“Good question. Rogers asked Slim the same thing. Here’s what he said; ‘I don’t know. But Charlene said you should check her computer. When she was up in that RV, she seen that woman was writing something about murdering somebody with a snickerdoodle.”
An elephant stomped on my chest.
Oh, geeze! She must have looked at my computer screen. It was open to The Snickerdoodle Murders. Oh, crap!
“Ms. Fremden? You still with me?”
“Huh? Yes sir.”
“Did those cookies Woggles was eating before he died come from you?”
“Well...uh...I....”
Chief Collins leaned over the table and eyed me like an eagle contemplating a mouse.
“It’s not a hard question. Did you make the snickerdoodles found with the deceased Mr. Walters or didn’t you?”
I swallowed hard.
“Excuse me, Chief Collins, but I want to speak with my attorney.”
“SO LET ME GET THIS straight,” J.D. Fellows’ voice said over the phone. “You knocked yourself out with a jar of spaghetti sauce after being frightened by what you thought was a demon entity summoned by a shrunken head.”
“Correct.”
“You went to the trailer park to write a mystery about a guy in a trailer park who dies from eating poisoned snickerdoodles.”
“Well, that’s not the only reason I went, but essentially, yes.”
“And a guy there just happened to end up being poisoned by snickerdoodles.”
“Uh...that hasn’t been totally confirmed yet.”
“And you’re caught holding a paystub for ten grand.”
“I told you, it’s Goober’s.”
“Val, not even I would believe that.”
“Crap.”
“Exactly. You’re lucky they’re releasing you on your own recognizance. Anything else pertinent I should know?”
“Yeah. Don’t trust the Internet. The pictures of that place have got to be thirty years old.”
“I said, ‘pertinent.’”
“I locked my keys in the trunk of my car. Is it pertinent that I’m stuck here until I can get the trunk open or until Tom finds the spare set and sends it to me?”
“Not really. I’m a lawyer, Val. Not a locksmith.”
“I know. But could you call one for me?”
“You don’t have a phone?”
“No. I’m calling from the police station. My phone’s dead, and I brought the wrong charger.”
“Val, that’s what we in the business call ‘pertinent’ information.”
“Sorry. What should I do?”
“Take a cab to Walmart. Buy a new charger. While you’re there, call a locksmith.”
“Okay.”
“And don’t worry. I know you didn’t kill anyone with a snickerdoodle.”
“Thanks. And J.D? Do me a favor. Don’t tell Laverne. Or Tom. Not yet, anyway. There’s no need to get them involved right now.”
“Why not?”
“I have my reasons. Oh...and I guess there’s one more ‘pertinent’ thing I should tell you.”
“What?”
“The snickerdoodles? They were made by Laverne.”
After a long silence, I thought I heard J.D. say, “Aww, shizzlenuts.”
Chapter Twenty-One
“Nice digs,” the Über driver said as he maneuvered his Ford Fiesta slowly past the falling-down sign for the Hell’ammo. I had to admit, it looked a lot worse in the daylight.
“I’m number thirteen,” I said.
“Of course you are.” He pulled up in front of the tiny RV and whistled. “Is that your car under the tarp?”
“Yes.”
I reached for my push-broom crutch and opened the door. The wiry old driver made no effort to help. He was too busy staring at Maggie.
“Looks like a Ford Falcon,” he said.
“Yeah. 1963 Sprint,” I grunted as I hoisted myself up out of the seat.
“V-8 engine?”
“Yeah.”
I grabbed my Walmart bags, shut the door and limped to the driver’s window.
“Dual glass-packs, too. What do I owe you?”
“Eighteen bucks. Does it run?”
“Yeah.”
“Why didn’t you drive it?”
I blew out a breath and handed him a twenty.
“Locked the keys in the trunk. I’m waiting on a locksmith.”
The leathery old man looked me up and down, then eyed the grungy, pink-flecked laundry flapping on the line. He shook his head and grinned, revealing the gap where his four front teeth used to be.
“Tell you what, lady. I’ll never complain about my luck again.”
“Right,” I said sourly. “Keep the change.”
He tipped his Redman Chewing Tobacco cap at me and took off down the dirt lane. I watched him go, then hobbled toward the RV.
I had a busted little toe, a broom for a crutch, an empty wallet, a car with no keys, a village of angry rednecks on my back, and a warning from the police to not leave Polk County.
Yep. I was livin’ the dream.
On the bright side, I had a new phone charger, a pack of bologna, a jar of pickles and an appointment with a locksmith within the next four hours. At least while I was waiting around, I could try and get some writing done.
When I opened the door to the RV, I realized that was never going to happen. My place had been ransacked.
My computer was gone. Lying on the dinette table in its stead was a set of keys. I scrambled over for a closer look.
“My keys!” I cried.
I couldn’t have been happier if it were a box of chocolate-covered cherries from Chocolateers. I grabbed the charger, unwrapped it, stuck it in the wall and let my phone juice up while I put my groceries away. I was nibbling on bologna when a thought finally dawned on me.
Even though I had to stay in Polk County, I didn’t have to stay here.
I snatched up my phone and cancelled the locksmith. Then I dialed the police station.
“Hello? Could I speak with Chief Collins? It’s Val Fremden.”
I waited on the line for a minute.
“Ms. Fremden? I’m glad you called. I –”
“Listen, Chief Collins, I just wanted to say thanks for finding my keys.”
“What?”
“When you came back and re-searched my place. When can I get my computer back?”
“Ms. Fremden, we don’t have your computer. And we didn’t re-enter your domicile.”
“Then who did?”
“I don’t know. I was just going to ask you to voluntarily surrender your computer. If this is some kind of ploy to hide evidence....”
“No! It’s not! Someone broke in and stole my computer...and returned my car keys. That...that doesn’t make any sense!”
“No it doesn’t. But I tell you what does. Detective Rogers found a plastic lid in the garbage receptacle outside your unit. It appears someone tried to shred it. But evidently it fits the container found floating next to Wally Walters. Tampering with evidence will only dig you deeper in the hole, Ms. Fremden. And nowadays, it doesn’t take but a molecule or two to detect the use of poisons. We’re running toxicology tests on everything as we speak.”
“But...I’m not lying! Or tampering! I swear!”
“The proof will be in the pudding, Ms. Fremden. Or should I say, in the cookie. Don’t leave town.”
The line went dead.
Geeze Louise! Was I being set up by the folks at the Hell’ammo?
I marched to the freezer. It was gin-and-tonic time somewhere. I flung open the door and instantly forgot all about the Tanqueray.
Propped up against the bag of ice, a hideous little monster grinned at me with sharp, broken-shell teeth.
The shrunken head was back. Only this time, the message accompanying it read:
Get Out Now.
Chapter Twenty-Two
I had orders to not leave town, but it didn’t mean I had to stay in Winky’s stup
id RV – especially now that there was a voodoo head leering at me from the freezer like a deranged Eskimo!
The freezer door nearly came off its hinges as I slammed it shut. I shuffled to the bedroom like a hobbled crab chasing high tide. My suitcase lay open on the bed. It had been rifled through as well. My clothes had been flung everywhere.
I snatched my shorts, shirts and underwear from doorknobs, bedposts and lamps and stuffed them back in the case. I grabbed my toothbrush and makeup from the tiny bathroom, threw them on top of the clothes, and fastened the clasps.
On my way past the fridge, I grabbed the bologna and pickles, shoved them in the Walmart bag and headed for the door. My poor gin would have to deal with Nanook of the Frigidaire on its own. I wasn’t opening that freezer door again for anything!
I cracked the RV door open just enough to drop my suitcase outside. Maggie’s keys were still lying on the dinette table next to my purse. I hobbled over, got a good grip on my crutch, slung my purse over my left shoulder, and grabbed the keys.
I am soooo outta here!
When I flung open the RV door, I discovered a snag in my hasty getaway scheme. I’d forgotten about Maggie.
She was covered in a silver tarp like an un-popped pan of Jiffy Pop.
Crap!
I set my purse and shopping bag on the steps and limped over to her. My kneecaps cracked as I squatted down and peeled the duct tape off of her left, front side panel. When I struggled back to standing, Stumpy was on the other side of Maggie, staring at me.
“Going somewhere?” he asked in a way that made me think he had other ideas on the matter.
“I uh....”
“Chief tol’ me you wasn’t supposed to leave.”
“He meant Polk County, not Shell Hammock.”
I sized up Stumpy. Given his age and watermelon belly, I might could outrun him. I shifted on my crutch and remembered I was using a crutch. There went that option.
“Look, Stumpy, I’m sorry about Woggles.”
“Sorry you killed him?” His tone sounded more hurt than angry.
“No! I mean, I’m sorry, yes. But not that I killed him...I mean...because I didn’t kill him!”
Judging by his expression, my eloquent testimony had yet to convince Stumpy of my innocence.
“Who did, then?” he asked, his voice marked with pain and a touch of sarcasm.
I thought about the food at last night’s fish fry. I knew my expired Cheeto casserole hadn’t killed Woggles, or nobody would be left alive.
“I dunno. Maybe the mayo on those pears last night did Woggles in. It looked like it had gone off to me.”
I inched my way to the left rear tire and squatted again. My knees cracked like a walnut in a vice grip.
“I done et five a them thangs myself,” Stumpy argued as he came around and met me at the back of the car. “I’m still standin’.”
I tugged on the sticky duct tape plastered across the left rear side panel.
“Well, everybody has different tolerances for things.”
“How do you know that?”
I looked up at Stumpy. Given his dirty overalls, bare feet and glint in his eye, it wouldn’t be long before he was toting a torch and a pitchfork. I hauled myself to standing.
“Listen, Stumpy. I didn’t hurt Woggles. Why would I? He seemed like a nice fella. I’m sorry he’s gone.”
“So why you tryin’ to leave in such a hurry?”
“Because I think whoever killed Woggles might be after me, too. I found a voodoo head and a nasty note on my door last night.”
Stumpy’s furrowed brow went slack.
“What’re you talkin’ about?”
“I got another one today. Inside my freezer. Go look for yourself.”
I let Stumpy inside the RV. He came back and stood in the doorframe, the shrunken head in one hand, the bottle of Tanqueray in the other.
“You should be more worried about this,” he said, and shook the gin bottle at me. “This here ain’t no voodoo head. It’s...speak of the devil.”
“That’s what I’m talking about,” I said.
But Stumpy wasn’t looking at me. I turned to follow his gaze. Poised on the dirt road was Charlene in her shopper chopper. Elmira was riding shotgun again in the basket up front.
“Why you ungrateful hooligan!” Elmira screeched. She whirled her coonskin purse in the air over her head like a shepherd getting ready to let loose with a rock sling.
“Hold up!” Stumpy said. “Why you two got it in for this woman?”
“She called my sister a witch!” Charlene bellowed.
“No I didn’t!” I argued.
“Sure did,” Charlene countered angrily. “When we was walkin’ by her house. I told you Elmira was a crafter. You said it was witchcraft!”
“I only asked –”
“I done give her one a my nicest trinkets,” Elmira sneered. “What’s she do with it? Throwed it in the yard!”
“What? I didn’t!”
“I seen it yesterday!” Elmira’s eyes scanned the ground. “Back up, Charlene. It’s gotta be right around here somewheres.”
“Wait a minute,” I said. “You mean that shrunken head? With the note that said, ‘Stay Away?’ You don’t think that’s witchcraft?”
Stumpy walked to the middle of the space between me and the other women. He held up his short-fingered hands like a referee.
“Now, hold on, ladies. One at a time.”
He held up the shrunken head he’d taken from my freezer. The Tanqueray bottle was gone. I didn’t notice where it went to.
“Elmira Fitch, what you got to say for yourself?”
“I ain’t no witch!” Elmira spat. “That there what she’s callin’ a voodoo head is a room freshener. You know that, Stumpy Whitehead! It was a welcome gift.”
“Then why did the note tell me to ‘Stay Away?’” I argued.
“That ain’t right. I wrote ‘Stay Awhile. Or at least, I meant to.”
“Oh,” I conceded. “The note got wet. It was all smeared.... But wait a minute! Why’d you break into my RV and put it back in my freezer? With a note telling me to ‘Get out now!’”
Elmira’s face scrunched into a red ball. “I did no sucha thang!”
“Then who did?” a man’s voiced boomed out from the bushes. Monster-sized Slim stepped out and joined ranks with Stumpy.
Geeze. Now it was four against one.
“What did you do to get that ten thousand dollars?” Slim asked.
“Yeah,” Charlene sneered. “Sounds like hit-man money to me.”
I took a step back. “It wasn’t...that check...it doesn’t belong to me.”
“Then why was you throwing money around?” Charlene asked, her face pinched into one glaring, three-inch circle.
“You give Woggles a fiver for nothin’. Tried to bribe me, too.”
I smiled weakly at Stumpy. He didn’t return it.
“Why wouldn’t you let Woggles see what was in yore trunk?” Charlene asked.
Stumpy’s head cocked to one side. “What’d you need with all that ice?”
“You got a body in that there trunk?” Slim asked.
“That’s it!” Charlene cried. “Woggles must a seen the body. So you had to get rid a him!”
I could feel my body shrivel. I backed up. “No. This is all a big misunderstanding....”
“Then why was all your clothes and what-not covered in blood?” Elmira asked.
“She’s the witch,” Charlene said. “She come to the door yesterday totin’ a broom. And look at her now. She’s still got one!”
Slim snatched my crutch away with his bear-sized paw. In one easy motion, he ripped off the towel duct-taped over the bristles, revealing it was, indeed, a broom.
“I...I didn’t kill Woggles!” I screeched.
I took a step toward the RV. But without my crutch, pain shot through my smashed toe, sending me reeling forward. I collapsed in a heap beside Maggie, closed my eyes, and awaited my fate.
I was doomed.
“I THINK IT’S TIME FOR you to go.”
I cracked open an eye and caught a glint of gold reminiscent of Laverne’s lame jumpsuit.
If only.
Both my eyelids flew up.
Could it be Laverne’s come to rescue me from this angry mob?
No such luck. The gold belonged to Steve, or, more precisely, Steve’s front tooth.
The smarmy guy feigned a smile from beneath his ball cap. For whose benefit, I wasn’t sure. He held out his hand. I took it. He hoisted me to my feet. I noticed his blue t-shirt. It read, This Never Happened.
“Party’s over,” Steve said to the Hell’ammo clan.
“Says who?” Slim asked.
“Yeah,” Stumpy joined in. “On whose authority? Yours?”
“As a matter of fact, yes,” Steve said curtly.
He reached in his back pocket.
“I’m on special assignment for Chief Earl Collins. VJU. Vigilante Justice Unit.”
Steve flashed his badge and tucked it back in his pocket while the Hell’ammo crowd huddled together and mumbled amongst themselves. They seemed to be taking some kind of vote.
“What you gonna do with her?” Stumpy asked, looking up from the huddle.
“Chief Collins wants me to bring her in for another round of questioning,” Steve said. “Now I suggest you all go back to your own business. And don’t follow us or you’ll be next.”
That last bit made more than a couple of eyes widen.
Steve picked up my purse, handed it to me and said, “Hold out your hands.”
I did as instructed.
Steve whipped out a pair of handcuffs and clapped them on my wrists. His fingers dug into my upper arm, and he tugged me toward the dirt road.
Relief wasn’t a word I’d have used to describe how I felt as we made our way past the suspicious stares of Slim, Stumpy, Elmira and Charlene. But I figured my odds had to be better at the police station than against an angry horde.
Steve led me down the dirt road in silence. Once we rounded a curve out of sight from the others, Steve stopped and let go of my arm.
“I need to check something,” he said. “Wait here.”
He took a step behind me. The familiar sound of duct tape ripping off a roll sounded. I turned to face him, but before I could speak, Steve slapped a strip of tape over my mouth.
Val Fremden Mystery Box Set 3 Page 13
