The raven eyes narrowed and shot right through me. “You know him?”
“No. I just saw a picture of his father in the paper. You know, with the mayor.”
Her face relaxed the slightest smidgen possibly discernable by the human eye. “Tim Amsel doesn’t have a son. That’s Mr. Amsel himself.”
Really? What kind of egomaniacal jerk has a picture of himself that’s thirty years out of date?
“It looks like a college graduation picture,” I said. “What school did he attend?”
Dimson looked pained, as if she were in the middle of having a stroke.
“How about we stick with the deposition, Fresno?” she said.
“Fremden. Sure.”
“I prepared the document. All I need you to do is sign it.”
“Shouldn’t I be interviewed? I mean, I thought I was supposed to...”
“You want to write your own deposition?” Dimson hissed. “Fine. Write it on your own time. I’m doing this pro bono.” She checked her watch. “I’ve got another appointment to get to.”
“Well...uh....”
As I fumbled for words, Dimson glared at me in disgust.
“Ugh! Just take this one with you, Frampton,” she said. “If you don’t like it, type up a new one. I really don’t give a shh...sugar. Just make sure I have it back by Monday morning. The hearing is at eleven.”
“Fremden. Well, I...uh....”
Dimson stood up and blew out a sigh. “Look, Framsen, I thought pre-preparing the document would be the easiest way, but you obviously have other ideas. Like I said, get it to me by Monday.”
“Okay.”
“I trust you can you find your way out.”
“Yes.”
And I can’t wait to leave.
THE BEADY-EYED BROAD had given me the bum’s rush. When I got back to my car, I still had an hour left on my meter. I considered walking the six blocks to Chocolateers for a chocolate-covered cherry fix. But then I realized J.D.’s offices were just around the corner. I needed to make some headway in finding Goober.
J.D. owed me a favor. It was high time to cash it in.
I tucked the deposition folder under Maggie’s driver’s seat and hot-footed it over to see Laverne’s ex-boyfriend, Mr. J.D. Fellows, Esq.
It’d been a while since I’d been to his office, and I’d forgotten how posh it was. The furniture and art were even fancier than at Gallworth & Haney, but somehow it lacked the other place’s cold ostentatiousness. Maybe it was because the receptionist was actually nice. She offered me a coffee, and before I’d had a chance to take a sip, J.D. came out to greet me wearing one of his immaculate, tailor-made Armani suits.
“You always make me feel like a fashion ‘don’t,’” I quipped.
J.D. rocked back on his heels and spread his arms out to his sides. “Not exactly the image that comes to mind of a guy who’d break into your house to steal a tacky figurine and a handful of marshmallow ghosts.”
Normally the epitome of what one would expect from a top-drawer business professional, J.D.’s unusual candor surprised me so much I actually let out a little laugh.
“That’s something new,” I said.
“I’m working on it,” J.D. said with a shrug. “Laverne says I’m too stiff. How’d I do?”
“Not bad. Is that a new suit?”
“Yes. As you may recall, Laverne sold three of my best suits in that ridiculous neighborhood yard sale of yours.”
“Oh. Yeah. Sorry about that.”
“Somewhere, some preschooler’s looking good for kindergarten graduation,” he joked. “At least Laverne gave me the entire fifteen dollars she got for them.”
We exchanged eye rolls and burst out laughing.
“Life is weird,” I said. “You know, never in a million years would I have put you and Laverne together. But somehow, you two click.”
“Clicked,” J.D. corrected. “As you know, we’re not together anymore. But I hope to earn my way back into her good graces.”
J.D. looked down at his Gucci loafers and shook his head. “But you’re right, Val. I never would have put us together, either. But as Laverne says, the heart wants what the heart wants.”
I blew out a breath between my pursed lips. “That it does.”
I followed J.D. into his office and blinked twice. Every time I’d ever been in it, I felt as if I’d been transported into another dimension, where everything was off scale and out of whack. When he and I’d walked down the hallway, the top of J.D.’s silver-haired head had come to just above my elbow. But once he took his seat in his custom-made mahogany desk, he towered a good two feet over me as I sat cowered in the short-legged chair opposite him.
I wonder if this is how Alice felt when she was in Wonderland....
“I remember the first time I was here,” I said to the mighty J.D. up in his impenetrable tower. “You helped me track down the heir to Glad and Tony’s will.”
“I remember, too. You wouldn’t take no for an answer. You were spunkier then.”
“And you were grumpier.”
J.D. chuckled. “I suppose I was. Some changes are for the better. But not all of them. Take a look at that one.”
J.D. pointed out the window and scowled.
“I used to be able to see the boats in the harbor,” he grumbled. “Now all I can see is somebody’s lousy balcony. That new Ovation condo tower killed my view.”
“Sorry.”
“What can you do?” J.D. shrugged and put away his sour face. “Anyway, what brings you here, Val?”
“I’m ready to cash in my You-Owe-Me. You said you’d help me find Goober, remember?”
“Yes. Of course. What have you got so far to go on?”
“Not much. Can I borrow a notepad?”
J.D.’s silver eyebrows shot up.
“Uh...sure,” he said, and handed me a legal pad.
I took it, wrote out the word PObbLE, and handed it back to him.
“Do you have any idea what that could mean?”
J.D. studied it a moment and sighed. “I’m an attorney, Val, not a cryptologist. I give up. What is it?”
“It’s a note I found inside a gift Goober left me.”
“What kind of gift?”
“Does it matter?”
J.D. shrugged. “It might.”
“It was in a tobacco tin...hanging on a redneck dreamcatcher.”
“A redneck dreamcatcher?”
“I didn’t say it was a nice gift.”
J.D. did his best to stifle a smirk. “Okay. What else do you have?”
“Well, I know Goober disappeared somewhere between Lake Wales and St. Pete nineteen days ago.”
“Did he say anything to you the last time you saw him? Any suspicious behavior?”
“Not really. But I know he’d gotten a check for ten grand about a week before he disappeared.”
J.D perked up and leaned across his desk toward me. “Ten grand? For what?”
“I don’t know. I asked him, but he said if he told me, he’d have to disappear. And then...geeze...well, he did.”
“Strange. Did he say why he’d have to go?”
“No. Well, yeah. One thing. But it was a joke.”
“What did he say?”
“He got a letter from the AARP. He said he had to go because they’d found him.”
J.D. rested his head on his fist. “The AARP finds everybody eventually.”
“That’s what I told him.”
“You have the tag number for the RV?”
“No. But I’ll call Cold Cuts and get it from her.”
“Okay. And what’s Goober’s real name again?”
“Gerald Jonohhovitz.”
“Can you spell that?”
“Sure. But it may not matter. Tom’s already run it through all kinds of databases. He didn’t get a hit.”
“Maybe he spelled it wrong.”
I shrugged. “Maybe.”
“Or maybe it’s an alias.”
“That’s what I’m worried about. What if he’s...you know, running from the law?”
J.D. leaned in toward me. “Well, then, that’s where an attorney comes in handy. We cover both sides.”
I nodded. “So what do we do now?”
“I recommend we interview Goober’s other known associates.”
“You mean friends?”
“Uh...sure. Winky, Jorge, anybody else you can think of.”
“What should I ask them?”
“Don’t worry about that. You set up the meetings...say tomorrow afternoon? We’ll do it together.”
“On a Saturday?”
“My social calendar’s opened up since Laverne and I split up.”
“Oh.” I started to say something, but hesitated.
“Was there anything else?” J.D. asked.
“Just one more thing. Did you hear about Sunset Beach? Some developer wants to tear down Caddy’s and Winky’s donut shop and build a condo tower.”
“Yes, I’ve heard.”
“Aren’t you upset? It’ll be right next to your house. I was kind of hoping you could help me start the legal work for some kind of protest. You know, questioning the environmental ramifications?”
J.D. looked at me solemnly. “Sorry. I can’t help you there.”
My jaw tightened. “Why not?”
“It would be a conflict of interest.”
“What are you talking about, J.D.?”
“I sold my house to Progress, Inc.”
“What?!” I screeched.
“This Amsel fellow wanted it for a pre-construction office while he builds the place. As soon as my unit is done, I’ll be moving to the Ovation right over there.” J.D. nodded toward the window. “As they say, if you can’t beat ‘em, join ‘em.”
I picked my jaw up off the floor.
“J.D., where’s your loyalty?”
J.D. sighed tiredly. “I don’t get paid for loyalty, Val. I get paid for results. Set up the meetings, and let’s see what we can do to find your pal Goober.”
Chapter Ten
After spending the morning dealing with two different attorneys, I thought it was a pretty safe bet the low point for my day had already gone by.
I was wrong.
As I walked back to my car, a light-green slip of paper waved at me from my windshield.
Crap on a cracker!
Not only did I have a lousy parking ticket – some jerk had reached inside Maggie and stolen my stash of green Tic-Tacs.
That’s what I get for trusting people enough to leave the convertible top open.
I jerked opened the driver’s side door and plopped down on the seat. I was so hopping mad I barely felt the molten heat of the red vinyl as it scorched my thighs. I reached down and felt under the seat for Langsbury’s deposition folder.
Unbelievable! Some dirtbag took it, too!
For a brief second, I thought about running up and getting another copy from bird-faced Dimson. But I was out of quarters and patience. Besides, the freaking meter patrol vehicle was heading my way. I didn’t need another twenty-five-dollar parking ticket. My good deed to get Langsbury off scot-free had cost me enough already.
It was time for that chocolate fix.
I turned the ignition and blew a noisy cloud of blue exhaust in the meter patrolman’s face.
Look out, Chocolateers. Two dark-chocolate covered cherries are about to meet their fate.
WHEN I PULLED UP TO my house, I was surprised to see my neighbor Nancy outside – without her binoculars. She was in her front yard, flailing around. She’d either had an aneurism or she was doing jumping jacks. As I cut the engine on Maggie, I could hear her grunting from across the street.
Oh my lord! She’s doing grunt aerobics!
Nancy waved jazz hands at me mid-jumping jack. I waved back and checked my gut’s ever-reliable guilt-o-meter.
Nothing. Not a jot.
I shot Nancy a grin and climbed out of the car. As the door slammed closed, I heard a hissing sound like a tire going flat.
“Pssst.”
The noise was coming from the direction of my neighbor Jake’s house. I looked over the hedge and spotted him. He was kneeling in the grass, waving at me. Jake dropped his hairy handful of dandelions, stood up, and ambled toward me like a bald chimpanzee dressed in a wife-beater t-shirt and shorts.
“I see Nancy’s given you the ‘Spruce-Up September’ talk,” I said as he approached.
“Yeah.” Jake nodded in Nancy’s direction. “I decided to pull some weeds and watch the show. I think the old girl’s lost it.”
I bit my lip and confessed. “I kind of told her there was such a thing as ‘grunt aerobics.’”
Jake smiled at me like one evil genius to another. “Why?”
“Don’t ask. Hey, did Laverne talk to you about finding a way to smuggle Randolph out of town?”
Jake glanced across the street again. “Is that Nancy’s husband?”
“Uh...no. It’s Laverne’s pig. So, I take it she didn’t talk to you.”
“No. I think I would’ve remembered that conversation.”
“Come with me.” I led Jake inside my front door. “I’ll call Laverne. It’s time we got this whole pig thing wrapped up.”
“Like a pig in a blanket,” Jake joked.
I shot him some side-eye. “Uh, yeah – no.”
“WELL, NOW I’VE SEEN everything,” Jake said as he peered over the fence into Laverne’s covert compost pen aka pig pen. “Hi, Randolph.”
Randolph grunted.
“Do you think he actually knows his name?” I asked.
“Sure he does,” Laverne said. “Don’t you, Randolph?”
Randolph grunted again.
“She’s right,” Jake said. “Pigs are smart. And pretty social. It’s been proven they can learn their names by the time they’re just a few weeks old.”
“How can they prove that?” I asked. “All a pig can say is ‘oink.’ It’s easy to know your name if it’s the only word your mom can say.”
Jake sighed and rolled his eyes. “I meant the names humans give them, smarty pants.”
“So, do you have much experience training pigs?” Laverne asked, as if she were conducting a job interview. “I don’t want Randolph’s feelings hurt. He’s quite a tender little thing.”
“I bet he is,” I joked.
Jake ignored my comment. “What do you want him to learn?” he asked Laverne.
“Mostly that he needs to stay in his pen and not grunt, so Nancy Meyers won’t find him.”
Jake nodded as he thought it over. “Okay, I think I can help with that.”
“And I wish he wouldn’t beg for food all the time,” Laverne added. “I worry he’s eating too much. But he always seems so hungry. And he’s so cute, it’s hard to say ‘no’ to him.”
Jake laughed. “Pigs are masters of deceit, Laverne.”
Laverne’s doe eyes doubled. “No!”
“Yep. Actually, they’ve been known to intentionally mislead other pigs away from a feeding spot, just so they can go back and get all the food for themselves.”
“That’s rather piggish,” I said.
Jake shook his head at my lame joke. “I’ll work on teaching Randolph to stay put, and reward him for not grunting. In the meantime, you two should figure out a date for him.”
“You mean like on MatchMate?” Laverne asked. “Or would it be Matchpig? No. I’m sorry. I think he’s much too young to be dating.”
Jake’s eyes met mine for a moment.
“Sorry Laverne,” he said. “I wasn’t clear. I meant you should decide on a date for him to go. Randolph’s no pot-bellied pig.”
“That’s what I told Val,” Laverne said, and crinkled her nose up at me.
“What I mean is, in a couple of months, he could outweigh us all,” Jake said. “By the end of the year, you could saddle and ride him. Listen, I’ve got a buddy near Ocala who has a petting zoo. Maybe he could take him on.”
�
�I’ll have to see it first,” Laverne said, tears welling in her eyes.
“Of course,” Jake said softly. “How about we start tomorrow.”
Randolph grunted happily, and we all nodded and agreed to the deal.
WHILE SNOGS DASHED around the backyard like dryer lint caught in a tornado, I put a call in to my old friend Cold Cuts about the tag numbers for Goober’s RV.
“I take it that means you haven’t found him yet,” she said.
“Right.”
“Well, when Goober picked it up, the tag number was GLAD ONE, but he could have changed it,” she said.
“GLAD ONE? After my mom? That’s really sweet,” I said.
“It was the least I could do, seeing as how you let me keep the RV, even though I know it broke your heart a little to lose it.”
“Thanks.”
“So, we’re still on for lunch tomorrow?”
What? Oh, crap! I forgot all about it!
“Absolutely,” I said. “See you around noon?”
“Perfect. Gotta go.”
I hung up and called J.D.
“Listen, J.D. The tag number for the RV is GLAD ONE. Unless Goober changed it. And I can’t make it tomorrow for the interviews. Something came up. Will Sunday work for you?”
“Pathetically, yes,” J.D. replied. “Like I said, my social calendar is wide open.”
“Okay, then. My place at ten?”
“I can’t wait.”
Chapter Eleven
“So what did you do today?” Tom asked as he came through the door Friday evening.
Let’s see...I taught our nosy neighbor grunt aerobics, met with a bird-faced attorney to save my writing instructor’s bikini wax plans, talked with a dwarf about tracking down a missing derelict, got a parking ticket, got robbed, and had a heart-to-heart with Laverne about letting go of a stowaway pig.
“Nothing much. How about you? Has Greg from Caddy’s shown up?”
“No. Not yet. But today I decided to take a look into this Tim Amsel guy. You were right. He’s a real piece of work.”
“What do you mean?”
“He’s built up a pretty bad reputation over the years.”
“Really? Like what?”
Val Fremden Mystery Box Set 3 Page 43
