“Oh. Well...thanks.”
“Didn’t mean to get your haunches up, Miss Scaredy Cat.”
Winky grinned at me in a way that made me feel foolish.
“I...I just wasn’t expecting to find anybody out here.”
“Yeah. I wasn’t ‘specting Water Loo’s to burn up, neither. Life’s full of surprises, Val. Winnie done lost her job and we couldn’t pay the rent. I got to find me somethin’ to do. That van’s worse’n sleepin’ on good ol’ Mother Earth.”
“You two are living in the van?”
“Yep.”
“Oh. Sorry to hear that. What about your job...fixing engines and stuff?”
Winky shrugged. “It’s kinda sporatical.”
Part of me wanted to help Winky. Part of me regretted I’d ever met him. In other words, he was just like every other man I’d ever known. I bit my lip and forced kind words out of my mouth like bitter pills.
“Oh. Is there anything I can do?”
Winky shot me a sideways look.
“I never took nothin’ from nobody, Val. Not about to start now. But if you don’t mind it, could we park the Dodge in your driveway tonight? Ever’body but Walmarts has been running us off.”
“Uh. Sure. It’s just temporary, right?”
I tried to look hopeful instead of panicked. My charade must have worked. Winky beamed with gratitude.
“Yep! I promise. ‘Preciate it, Val Pal.”
Winky patted me on the back and walked toward the backyard. I smiled. I was a sucker for gratitude. Besides, I’d already gone and said, ‘yes.’ There was no turning back now.
“You know, Winky, I think I might know of some work for you.”
Winky whipped around and studied me with a face as carefree and open as a three-year-old boy’s. “Oh yeah? What ’cha got?”
“I don’t want to say just yet. I have to run it by someone first.”
Winky spit brown goo in the grass, winked and shot me a mock salute.
“Sure thing, Val Pal. You’re the boss.”
WINKY WAS IN THE BACKYARD, drinking a beer and straddling one of the barstools at the tiki hut. I walked out and handed him a mustard sandwich. (He’d informed me he didn’t care for pickles.)
“What happened to this here bread? It’s flatter’n a sunken chest.”
“It’s a Panini,” I lied. “A fancy Italian baguette.”
“Oo la la.” Winky raised his eyebrows – and his pinkies – then took a bite big enough to choke a Billy goat.
I heard Tom’s 4-Runner pull into the driveway.
“I gotta go. Enjoy yourself.”
“You, too, Val Pal.” Winky raised his voice three octaves. “Give Tommy boy my love!”
I jeered playfully back at him, then walked around the side yard and waved at Tom. I trotted over and climbed onto the passenger seat of his silver Toyota before he had time to turn off the engine.
“Hi. What...I’m not allowed inside anymore?” he asked, only half joking.
“Huh? Oh.”
I reached over and touched his arm. “It’s not that, Tom. I have...a houseguest. Or maybe I should say, a hut guest. Winky and Winnie are homeless again. Living in the van. Winky’s in the backyard right now. I told him they could park the Dodge in the driveway for a few days, but between you and me, I’m worried about them staying here. Is that wrong?”
Tom shrugged. “Not wrong, per se. But I thought you cared about them.”
His reply did nothing to bolster my opinion of myself. “I do care, Tom. I care about a lot of things. That doesn’t necessarily mean I want to make a lifetime commitment to them.”
Tom’s eyes darkened.
Crap! He must have thought I was talking about him! I backpedaled.
“It’s just that...I guess...well, I just don’t want my backyard to become the new hangout for all the Water Loo’s orphans of the world.”
Tom’s eyes lightened again. He nodded.
“I understand. I mean, I get it. The guys can be a handful, even for me. But I think you’ll be able to survive for a couple of days. You’re a pretty tough cookie...emphasis on the pretty.”
Tom took my hand and squeezed it. I smiled and blushed at his cornball compliment. A woman my age – can you imagine?
“Thanks, Tom.”
“So...you’re enjoying your birthday gift?”
“The yard? Yes!” I exclaimed, grateful for the change of topic. “Very much so. It’s beautiful.”
I leaned over the bucket seat to kiss Tom. He met me halfway.
THE EVENING SKY THREATENED rain, so instead of taking our usual walk along the waterfront, Tom found a parking spot off 1st Avenue and 3rd Street. The ice between us melted quickly as we ambled along the tiny patch of urban jungle known as downtown St. Petersburg. The city was still in the fits and starts of a reluctant renaissance. Tom took my hand as we passed scabby little bars and thrift shops trying desperately to survive among the slick, new bistros and high-end boutiques. I realized for the first time how much St. Petersburg reminded me of my relationship with Tom. We were both struggling to let go of the past and trust in a brighter future.
Red Mesa, our favorite Mexican restaurant, was one of the first businesses to take a chance on St. Pete’s rebirth. Now it was enjoying the rewards of its smart decision. It was crowded almost every week night, and impossibly so on the weekends. Tom and I strolled arm-in-arm up to the low, red-brick wall that formed the restaurant’s outdoor courtyard. Arranged within its walls were clusters of wrought-iron tables and chairs, separated by terracotta pots planted with cascading flowers and small bay trees. Lanterns strung on wires overhead glowed golden in the slate-blue sky and gave the whole place a cozy, garden-party atmosphere.
I preferred sitting in the outdoor courtyard, even in the oppressive summer heat. I enjoyed the tropical ambiance, and the relative quiet. Red Mesa’s inside dining area was nice, but one try had been enough for me. The concrete floors and glass walls made the place an echo chamber. I’d found myself shouting just to be heard above the din. No thanks. I’d already gotten too old for that crap.
Tom found us a table for two in the courtyard next to a planter box full of fragrant, pink petunias. I ordered a black-bean burrito and a glass of white sangria. Tom got soft tacos and a beer. Good old, Tom. He always ordered the same thing. I smiled at the handsome blond man with the crisp white shirt rolled up at the sleeves. I watched him as he chatted with the waiter and placed his order. Unlike me, Tom was a study in unfaltering confidence and cordiality. In fact, Tom was boringly reliable in all the right ways – and deliciously unpredictable in all the right ways, as well.
And he loved me. The thought made me catch my breath.
Tom put down the menu and took my hand. His warm touch sent tingly electric shocks racing to some of my most private places.
“What are you thinking about?” he asked.
“Oh. Just wondering how your work is going,” I lied.
If I’d told him the truth, we’d have never made it through dinner.
ON THE DRIVE HOME, Tom seemed far away. At my prompting, he groused a little about work, but didn’t said anything specific. I asked about the tag search for my mom’s RV, but he hadn’t had anything to report yet. I considered telling him about the idea I had brewing in my head – a plan to catch Cold Cuts – but decided against it. Tom hadn’t been too thrilled when he’d found out about my last scheme involving Goober, a dog stroller and a bottle of Jack. So, I decided to keep my mouth shut and enjoy the ride in silence.
I guess, like Tom, I got lost in my own thoughts. I was taken by surprise when he pulled up in my driveway.
“Oh. We’re home already,” I said absently.
“Well, you’re home, at least,” Tom joked.
I looked around. “And no van, either. Not yet, anyway.”
Tom took my hand. “Look, Val. I’m sorry I’ve been distracted lately. Stuff at work. Nothing to do with you. And I want to apologize again...about the RV...and Glad. I
f you think of anything else I can do to help, just let me know. I promise, I’ll be on it.”
His earnest face melted the last shard of ice I’d been holding onto. “Thanks, Tom.”
He squeezed my hand again, then employed an index finger to gently dawdle a line on my inner arm from my wrist to my elbow. “Too bad I have to work tomorrow,” he said huskily.
His comment jarred me to attention. “Oh! Work! I forgot to mention it! Tom, I’m thinking about taking a job at Milly’s office. I have an interview tomorrow.”
“You’re kidding.” Tom’s sexy voice took on a playful, curious tone. “I thought you wanted to be a detective.”
“Ha ha. I can’t even solve the mystery of how to get out of my own way.”
Tom looked into my eyes, but he didn’t say a word. I pushed him with my shoulder.
“This is where you’re supposed to laugh Tom, and tell me, ‘That’s not true.’”
Again, Tom grinned, but uttered not a syllable. I frowned and punched him in the arm.
“Jerk!”
Tom laughed and pulled me close to his chest.
“A job, huh? It might be just what you need to keep yourself out of trouble.”
“Very funny. But, I guess I could use the money.”
“Who couldn’t?”
I pulled away enough to look Tom in the face. “Yeah. Plus, if I had a job, I’d have a good excuse for not going up to visit my mother on Mother’s Day. Is that wrong, too?”
Tom looked me up and down skeptically. “Possibly.”
I pouted. “Well, if it is, then I don’t want to be right.”
Tom flashed his sexy, devilish smile. “Well, as long as you’re in the mood to be wrong....”
He took my chin in his hand and kissed me hard on the mouth. Dang it! That man was a good kisser. I wanted him. Badly. But part of me was having second thoughts. I pulled away and frowned.
“Are you okay?” he asked.
“Yes...”
I tried to explain, but Tom started nibbling my neck and my mind went blank. He whispered in my ear.
“Val, can I spend the night?”
“No,” I whispered back. “Winky and Winnie will be here soon.”
Tom returned to nibbling until he broke down my resistance.
“Okay. You can come in for a nightcap.”
I took Tom by the hand and led into the house and back to the bedroom, unbuttoning my blouse along the way with my free hand. I peeled off my skirt and lay on the bed in my bra and panties and watched Tom undress. His white shirt glowed in the dim light against his tan, muscular chest. As he lay down next to me and kissed my ear, my back arched all on its own. His fingers, like hot silk, caressed my skin....
I wanted Tom to stay the night. Part of me wanted him to stay forever.
But it was not to be. Not right now. Tonight, we would both have to settle for a quickie.
Tom wasn’t to blame. Neither were Winnie and Winky. It was that blasted burrito I’d eaten for dinner. Experience had taught me I had about an hour before those dastardly black beans would work their magic in my colon. In sixty or so odd minutes, those little ebony legumes would generate enough methane to propel me halfway to the moon.
I didn’t want Tom around to witness my unscheduled lunar blastoff.
Chapter Seven
I WOKE UP FEELING LIKE Paul Bunyan had kicked me in the butt with his giant logging boot. I swung my legs over the right side of the bed. Wrong move. My eyebrows met my hairline. My teeth clamped together. My body froze in pain.
I took a deep breath, held it for a second, and blew it out. This time, I scooted slowly to the edge of the bed, moving cautiously through the aching soreness. I put one foot, then the other onto the floor, testing each joint as if it were a rusty hinge that might lock up or, worse yet, break completely off. I stood, then staggered and lurched like a robot on stilts. By the time I got to the bathroom, either the pain had faded or I’d gotten used to it.
The mirror on the back of the bathroom door revealed the reason for my rude awakening. I lifted my t-shirt and pulled down my panties. Overnight, a nightmarish watercolor of yellow, black, purple and green had covered my right buttock like a macabre canvas. Ouch! My mind flashed back to the parking lot...to that poor bag of tortilla chips. I frowned sourly.
Well, at least I don’t have tread marks.
I pulled up my big-girl panties and made a slow, geriatric amble toward the coffee maker. Surely this was nothing a cappuccino with a shot of Bailey’s couldn’t cure. I upped my dosage when I hit my hip on the corner of the kitchen counter.
Ooww! Make that two shots....
The coffee maker was humming along nicely when I noticed Winnie’s old, grey-blue Dodge van in the driveway. It backfired, belched smoke and backed slowly out of the drive. In its place, Winky stood there, staring at me wide-eyed – like a stagehand caught unaware at an unexpected curtain opening. Our eyes met. I waved. He waved once, dropped his gaze downward and disappeared behind the garage. Weird.
Then I remembered I was in my underwear.
Crap! I poured two shots of Bailey’s in my cappuccino and drank it down in a couple of quick gulps. It was going to be a long, strange day. I made another cappuccino and sipped it as I stared out the window at my beautiful backyard. The tiki hut and hammock looked even better now that Tom and I had kissed and made up. I smiled to myself and hobbled to the bathroom. A note on the mirror kicked my fledgling good mood in the teeth.
Aw, nuts! Milly’s interview! I shuffled like a crippled crab back to the kitchen and looked at the clock on the stove. It was already 8:45. I had...let’s see...fifteen seconds to get ready. Crap on a cracker!
There was no time to shower. I ransacked my closet for something appropriate to wear. Zilch. All I had was shorts, t-shirts, sundresses, jeans...and one little black dress that was way too short for the occasion. I had a cute skirt that would do, but I’d splotched mustard on it when I made Winky’s sandwich yesterday. Out of options, I squeezed into the black dress and put a white, button-up blouse over it to dress it down.
I dumped my underwear drawer on the bed and rifled through the jumbled pile, searching desperately for the lone pair of pantyhose I kept around for weddings, bad dates and funerals. Voila! When I tried to pull them on, they tore apart in my hands. Dry rot. What a perfect analogy for my career. I tugged a pair of black high-heels onto my bare feet. When I took a step, a red-hot flash of pain shot from my right hip to my brain. I flung the shoes off and slipped on a pair of old-maid flats.
Okay. All I had left to do was prepare my head for public presentation.
I took a look in the vanity mirror. My hair was a frizzy mess. I tied it in a ponytail. Somehow, it looked even worse. How was that possible? Panic kicked in. Sweat trickled down my back. I let my hair down and fluffed it up with what was left of the can of Aqua Net that Laverne had used on me right before my infamous chicken fill-it disaster. I tinted my cheeks with blush, slapped some eyeliner under my eyes and smeared on some lipstick. It would have to do. I was out of time.
I grabbed my purse, took a step toward the door and the room went a bit wonky. The Bailey’s had kicked in.
Oh, crap! I...I might be too drunk to drive!
What was I going to do? There wasn’t even time for a sobering piece of toast and butter. I shut my eyes in utter disbelief. What else could go wrong?
That’s when I heard it. A rapping sound from the living room. I doddered down the hall and peeked into the living room. Winky was standing at the sliding glass door, his hands folded together at his waist like a naughty schoolboy. Now what? I slid the door open a crack.
“What’s going on?”
“Hate to ask, Val, but nature’s bangin’ at my backdoor with a sledgehammer.”
“What?”
“Can I use your facilities?”
Unsavory images tried to worm their way into my mind. I batted them away. “Uh...okay. But make it quick. I’ve got a job interview to get to ASAP.”
I stepped back out of his way and winced.
“You look all stove up, Val Pal. Rough night?”
“Something like that.”
I hobbled over to the couch.
“You don’t look like yore in no condition to drive.”
I wasn’t. In more ways than one. I shrugged.
“How ‘bout this. I’ll do my business, then drive you where you gots to go. Just give me two shakes of a lamb’s tail.”
An image of Winky shaking something else came in for a landing before I could swat it away. I closed my eyes and winced. But it was desperate times. I couldn’t fail Milly again. And there was no time to call a cab....
“Okay.”
WINKY TURNED THE IGNITION on Maggie and grinned as she rumbled to life. His eyes lit up like a full moon over a hayseed’s hayfield.
“Woo hoo! I always been wantin’ to drive yore car, Val!”
“Have you got a license, Winky?”
“Somewheres.”
I sighed, forced a smile, and resigned myself to my fate.
“Okay then. Let’s roll.”
Winky backed Maggie down the driveway, shifted into gear and hit the gas with his big, lead foot. I nearly got whiplash.
“Geeze, Winky. Take it easy!”
“You in a hurry or not?”
“Yeah.”
“Well, all right then. Hold on!”
Winky mashed the gas again. I rubbed my neck and looked on the bright side. Maybe the open air would sober me up. I took a deep breath, then caught my reflection in the side-view mirror and gasped. My blown-up hair, crude makeup and too-short skirt made me look like a televangelist’s mistress. All I needed was some shoulder pads and I could have starred in an ‘80’s sitcom as a skanky lush.
Awesome sauce.
“So. Job interview, huh? What you applyin’ for?”
Val Fremden Mystery Box Set 1 Page 50
