“But that’s just it, Tom. The report’s already come in.”
Tom stepped around to the back of Maggie. “What did it say?”
“That whatever killed that raccoon in the dumpster killed Woggles, too.”
“So what’s the problem?”
“I dunno. I just...hey, what are you doing?”
“Opening the trunk.”
“There’s nothing in there.”
The trunk popped open. Tom grimaced. “That’s not entirely true.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Come see for yourself.”
I walked over and stared inside the trunk. A dead raccoon stared back.
“THANKS FOR GETTING that thing out of my trunk, Tom,” I said as I hauled my suitcase into the garage.
“No problem. That’s what men are for,” he quipped and wrapped a twist-tie around a garbage bag containing the dead raccoon.
“How in the world do you think it got in there?”
I dumped my clothes directly from the suitcase into the washing machine.
“Most likely through that rust hole in the undercarriage I told you to get it fixed. It probably died of asphyxiation from the fumes.”
I turned on the washer. Tom followed me back inside and into the kitchen.
“But why wouldn’t it have just crawled back out?”
“Well, that’s hard to do when some maniac is driving eighty miles an hour.”
“I never go past seventy-nine.”
“Right. It was motion sickness that did him in.”
“Huh. Maybe that’s the reason.”
I cracked open the fridge.
“The reason for what?”
Tom plunked down on a stool.
“For why the raccoon didn’t leave, Tom. Maybe it was too sick to get out, so it died in there.”
“Were Laverne’s cookies in the trunk?”
I shot him some side eye and reached for a bottle of beer.
“No. But seriously, Tom. That first night I was at the Hell’ammo –”
“The what?”
“Uh...beer?”
“Sure.”
I handed him a bottle. “Shell Hammock is the.... Long story. Tell you later. The point is, what I’m trying to say is that raccoons got in my car and ate Laverne’s cookies. The next morning, I saw a sick raccoon stumbling around outside the RV. Do you think her cookies could have, you know, killed them?”
I popped the top on my beer and handed Tom the opener.
“There’s only one way to find out.”
I smiled hopefully. “So, you’ll get your guys at work to test the raccoon?”
Tom raised his bottle of beer in a mock toast.
“Anything for you, Val.”
“Thanks, Tom.”
I took a slug of beer, then set the bottle on the counter and wrapped my arms around him.
“You know how much I love it when you use your cop powers for good.”
“Yeah, right,” he laughed. “You just can’t resist a man in uniform.”
“Maybe,” I said. “But actually, I like you better out of uniform.”
Tom set his beer on the counter next to mine.
“Well, Ms. Fremden, that can be arranged.”
“DID YOU GET ANY WRITING done?” Tom asked as he leaned on the doorframe to the bedroom.
For once, the question didn’t cause my upper lip to twitch with annoyance. I stretched my legs, shuffled my torso to sitting, and fluffed the pillows behind me.
“Yes, as a matter of fact, I did.”
“Well, in that case, my girl deserves a cappuccino in bed.”
“Mmmm,” I hummed as I took the frothy-topped cup from his hand.
“Well, it might be crude, but it works,” Tom said as he slid into bed beside me.
“What are you talking about?”
Tom shot me one of his boyish grins and pointed a finger toward the ceiling. I looked up. Hanging from the curtain rod above the headboard was a pair of pink panties and three dangling tin cans.
I laughed until I’d sloshed every drop of cappuccino from my warm, ceramic cup.
Chapter Thirty-Four
Two days had passed since my return. I was in my new home office Monday morning, pecking away at my computer when the doorbell rang. My retired Vegas-performing neighbor had detected my return.
“Hey, honey!” Laverne said when I opened the front door. “You’re back early! How was your trip?”
“Okay. I managed to escape with my life. And I wrote my first short story.”
Laverne grinned. “Can’t ask for more than that now, can you? What’s it called?”
“The Snicker...”
Oh crap! I can’t tell Laverne that I’m using her cookies to murder someone!
“Uh...The Snicker Bar Murders.”
“That sounds great! Are you writing now, sugar?”
“Uh...yes.”
“Well don’t let me stop the budding author! I just happened to see that horrible scrape on poor Maggie, and wanted to make sure you’re all right.”
“I’m fine, thanks. But I’m afraid Maggie’s a little worse for wear.”
“If you don’t mind, let me have a crack at covering that scratch.”
“What? Really?”
“I was a nail technician in another life.”
I shook my head and smiled.
“Well that sounds like a story in and of itself.”
Laverne showed me her dentures. “You better believe it, honey!”
“Well, okay, then. Sure. Give it a go. Oh. Are you still going to cooking class on Thursday night?”
“Of course!”
“Okay then. Just pop over when you’re ready to roll.”
“Thanks. Will do. And Val?”
“Yeah?”
“It’s good to have you back.” Laverne reached her flabby spider arms out for a hug. I gave her one.
“It’s good to be back.”
THE BAD NEWS WAS, I hadn’t lasted a week at the Hell’ammo. The good news was, it had proven to be just the inspiration I’d been searching for.
Over the past three days, I’d typed my fingers to the bone. I’d missed last week’s class on Mystery Writing for Fun and Profit, but I’d more than made up for it. I had my assignments up to date, including a short story...actually, a couple of stories...to share with Mrs. Langsbury and the others at class tonight.
I was flying high.
But when I walked into the class, old lady Langsbury wasn’t happy to see me. Her pursed lips were white. The rest of her face, usually translucent, had taken on the shade of a ripe pomegranate.
I slunk into a seat next to Victoria the librarian impersonator. She glared at me through her thick, Woody Allen glasses while red-headed Clarice crinkled her long, pinched nose and sniffed like I might have just farted.
“Well, I suppose we should get started,” Langsbury said sourly.
“But Ms. Langsbury, shouldn’t we wait for Judy and...that young guy?” I asked.
For some reason, I’d felt the need to raise my hand. I lowered it lamely.
“Jeff. They won’t be returning to class.”
“What? Why not?”
Clarice and Victoria sniggered until Langsbury’s Medusa impression turned them to stone.
“Apparently, Ms. Bloomers has an apt name. She seems to be in the habit of losing hers.”
“What?” I asked.
“Judy took the ‘fun and profit’ part of this class a little too literally.”
“I’m sorry. I still don’t get it,” I said apologetically.
Langsbury blew out a breath and slumped to a seat on the front edge of her desk.
“After hitting us all up for our potential as real-estate clients, Judy hit gold with Jeff. According to him, Judy showed Jeff and his father a couple of condos, then ran off with his dear old dad. Jeff called me this afternoon to let me know he’d just gotten word his father and Judy were shacking up together in the Bahamas.”
Holy mackerel!
“So, did any of the three of you remaining manage to complete last week’s assignment?” Langsbury asked.
“I did,” I offered.
“Good. I could use a good laugh.”
AFTER CLASS, LAVERNE approached Maggie with her latest deadly weapon in tow. A fresh batch of lemon bars.
“Is that your latest class project?” I asked as she climbed into the passenger’s seat.
“Yeah. You want one?”
“Uh...no thanks. I’m on this new diet. No food after 6:00 p.m.”
“All right.”
Laverne put the plate on the floorboard and buckled herself in.
“I’m planning on taking these over to Winky’s tomorrow, anyway. It’ll be nice to see the whole gang together again, don’t you think?”
“Yeah, it will. I hope it’s more fun than my writer’s group was tonight.”
Laverne shot me a sideways glance with those pug eyes of hers. “What happened?”
I shifted into reverse and pulled out of the parking space.
“You remember that young man who was part of our hen party?”
“Yeah.”
“Seems Judy Bloomers ran off with his dad after showing him some condos.”
Laverne shook her horsey head. “Wonders never cease.”
I turned onto First Avenue North and headed toward the beach.
“Yeah. The other ladies were pretty pissed about it. Judy flew the coop, and ruffled everybody else’s feathers in the process.”
“Those old biddies. They were probably mad because they didn’t think of it first.”
I laughed. “Could be. Speaking of men, how are things with you and J.D.?”
“I asked him to move out while you were gone.”
I hit the brakes a little hard at a yellow light. “Oh. I’m sorry, Laverne!”
“Don’t be. I’m not.”
“What happened...if you don’t mind me asking?”
Laverne smiled softly. “I got no secrets from you, Val. It was nothing terrible. J.D. just reminded me of the ins and outs of having a man around. I like my life the way it is.”
“So, you two are through?”
“I wouldn’t go that far. Like I’ve told you before. J.D. is just too...I dunno. Stiff. He’s always doing everything so prim and proper. It’s kind of dull, you know? I told him I like to have fun. Be spontaneous. Life’s too short to live by others’ rules and expectations, don’t you think?”
“Sure.”
“Besides, I’m okay without a man. I think J.D. and I work best as friends...with the occasional ‘benefits’ thrown in.”
I looked over at the old lady who had to be pushing eighty.
“Good for you.”
Laverne smiled. “Yeah. It is.”
She motioned toward the platter of lemon bars. “You sure I can’t tempt you with one?”
“Yeah. I’m sure.”
Chapter Thirty-Five
It had been a great morning so far. I hadn’t spilled my cappuccino or snapped the thick, red rubber band hanging around my wrist. Instead, I’d written nine-hundred and ninety-eight words in a new short story called Golden Years. I typed in “jellybean time,” to round out my thousand-word count, and reached into the jar to collect my reward.
The phone rang. My roommate was on the line.
“Hey, Tom.”
“You got those lemon bars made yet?”
“I’m working on it. I just wanted to get my word count in first. Just finished.”
“Good. I’m proud of you. But don’t forget about the lemon bars. I just got the toxicology report. That raccoon in your trunk was loaded with rat poison.”
“Geeze! Rat poison!”
“Val, you don’t think Laverne could have mistaken it for baking powder, or something?”
“I have no idea, Tom. But...I’ll do my best to find out.”
“Meantime, I’ll call Chief Collins.”
“No. Let me, Tom. If you don’t mind, I’d like to do it myself.”
“Be my guest, Valliant Stranger, P.I.”
“Don’t be a jerk.”
“I’m not kidding. You earned it. You’re saving an innocent woman.”
“And possibly convicting a friend.”
“Maybe. Maybe not. Life can be full of tough choices.”
I glanced over at the new daybed in my office. I hoped I’d never feel the need to use it.
“Right. Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that.”
“WELL, HOWDY THERE, Ms. Fremden.”
“Hi, Chief Collins.”
“What can I do for you?”
“Well, I’m calling because I think I know what happened to Woggles.”
“He was poisoned.”
“Right. But I don’t think Elmira did it.”
The line was silent for a moment. “You don’t say.”
“Chief, you see, I had this feeling...that is, something kept bugging me about the raccoons.”
“Let me put your mind at ease, Ms. Fremden. The varmints didn’t drown Woggles. His lungs had no trace of water in them.”
“No, that’s not what I meant. You see, I saw a sick raccoon the day before Woggles was found dead. And when I got home, I found a dead raccoon in my trunk.”
“My condolences to your family.”
I sighed. “I’m serious, Chief. I had the police here test it. It was poisoned, too.”
“I think we established that already.”
“Yes. But it wasn’t poisoned by apple seeds. When you ingest them, it turns into cyanide, or something like that.”
“Yes, I’m aware of that.”
“Woggles trapped raccoons for their skins to make hats and stuff.”
“Ms. Fremden, we’ve already gone over this. Is there a point to all this?”
“Yes. Please just bear with me just a moment longer. The first night I was at the Hell...Shell Hammock, raccoons got into my car and ate some of the cookies I’d brought with me. Woggles must have chased them off and took the rest back to his place.”
“So you think the poison that killed him was in the cookies you brought? Be careful. You’re treading on thin ice....”
“Yes and no. I think that night Woggles was out baiting traps...putting rat poison out for the raccoons. The raccoon I found in my trunk was loaded with it. My theory is, Woggles saw the coons in my car and chased them away. While he was doing that, the poison he was using got onto the cookies. Either that or he didn’t wash his hands very well after baiting the traps. He took the cookies home, ate them, and...well, you know the rest. I think through his own carelessness, Woggles poisoned himself. Accidentally, of course.”
“Well, that’s an interesting theory. But Rogers already said the report showed that Elmira poisoned him.”
“Not exactly, Chief. As I recall, Rogers said that Woggles and the raccoons died from ‘the same agent.’”
“Hmmm. I believe you’re right. ‘Agent’ could mean anything. Now why would Rogers say such a thing?”
“I don’t know. I just don’t want Elmira to go to jail for a crime she didn’t commit.”
“That’s pretty nice of you, considering what went down between you two. She thinks you’re a witch, you know.”
“Yeah. I had a feeling.”
Chief Collins laughed. “Who knows? Maybe you are. This idea of yours, if it had been true, would have been magic to her ears.”
“What do you mean, if it had been true?”
“Well, you’re not the only one who put on their thinking cap, Ms. Fremden. I got to ruminating over the whole thing myself, and decided to peruse the coroner’s report one more time. Turns out nobody poisoned Woggles. Not even himself. He didn’t have a trace of anything in his system.”
“But why did Detective Rogers –”
“Rogers confessed to me that he lied about the poison results. He was just trying to protect his best buddy Woggles from going down in history as an illegal poacher.”
“I guess you could see it that way. But if we locked up everybody who made a mistake around here, there’d be nobody left to unlock the jail cells. And Miss Elmira wasn’t totally innocent herself. She did try to poison Woggles. She just got lucky she’s illiterate and can’t count past thirty.”
“But still...”
“Believe you me, Ms. Fremden, Detective Rogers isn’t going unpunished. He’s learning his lesson as we speak. Washing the inside of a dumpster is never any fun. Scrubbing every one within a mile of here in the stifling heat of summer makes it, as you can imagine, even more unpleasant.”
“Country justice, Chief Collins?”
“Poetic justice, more like it.”
“So then, Chief, if nobody poisoned Woggles, what did he die from?”
“Turns out, according to the coroner’s report, Mr. Wallace Walters was a ripe ninety-four years old, Ms. Fremden. He died of old age.”
“You don’t say.”
“Listen, I kept Elmira in the slammer for a week so she could ruminate on her evil ways. I’m releasing her as we speak. Hold on a second.”
I heard the Chief’s muffled voice over the speaker.
“Elmira, it’s that Val Fremden lady. She called trying to clear your name. I think you owe her an apology.”
“Chief!” I hollered into the phone. “That’s not necessary!”
“Ms. Fremden, I just want to say thank you,” Elmira’s voice cracked over the phone. “I read you wrong. Seems like it’s hard to know who to trust no more. That rascal Woggles told me he was seventy-four. Soon as I get home, I’m gonna shut down my profile on MatchMate. The internet ain’t nothin’ but a pack of lies!”
I stifled a laugh. “I couldn’t agree with you more, Elmira. I wish the best of luck to you and your sister Charlene.”
“Thanky.”
Chief Collins took the phone. “Well, I guess that about sums it up, Ms. Fremden.”
“I’d say so. Thanks for giving me the benefit of the doubt, Chief Collins.”
“I find it almost always pays to do so. Take care, young lady.”
“You too, Chief.”
I clicked off the phone.
Val Fremden Mystery Box Set 3 Page 18
