love life and to get out more. I started with a trip to Sunset Beach. After all, it was the perfect July day. When I pulled into the lot at 7 a.m., the morning sun had felt nice and toasty as I strolled the shoreline and searched for shells. But within an hour, the air was hot enough to melt wax. As I cruised on back home, the heat coming off Maggie’s red vinyl seats approached nuclear meltdown. I needed a cold shower and an even colder drink. Then I thought about my meeting with Tom at ten and wasn’t sure even an iceberg could cool down my mood.

  Hooker Tea my rear-end. Screw you, Tom!

  I CRACKED THE TAB ON a tallboy Fosters, headed for the bathroom, and 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. It seemed like a good idea at the ti
me. I’d had no breakfast, and the pint of Fosters in my empty stomach was making the world all glassy and far away and untouchable.

  I stumbled down the stairs 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....

  I flopped down on a bench, right on top of one of those stupid new armrests. My temper soared to match the pain emanating from my tailbone.

  “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 too tipsy to tango. I turned my butt around, took two steps toward home and ran right into Tom’s stupid, manly-man chest.

  “Hey! You all right?” he asked.

  “Yeah, suurre,” I said, and blinked in an attempt to sharpen my focus.

  “How was your date?”

  His dang cop voice sounded like an interrogation again.

  I thought about coming clean for a second and confessing it had been a disaster. But a painful streak of humiliated Southern pride wouldn’t let me admit defeat. Trouble was, I was an exceptionally 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 java. Just tea.

  “Chai tea,” I sputtered, then leaned against a wall while Tom picked up his order and paid the tab. I trailed behind like a sad puppy as he walked over to a table in the corner by a window.

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

  I stuck with my monosyllable 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 grunted.

  “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, Val. 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!

  “Kay.”

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

  “No.”

  “Then what’s up?”

  “Nothing!”

  Tom scowled. “In other words, everything.”

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

  “Val, are you...have you been drinking?”

  “No!”

  Tom studied me with his sea-green eyes. I didn’t want him to add hopeless drunk 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 sneered.

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

  Tom sighed and his voice softened. “I’m sorry, too, Val.”

  I looked up and we exchanged sad smiles.

  “You know how I found out?” Tom spoke as if confessing. I shook my head.

  “Jorge. He got a meter maid to tell him. She’d given Jacob a ticket for parking illegally on your street. Turns out, 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 – even the things I didn’t want to see.

  “I’ve been thinking about it, Tom. That night I met Jacob at the park, then saw Bulldog Thelma 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. It’s a 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. Especially 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, Tom. 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. It’s nothing, probably.”

  “Any detail could be important.”

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

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

  I smiled back at him sheepishly.

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

  Tom’s face went serious again. “That’s interesting.”

  “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 everything. I only wonder if maybe he was the reason Tony and Glad had kept a low profile here in St. Pete. 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, Val. And highly possible. Do you remember anything else?”

  “Yes. Jacob told me about Bulldog Thelma’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. It might help him rebuild his confidence.”

  “So I get to be Jorge’s target practice.”

  “Something like that.”

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

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  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 face mask I’d concocted from a half-rotten avocado when the phone finally rang.

  It was Tom. My heart skipped a beat.

  “Val?”

  “Yes. Hi, Tom.”

  “It’s a match.”

  “What?”

  “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 Thelma 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 that bulldog witch.”

  “No! That’s horrible!”

  “Don’t give up just yet. We’re not totally sunk. Unless, that is, we don’t get the DNA proof to Fellows on time. Fellows says irrefutable proof would trump any other claims Bulldog Thelma might have. He also said that the original report 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.”