Val Fremden Mystery Box Set 3

by Margaret Lashley

  “It was a class assignment!”

  I ripped into the bag of popcorn and grabbed a handful. Goober picked up a kernel and popped it into his mouth.

  “Whatever. Anyway, I figured it would definitely not be in your best interest for your computer to fall into the wrong hands, so I –”

  “You have my computer?!”

  “Yeah.”

  “Oh! I could kiss you, Goober! I thought my stories were lost forever!”

  “Really? That’s what you’re worried about?”

  “Oh. Well, no. I mean...it isn’t all I was worried about. You have no idea how hard it is to write a book!”

  “Well, let’s just hope that when you’re done with it, they don’t throw it at you.”

  “Har har. Very funny.”

  “Okay. Assuming Laverne and Elmira didn’t do it, who else could have killed Woggles?”

  “Bigfoot?” I asked.

  “That does it. I’m going to bed.” Goober took a slug of beer and rubbed the sizable twin lumps swelling above his eyebrows. “For some reason, I have a headache.”

  I grimaced with guilt and sympathy. “Sorry again.”

  Goober stood up. I grabbed his hand. “Goober, does Tom know everything?”

  “Pretty much. You want to use my phone to call him?”

  “No. Thanks. I’ll charge mine and call him in the morning.”

  SOUTHERN GUILT MADE me insist that Goober take the bed. I kept an eye on him from a folding chair in the hallway. I was afraid I might have given him a concussion, so I wanted to make sure he kept on breathing through the night.

  When he started snoring like an asthmatic goat, I remembered I’d forgotten to ask him where he’d stashed my computer.

  Dang it!

  I got up and quietly rummaged through the old Minnie Winnie from top to bottom. Goober must have hidden my laptop well, in case the cops decided to search for it.

  I went back to my chair by the bedroom door and watched him breathe for a few minutes. There was a lot I didn’t know about Goober. But one thing was for sure. He was a good friend. He had had my back.

  Bone-tired, I closed my eyes and nodded off in the chair....

  Chef Boyardee was in a red speedo, swimming around in a pool of marshmallow fluff. He spied me sitting on the pool steps. His chef’s hat bobbed up and down as his arms wind-milled through the water toward me like an electric beater. He stopped in front of me, shook his smiling head, and stomped on my little toe.

  I awoke in a start. My toe was throbbing, and an idea was spinning in my head.

  The space above the stove in Winky’s RV...where I’d found the jars. I hadn’t looked for the laptop there!

  I drug the folding chair into the kitchen and found a flashlight under the sink. I climbed up on the chair, opened the cabinet, and peered inside.

  Chef Boyardee’s instincts had been right. But what the flashlight illuminated wasn’t my computer. It was something way, way more precious than that.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  My Dearest, Most Beloved Child,

  Wherever you are, whatever name you’ve been given, to me you will always be my beautiful dragonfly. My precious angel on the wing.

  I never got to see you walk, or smile with pearly little teeth, but I’ve pictured you in my mind a million times.

  I know it would take a true miracle of God for this letter to ever reach you. But miracles have been known to happen. I held one in my arms once, long ago.

  Even so, sometimes I can scarcely believe you really do exist out there, somewhere. It’s those times I look at your photograph, and remember the truth. I truly was blessed.

  Believe me when I tell you that I never wanted to let you go, my sweet angel. But I had to. For your sake.

  I hope one day you’ll understand.

  With all the love a mother can have for her beautiful daughter,

  Your mom,

  Gladys

  A tear splashed down heavy on the small photo in my hand. No bigger than a postage stamp, the faded, black-and-white memory had been accompanied by miracle in the form of a fragile, yellowed note.

  God had granted Glad’s wish. Her daughter had found her letter. And she understood.

  In a way, God had granted my wish, too. I’d never known how I’d come to be lying on the side of the road...to be found by my adoptive father Justas. Had I been abandoned by Glad? Thrown out by her horrible husband Bobby? Stolen and ditched by one of Tony’s disapproving father’s minions?

  Now I knew. I’d been loved. So much so that Glad had given me up to protect me. To give me a chance at a better life.

  In the dim gray of night, the walls of her old RV wrapped around me like a womb. I stared at the miniscule photo of a woman holding a tiny baby in her arms, and let my heart break open and the tears flow.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  I snorted myself awake. I was hunched over on the dinette bench, my head resting on my purse on the table. I lifted my noggin. The muscles in my neck protested so strongly I groaned.

  I rolled my head to one side and rubbed my neck. Sometime during the night, I’d decided that my purse would make an excellent pillow. It was lying sideways on the table in front of me, the impression of my face pressed into it, its contents spilled out like the entrails of a possum caught under the wheels of a Ford F-150.

  The devil was at the stove making coffee. I was ready to sell my soul to him for a cup.

  “Mornin’, sleeping beauty,” Goober teased as he rubbed one of the red lumps on his forehead. “What’cha got there?”

  I looked down at the letter in my hand. I inhaled sharply and pressed it to my chest. “It’s...a...love letter.”

  “From Tom?”

  “Uh...no.”

  “And I thought I had secrets.”

  Goober poured coffee into two mugs. “You take it black?”

  “With milk.”

  “Well, unless you know a friendly cow nearby, I’m afraid this is it.”

  “I’ll take it,” I said, and grabbed the mug he offered.

  “Speaking of secrets, Goober, let’s get back to yours. What’s up with the ten grand? And what did you mean when you said you’d have to disappear if you told me?”

  “Don’t ask.”

  Goober sighed and took a sip of coffee.

  “I just did. Come on.”

  “Geeze! Are you always this feisty in the morning?”

  “You haven’t begun to see my feisty.”

  “Good grief. How does Tom do it?”

  Goober picked up an envelope from the table and waved it at me.

  “If you must know, I have to disappear because the AARP found me.”

  “Yeah, right. Come on, Goober. They find everybody.”

  “Exactly.”

  Goober tossed the AARP envelope back on the table. I set my mug down on it like a coaster.

  “I’m serious, Goober.”

  “So am I. Val, if I tell you, I’ll have to leave all this behind.”

  Goober swept his free hand in the air around the kitchen, like a merchant displaying his fine wares. I wasn’t buying it.

  “It’s just a broken down, old RV,” I muttered.

  Goober dropped his hand and shrugged. “It means a lot more than that to me.”

  Images began to flash in my mind like a series of photographs. The first was of crazy Glad, busy plastering the Minnie Winnie’s walls with decals of dragonflies. Next came Cold Cuts and me donning disguises to go crash someone’s bad date. Silly stakeouts with the guys. And the nights I’d spent in here alone, talking things out with the mother I wished I’d had more time to get to know.

  I looked up at Goober. “I guess I kind of get that.”

  He sighed and slid into the booth opposite me.

  “So, have you called Tom yet?”

  “No.”

  “You’re in up to your eyeballs, Val. What are you waiting for?”

  “I can’t have some man running to my rescue every time I�
��m in trouble, Goober. I need to stand on my own.”

  “No you don’t.”

  “Who are you to talk, Marlboro mystery man?”

  Goober sneered, making him look like a devil in a wife-beater t-shirt.

  “Like I said, I’m not saying. But I’ll tell you this. Being on your own isn’t all it’s cracked up to be. There’s no sin in needing someone, Val.”

  I scowled. “I guess it wouldn’t hurt to get Tom’s professional advice.”

  Goober grinned. “There you go.”

  “Do me a favor, would you?”

  “What?”

  “Lose the gold tooth?”

  Goober laughed and touched his mouth. “I’ll be in the bathroom if you need me.”

  He ambled off as I dialed Tom’s number.

  “Hey, there.”

  “Val! You okay?”

  “Yeah, I’m all right.”

  “Where are you?”

  “With Goober in the RV.”

  “Good. I wish I could be there instead.”

  “Me, too. But it’s okay. I’m doing fine. J.D. said they don’t have enough evidence to hold me.”

  “Hold you? For what?”

  “I...I thought Goober told you.”

  “Told me what?”

  Oh, crap!

  “I kind of got...accused of murder....”

  “What? Not again?!”

  “It’s okay. I didn’t do it.”

  “Val! I know that. But I mean...ugh! What happened?”

  “An old man at Shell Hammock died. I just happened to be writing a story about an old man getting murdered in a trailer park –”

  “Why on Earth?”

  “It was a class assignment!”

  “Oh, geeze.”

  “Tom, the cops want my computer. Do you think I should give it to them?”

  “Absolutely, Val. Hand it over and cooperate. It’s the only way. If they apprehend you trying to flee with it, you’re toast.”

  “Okay. And Tom?”

  “Yeah?”

  “I –”

  The deafening honk of a bullhorn sounded outside. Over a megaphone, a voice demanded, “Come out with your hands up.”

  “Oh crap. Tom, I gotta go.”

  I PEEKED OUT THE RV window. Unless it was “Free Donuts for Cops Day” at Walmart, every cop car in Polk County was hot on our trail. We were surrounded like a wagon train, and Chief Collins was leading the roundup.

  I open the RV door and stood in the doorframe with my hands up. Chief Collins peeked his jowly face from around the open door of a squad car.

  “Step out, Fremden. Anybody else in there?”

  “Yes. My friend Goo...uh...Gerald.”

  “Tell him to come on out, too. Hands in the air.”

  “I can’t. He’s kind of...indisposed.”

  “Disposed! Did you kill him, too?”

  “No! He’s in the bathroom!”

  An officer approached and patted me down.

  “She’s clean.”

  “Go get the other one,” Chief Collins said as he stepped from behind the car door.

  The officer pulled his revolver, crept up the stairs, and disappeared inside the RV.

  Chief Collins took his time approaching me. Probably so I could get a good look at his smug face. He hitched a thumb in his belt loop and rocked onto his tiptoes and back.

  “Got word you were trying to flee the area, Fremden. Not smart.”

  “Chief Collins, if I’d been trying to flee, do you really think I’d have parked at Walmart? Or stayed overnight?” My stomach growled like an angry grizzly. “Or eaten dinner at Tito’s Tacos?”

  He looked me up and down.

  “I’ve seen stupider moves by people on the lam.”

  “I’m not on the lam, sir. I just...well...kind of wore out my welcome at the Hell’ammo.”

  Chief Collins smiled with one side of his mouth.

  “Knowing those folks, I guess I can understand that. But what I don’t get is why your friend there thought it was okay to impersonate an officer.”

  I looked back to see Goober being led out of the RV in handcuffs. “He just –”

  “If you don’t mind, I’d like to hear it from his own lips.”

  The officer shoved Goober up beside me.

  “What’s your name, son?” Chief Collins asked him.

  “Jonohhovitz.”

  “Can you spell that?”

  “Yes. But it might take a while.”

  “Sense of humor, huh? Well, you might need that where you’re going.”

  Chief Collins turned to me. “But first, I’m gonna need that computer of yours, Ms. Fremden.”

  I looked over at Goober.

  “I’ll get it,” he said.

  “Follow him in,” Chief Collins said to the officer. “If he tries anything funny, punch him in the gut. From the looks of it, knocking him on the head is ineffective.”

  I bit my lip and held my arms behind my back.

  For the second time in less than twenty-four hours, I was being cuffed and hauled away.

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  “Says here she’s been researching poisons online,” Detective Rogers said as he pecked through my computer’s browser. “Cyanide, mostly. But took herself a good, long gander at arsenic, too.”

  “You don’t say,” Chief Collins said, swiveling in his chair. He leaned his elbows on his desk and looked me over.

  “It was a class assignment,” I offered weakly.

  “Let me guess. From Angela Lansbury, right?”

  I grimaced. “Langsbury.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  He turned back to Rogers, who was still pecking away at my laptop.

  “When we getting those toxicology reports back?”

  “Any time now, Chief.”

  Chief Collins shook a toothpick out of a silver container on his desk.

  “Well, Ms. Fremden, I don’t have to tell you that this isn’t looking too good for you. Why don’t you just save us all some trouble and confess.”

  “To what? I didn’t kill Woggles!”

  He bit down on the toothpick and grinned. “Then why was his blood found in your RV?”

  “Uh, Chief,” Rogers said, looking up from my computer. “The blood type didn’t match Woggles. It matched her, though.”

  “Hmmm.”

  Chief Collins made a steeple with his fingers.

  “Pray tell, why were you bleeding, Ms. Fremden? Injure yourself struggling with Woggles?”

  “Wha –?”

  Chief Collins leaned in closer.

  “What’s the matter? Did Mr. Wallace refuse to eat your poisonous cookies...so you shoved them down his throat?”

  “No! That’s not what happened!”

  “Then enlighten me, Ms. Fremden. How’d your blood come to be on that table?”

  “I...I stuck my finger on something.”

  “What?”

  I bit my lip. “Hand me my purse and I’ll show you.”

  Chief Collins eyed me sideways as he reached for my handbag.

  “Don’t try any monkey business.”

  He hesitated a moment, then handed me my pocketbook. I pulled out my silver badge.

  “Impersonating an officer,” he said dryly. “Seems to be a rash of that going on lately.”

  “No sir. It’s a Donut VIP badge.” I held it up for his inspection. “See?”

  “So, you think law enforcement’s nothing but a joke, do you?”

  “No! That’s not what I meant at all!”

  The Chief’s eyes shifted from hard to frosty.

  “Well, while we’re waiting on the coroner’s report, I suggest you stay at the Polk Regency.”

  “Uh...thank you, Chief.”

  I stood up to leave. “How do I find it?”

  “Don’t worry. You’re already here. Rogers, put her in cell seven.”

  “My pleasure, sir,” Detective Rogers said. He shot me a sneer and took me by the arm.

  As
he tugged me toward the door, I turned back toward Chief Collins.

  “Sir, I really need to talk to you. I have an idea –”

  Chief Collins chewed his toothpick and leaned back in his chair. “Yeah? Well don’t we all.”

  Rogers yanked me out of the office. As he led me down the hall toward the holding cells, I caught a glimpse of Goober walking out the front door, a free man.

  “You released him, but not me?” I asked, bewildered.

  “Well now, we can’t always get what we want, can we, sweetheart?”

  Rogers gave me a push. His lips formed a sarcastic smile, and he slammed the cell door shut between us.

  “WAKE UP. YOU GOT A visitor,” Detective Rogers barked.

  With much effort, I cracked open an eye. I’d passed out on the cot. I could have slept another two days.

  “Who? Where?” I mumbled.

  I tried to sit up, but gravity felt a lot stronger inside a jail cell.

  “Me. Here,” a voice said.

  A diminutive man in a sharp suit stepped from behind a corner. The sight of him renewed my energy like a gallon of Red Bull.

  I sat up and cried, “J.D.!”

  Rogers snorted. “Let’s hope his bark is bigger than his butt.”

  J.D. looked up at the detective and smiled.

  “Say something like that to me again and I’ll be the new owner of every last one of your worldly possessions.”

  Rogers dried up and blew away like a snot flake in a sandstorm.

  J.D. watched him go, then turned to me and said, “I gotta retire.”

  “SO HOW’S MY CASE LOOKING?” I asked from between the bars in my holding cell.

  “Not good,” J.D. admitted. “Do you have any new information you want to share with me?”

  “I dunno. I know this sounds crazy...”

  J.D.’s silver eyebrows ticked upward, but his expression remained as unchanged as a stone. He looked like a man who’d heard it all before, because, mostly thanks to me, he had.

  “...but I keep thinking about raccoons,” I said. “Woggles wore a coonskin cap, you know. And I think his belt was made from a possum pelt.”