I nearly choked on my chopsticks.
“You okay?” Tom asked.
“Uh...yeah. I mean, no. No, I haven’t see your football.”
Not since that guy swapped me a figurine for it at the yard sale.
“Huh. That’s weird,” Tom said.
“Why?” I asked, and blinked repeatedly until Tom returned to his normal, handsome, well-groomed, present-day self. Unfortunately, the chair remained unchanged.
“I was gonna give it to the puppy,” Tom said. “You know, for a toy.”
Tom leaned forward in his chair. “Aren’t you excited, Val? On Saturday, Sir Albert Snoggles, III is ours!”
My upper lip snarled. “Tell me you didn’t just say Snoggles.”
“Why? What’s wrong with that for a name?”
“Uh...everything.”
Tom frowned. “That’s not fair.”
“Are you serious? What about Rover? Or Rocky? Something...I dunno...normal.”
“You mean boring.”
“I mean not disgusting, Tom. Snoggles? Gross! I almost lost my appetite.”
Tom eyed my plate. “That’d be the day.”
I dropped my chopsticks.
“Really, Tom. Snoggles? It sounds like...I dunno. A phlegm-ridden hog rooting around in a slime pit!”
Tom scowled and stabbed at his noodles.
“It was the name of my dog when I was a kid.”
The corners of my mouth stretched downward. “Oh. Sorry.”
Tom shrugged. “Eh. No big deal. I was eight years old. Back then, disgusting was kind of what I was going for. Maybe you don’t know this, Val, but when you’re a boy, disgusting is cool.”
“In that case, I’m glad you’re not a boy anymore.”
Tom grinned coyly. “So, does that mean you don’t think I’m disgusting?”
“Tom, there’s only one time when I find you truly disgusting.”
Tom’s face grew serious. “When?”
I smirked. “When you’re sitting in that chair.”
Tom laughed, then waggled his eyebrows at me. “Come sit in my lap, little girl.”
I tried not to laugh. “No.”
“Come on. I promise not to be disgusting.”
I bit my lip. “Nothing doing.”
Tom picked up the takeout bag on the coffee table. “I’ll give you my egg roll if you do.”
I eyed him dubiously. “Is it still hot?”
Tom winked a devilish, sea-green eye at me. “I like to think so.”
“You do, huh?”
I grinned and set my take-out box on the coffee table. “Well, let me be the judge of that.”
I PEEKED OUT FROM UNDER the jumble of bedcovers. Something wasn’t right. Something was...missing.
I looked up at the ceiling. “Tom, where’s Goober’s dreamcatcher?”
“Huh?” he grumbled, half asleep.
“Goober’s redneck dreamcatcher. Where is it?”
“I put it out in the garage.”
“Why?”
Tom rolled over to face me. “I thought that’s what you wanted.”
“What I wanted? Why would you think that?”
“Well, I found it on the bed a couple of days ago. And correct me if I’m wrong, but wasn’t it you who kept telling me that you wanted to get rid of all the ‘man junk’ cluttering up the place?”
I raised up on one elbow. “I’m gonna go get it.”
“Uh...you can’t.”
“Why?”
“It’s gone. I...uh...kind of sold it in the yard sale.”
I shot up in bed. “You did what? How could you?”
“What’s the big deal, Val? I was there when you carried that thing into the house. Remember? You were so mortified the neighbors would see it that you hid it behind your purse. Come on, Val. Compared to that thing, my chair looks like a million bucks.”
“No it doesn’t!” I yelled. “And that was then, Tom. Before Goober...you know...left. Now I want his dreamcatcher.”
“For what?”
“For...it has sentimental value, okay?”
“Sentimental?” Tom snorted. “I didn’t think you knew the meaning of the word.”
I raised my bed pillow over Tom’s head. “Are you trying to commit assisted suicide?”
“Be honest, Val. You don’t hold onto anything.”
Pain stabbed my heart like a knife. “What do you mean by that?”
Tom sat up beside me in bed. He tried to hug me, but I swatted his arms away.
“Val, when I met you, you owned as close to nothing as a person can get. Stuff just doesn’t seem to have much meaning to you.”
“How do you figure that?”
“Well, like when you got this house. It was full of your parents’ junk, and you didn’t keep a single scrap of it.”
“I did, too,” I argued. “I kept their pictures. And the dragonfly pendant.”
I touched the charm hanging around my neck, then tugged it toward Tom as proof. “See?”
Tom tried again to wrap his arms around me. But I just wasn’t in the mood for consolation.
“Okay,” Tom said. “I get it. I’m sorry about the dreamcatcher. But Val, you should know that’s how life goes by now. Some things just disappear, no matter how hard you try to hold onto them.”
My heart pinged with pain again.
“I guess.... But this.... Oh, Tom. Now I’ll never see Goober or his dreamcatcher again!”
“Don’t be so dramatic. Just call the guy.”
“Goober? Don’t you think I’ve tried, Tom? His number’s been disconnected.”
“Not Goober. The guy who bought the dreamcatcher.”
“What? How can I do that?”
“I saw him give you his card yesterday. You know. That frizzy-headed doofus with the pink sunglasses.”
Chapter Fifteen
I woke up on the daybed in my home office with a stabbing pain in my neck. The sun glared through a slit in the blinds, piercing my retinas like a laser beam.
My worst nightmare had come true.
I’d had a giant blowout with Tom last night over Goober’s dreamcatcher. But that wasn’t it. Neither was the fact that all my neighbors thought I was a scab, thanks to my traitorous bake-sale vote.
Those were mere dust bunnies under the bed of life compared to the bombshell I’d been blasted with last night.
If I was ever going to see Goober’s dreamcatcher again, I was going to have to make nice...with Ferrol Finkerman.
My jaw tightened hard enough to crack concrete. If ever in my life I needed a figurine fix, this was it.
I punched the pillow that had given me a sore neck. Good thing my Hammer of Justice was secured safely out of my reach.
I’d made sure of it myself.
Right after my bet with Tom, I’d stuck the hammer inside a tackle box, padlocked it, and then duct-taped it to a rafter in the attic. As much as Tom liked to think he knew me, I knew myself even better. After all, I was from the South...sort of.
Most folks who grew up on the warm side of the Mason Dixon line had a tendency toward patience, graciousness, and hospitality. My roots dictated that this should be my legacy as well. But as a baby, I’d been transplanted, so my roots never grew that deep.
And let’s face it, even a Southern Belle had her limits.
Precautions like the one I’d taken with my hammer were personal fallback strategies that slightly less genteel women such as myself arranged from time to time, in order to retain our dignity when dealing with dirtbags...
...and, of course, to avoid incarceration.
I sat up in the daybed and peeked out between a slit in the blinds. Tom’s SUV was gone. I slumped back onto the daybed.
I guess Tom was as ticked as I was. This was the first time he’d left for work without saying goodbye.
The fact that I’d stomped all over the neatly polished work shoes he’d left by the front door had probably done nothing to improve his attitude.
I ble
w out a breath, dragged myself out of bed, and stumbled over to my desk. I pulled out the manila envelope I’d stuck in the drawer and studied the business card that sleaze-ball Finkerman had stapled to the front of it.
Finkerman & Finkerman, Attorneys at Law
Two Finkermans, No Waiting.
Call 1-888-SUE-EM-NOW.
Good lord! Don’t tell me there’s two of him!
I set the card back on my desk and peeked through the blinds again. Tom’s SUV still wasn’t there. I felt the air escape from deep within my lungs.
The fight we’d had last night really wasn’t much of one, as domestic quarrels went. Like a total jerk, Tom had refused to argue over what he’d labeled, “a simple misunderstanding.” I was the one who’d thrown a hissy fit and stomped off to sleep in another room.
A “simple misunderstanding?”
Men!
I blew out an angry breath and padded barefoot to the kitchen. A cappuccino was waiting for me on the counter, along with a note scribbled on the back of an envelope.
I’m sorry, Val. I didn’t know that Goober’s dreamcatcher meant that much to you.
Tom
I bit my lip until I almost drew blood.
Dang it! Why am I always the one left to feel guilty over something that wasn’t even my fault?
I took a sip of cappuccino. It was still warm.
As the foamy brew went down my throat, it began to melt the block of ice in my heart. I took another sip and suddenly, for some reason I couldn’t name, I broke down and balled my eyes out like a scolded child.
Chapter Sixteen
Put the ladder back, Val.
I was in the garage, standing on the bottom rung, directly below the attic access.
Three weeks and six days. You can make it.
The tendons in my jaw tensed as I set my resolve. I stepped off the ladder and dragged it back to its spot against the wall. From the top of the washing machine, a small, grimacing man on a toilet stared back at me.
Doo-Doo Daddy had been liberated from my secret shoebox stash. But I hadn’t smashed him...yet.
My teeth raked across my bottom lip.
This is gonna to be a lot harder than I thought.
I grabbed Dr. Dingbat’s miniature monstrosity and stomped back inside. But on my way to put the figurine back in the closet, something even more grotesque caught my eye. Tom’s insidious chair.
I circled the pathetic, plaid-covered lump, studying every detail as if it were in a lineup, suspected of murder. For an easy chair, Tom hadn’t been so easy about letting it go.
Why?
Why does Tom want to hold onto this ghastly thing, anyway? What’s so important about it? What’s his secret? His “sentimental” reason? Was it...memories of another woman?
My fingers tightened around the figurine in my hand. My need for stress relief was approaching nuclear meltdown. But with porcelain pounding temporarily off the table, it was time to initiate Plan B.
Donuts.
I stuck my tongue out at the chair and sneered.
At that moment, I realized I was losing it.
I needed to get out of there before I did something rash. I tossed Difficult Defecation into my purse, grabbed my car keys, and set my sights on Winky’s donut shop on Sunset Beach.
I WAS CRUISING DOWN Gulf Boulevard with the top down on Maggie when the flashing lights of a newly installed pedestrian crosswalk made me slam on the brakes. The sudden deceleration sent my purse careening across the passenger seat onto the floorboard.
As I reached down to retrieve it, I realized I was so desperate for one of Winnie’s peanut butter and bacon donut bombs that I could already smell it.
It must be my imagination....
I grabbed my purse and sat back up in the seat.
Or maybe it’s the two tourists crossing the street in front of me.
The sickly sweet aroma of tropical sunscreen melded with the exhaust from Big Bob’s Breakfast Buffet across the street. The combination filled the air and followed along with the couple like a noxious cloud.
I winced. But not just from the smell.
One glance at the hapless pair had me predicting their future...with no need of a crystal ball.
Even in overcast weather like today, the summer sun in Florida was a sneaky devil. From June to September, the lily-white skin of naïve tourists could get par-boiled in under twenty minutes. Judging from the looks of those two, their twenty minutes had come and gone a couple of hours ago.
The doomed duo were a shade of ruddy pink that could only mean one thing. They’d be spending the rest of their vacation lying in bed, covered with aloe-vera gel, blisters, and regrets.
As the couple stepped onto the opposite curb, I hit the gas.
I hope they have enough sense to head for some shade....
Maggie’d barely gotten rolling again when I had to stop a second time. I got caught at the traffic light in front of the Grand Plaza Hotel. It was as if the universe could smell my desperation – even over Bob’s odiferous Breakfast Buffet.
I looked over at the round, eleven-story hotel. The Grand Plaza stuck out like a giant alabaster thumb between its neighbors, a pair of dated, blocky, low-rise motels you could drive by a dozen times and never recall.
But you’d have been hard pressed to miss the Grand Plaza. It was brilliant-white, cylindrical, and dotted with rows of dark, square windows. Ever since the first time I saw it, it’s reminded me of a toilet-paper tube that’d been branded by a waffle iron.
Built in a bygone era, the place’s claim to fame was a rotating restaurant on the top floor. In all the years I’d lived here, I’d never dined there. I guess I just didn’t see the point of eating dinner on a merry-go-round. I got seasick just looking off the end of a dock.
The light turned green and I hit the gas. As if on cue, my cellphone rang. The display told me it was Milly. My old friend had a new batch of Pomeranian-mix puppies, one of which would be coming home with me on Saturday.
I’d agreed to take one of the pups off her hands, not so much because I loved dogs as because the whole pregnancy thing was kind of my fault.
A stray dog I’d taken to her dog’s Bark-mitzva party a couple of months ago had gotten loose...and a little “rambunctious.” Before I could catch him, he’d gone and knocked up Milly’s Pomeranian, Charmine.
So, yet again, I was faced with paying the piper for some guy’s careless actions.
I answered the phone. “Hey, Milly.”
“Hey, Val! You ready to come take this cute little pup of yours off my hands?”
“Sure. We’re still on for Saturday pick-up, like we planned.”
“Good. I was beginning to wonder. You haven’t been by to visit in a while.”
“Look, I’m driving, so I can’t talk now.”
“Val, are you trying to avoid me or something?”
“No.” I sighed. “Milly, you know Charmine hates me.”
“No she doesn’t!”
I waited a beat.
“Okay. She does,” Milly confessed. “Sorry about that. So, I’ll see you Saturday, then?”
“All right. Bye.”
“Oh! Wait!”
“What?”
“By the way, I just want you to know, I think your little Sir Albert Snoggles, III is the pick of the litter!”
My ears started burning.
“Snoggles?”
“It’s such an adorable name!” Milly cooed. “I hope I spelled it right when I put it on the vaccination records. How’d you and Tom come up with it?”
I unclenched my jaw enough to say, “It was totally Tom’s idea.”
“Well, he sure is special. I’m gonna miss having all these cutie-pies around. Okay, I’ll let you go. See you Saturday for brunch!”
“Okay. See you then.”
I clicked off the phone and stomped the gas pedal. Maggie’s dual, glass-pack muffler roared so loud it caused a tourist crossing the road to jump clean out of his flip-flops. I waved
a lame apology, then hooked a right and headed toward Sunset Beach, where Winky and Winnie’s donuts awaited.
If this keeps up, it’s gonna be a two-dozen kind of day....
Chapter Seventeen
As I twisted barefoot in the sand toward Winky’s little donut shack on Sunset Beach, I couldn’t help but notice that he’d made a few improvements to the place.
They weren’t nearly enough.
Despite a new coat of light-blue paint, the single-story, concrete-block structure looked more like an abandoned storage unit than a snack shop. The only signs of life around the derelict structure were a couple of seagulls fighting over a wayward French fry – and the unmistakable sound of Winky impersonating Woody the Woodpecker.
The distinct, high-pitched staccato laugh wafted out of the only window on the side of the unkempt building. The panes of the window slid sideways, like a drive-thru service window. But the shack itself was plunked down in pure beach sand, so the only vehicle that could have made it there was an ATV. Or maybe a dune buggy.
Or a customer on foot.
As I made my way through the sand to the walk-up window, I noticed a warped, grey board hanging down from the roof soffit. Rounded at both ends, it resembled a crude, redneck surfboard. Across the middle, hand-painted in yellow, were the words, Winnie and Winky’s Bait & Donut Shop.
On either side of the words, two smiley faces leered at impending customers. One had hair. One didn’t. Both looked a little crazed.
How apropos.
Despite their home-grown efforts to spruce up the place, the donut shop was still a dump, no matter which way you looked at it. But on the beach, neighborhood dives like Winky and Winnie’s were treasured for being a tad tarnished. Locals called it “character.” Snooty transplants called it “negligence.”
To each his own.
Winky’s lunatic laugh rang out again, reminding me that I, myself, was not in a humorous mood. In fact, just the opposite. Tom had sold Goober’s dreamcatcher right out from under me, and I was none too happy about it.
I stuck my head in the service window and spotted Winky.
Val Fremden Mystery Box Set 3 Page 26
