Val Fremden Mystery Box Set 3

by Margaret Lashley

“Vance!” I practically shouted, startling Jake so badly he ducked and nearly dropped his shovel.

  “Is she behind me?” he whispered.

  “Who?”

  “Nancy!”

  “No.”

  “Geeze!” he grumbled. “I thought Vance was some secret code-word for Nancy! Don’t scare me like that!”

  “Sorry. Vance is the husband of my friend Milly. He owns a restaurant. He could hook us up with a pig. I’m sure of it.”

  “Good. Then that’s settled.”

  Jake’s spine went ramrod straight. “Uh-oh,” he whispered. “I see Nancy’s binoculars between the blinds. I better go dig that poor pig’s grave before she starts digging mine.”

  IT WASN’T EVEN NOON yet and my day had already shot completely off the crazy charts.

  I was officially in cahoots with Ferrol Finkerman, of all people. I’d uncovered Laverne’s deadly culinary plot and saved the world from Krassco. I’d downed two gin and tonics and made a date with the devil in Greenville. And now, I was about to order a real pig for a fake luau.

  Tom’s wrong. I’m not a magnet for the absurd. I’m a magnet for the insane!

  I shook my head at my reflection in the bathroom mirror, then walked to the kitchen, picked up my cellphone and punched speed dial.

  “Hey, Milly.”

  “Val! What’s up?”

  “Nothing much.”

  Milly laughed. “Yeah, right.”

  “I need a favor.”

  “Okay....?”

  “Do you think Vance could get me a pig?”

  Milly snorted. “A pig?”

  “Yeah. A pig.”

  “But you’ve already got one. He’s named Tom, remember?”

  “Ha ha. Very funny. I’m dead serious, Milly. You see, I’m trying to save Randolph from the Knick-Knack Nazi by throwing a fake luau.”

  “Oh. Well, why didn’t you just say so in the first place?” Milly waited a beat, then said, “Geeze, Val! What the heck is going on over there?”

  “Don’t ask. Do you think Vance can get me a small pig to roast in a fire pit or not?”

  “Well, sure, I guess. When do you need it?”

  “Uh...Thursday?”

  “I’ll call him. Where do you want it delivered?”

  “Well, I might still be out of town. Better send it to Nancy Meyers’ place across the street from mine. I don’t know her number offhand, but it’s the green house with the military-precision lawn and bushes trimmed into ninety-degree square boxes.”

  “Okay. I’ll do my best. Hey. I know it’s last minute, but are you free for lunch? I’d love to hear the rest of this story. Sounds like your life’s a zoo, as usual.”

  “Yeah. And now I’ve got a pig to add to my collection. Listen, I’d love to get together with you. But not today. I’ve got loads to do. Besides, I’m too nervous to eat.”

  “Why?”

  “I’m going to Greenville tomorrow.”

  Milly’s playful voice dropped three octaves.

  “Oh. Geeze, Val. What happened? Did your mom finally kick the bucket?”

  “No. That would require too much effort on her part.”

  Milly burst out laughing. “Oh, come on, Val. Meet me at Ming Ming’s for sushi. I don’t want your last meal to be fried chicken gizzards and moonshine.”

  “Actually, moonshine sounds pretty good about now.”

  “WHOA!” MILLY SAID, her green eyes bulging. “Has Tom kept you locked away in a closet and starved you or something?”

  I looked up from my plate at the cute, button-nosed blonde sitting across the table from me at Ming Ming’s. I tried to answer her, but my mouth was stuffed to capacity with sea-creature roll.

  “Sorry,” I mumbled and nearly choked. “Tom’s on this health-food kick.”

  “Is it working?”

  “If you count kicking my butt, yeah. Broccoli and tofu. I tell you, Milly, I can’t take much more of it!”

  Milly tilted her head and looked down at my thighs. “Could have fooled me.”

  “Thanks. Yet another thing to envy you for.”

  “Envy me? For what?”

  “You mean besides the fact that you’re gorgeous and slim? Well, let’s see. Maybe just because you have your total act together?”

  “Val, what are you talking about?”

  “You’ve got the whole storybook, Milly. You’re married to Vance. He’s handsome. Owns his own pub. You live in a fabulous Tudor mansion. You’ve worked your way up to manager at Griffith & Maas. And – this is what I particularly hate about you – you don’t even have cellulite!”

  Milly laughed. “I do, too, but I’m not saying where. And you haven’t done too shabbily for yourself, either, Val.”

  “Yeah. Right. Here I am, Ms. Novelist, with one lousy short story published in a Polk County paper. I’m shacked up with Tom, and I live in an old hoarder’s house I inherited from my parents. How can you stand the glare from my meteoric rise to stardom?”

  “Val, there’s only one thing holding you back. You’re afraid to fully commit to anything.”

  “Ouch.”

  Along with her poison arrow of truth, Milly shot me a sarcastic, yet somehow sympathetic smile.

  “Val, making a commitment means you have to quit waiting around for something better to come along. You have to dive in and claim your prizes. The only thing that ever gets ‘better’ is you.”

  “Geeze, Milly. How can I still be so screwed up at age fifty? I thought I’d have it all figured out by now.”

  “Have what all figured out?”

  “Life. You know, like one of those wise guru men on a mountain top.”

  Milly laughed. “Yeah. Good luck with that. Val, don’t you know by now? Being wise isn’t about knowing everything. It’s about knowing how good you’ve got it – while you’ve still got it.”

  “Geeze. Does that include my mother Lucille?”

  Milly crinkled her button nose. “Well, you’ve got me there.”

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  When I arrived home from lunch with Milly, Winky was sitting on my doorstep, looking like the only kid in the playground who didn’t get picked for dodge ball.

  As I pulled into the driveway, he stood up and ambled over. I put Maggie in park and killed the engine.

  “What are you doing here?” I asked.

  “Awe, Winnie’s in one a her moods again,” Winky whined. “I figured I’d best give her some woman space. So I come by to see you. You know anything about women, Val?”

  Really?

  “Not much,” I said. “I’ve only had fifty years of experience. So, what’d you do?”

  “Me?” Winky said, and reared back defensively. “Nothin’!”

  “Then what happened?” I asked as I climbed out of the car.

  “Confound if I know.”

  “Something had to set her off, Winky.”

  “Only one thing I can think of. You know how she’s always workin’ on new recipes?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Well, I tasted somethin’ she was workin’ on, and it was godawful!”

  “You didn’t tell her that, did you?”

  “No. Not directly. I ain’t crazy, you know! But then she went and asked me if I thought her new recipe could win this dad-burned contest thang she’s all hyped up about.”

  My eyebrows scrunched together in anticipation of the coming reply. “And you said?”

  “I told her I wouldn’t feed them cookies she baked to our dogs Nancy Drew and Hardy Boy. I’m tellin’ ya Val, I’ve licked the bottom of shoes that had more flavor.”

  I shook my head. “You didn’t really say that to Winnie, did you?”

  Winky pouted. “Well, it was the truth! I don’t know why she’s got to where she’s so cranky all the time. I tell you, she’s ornerier’n a bulldog with a busted lip. I done skedaddled outta the donut shop a’for she throwed me out.”

  Winky seemed more dejected than angry, and a pang of pity pierced my heart.
>
  “Come on in,” I said. “Let’s have a beer. You can lay low here a while. I’m sure it’ll all blow over.”

  “Thanky, Val.”

  Winky followed me into the kitchen. I pulled two beers out of the fridge and handed him one.

  “Maybe you should send her some flowers,” I said. “Relationships are work. You don’t want to lose Winnie. If you did, all you’ll have left is that trailer of yours.”

  “Trailer shmailer.” Winky shook his freckled head. “Thangs ain’t what makes people rich, Val. It’s how many folks you get to call your friends.”

  I smiled and patted Winky on the back. “You’re right about that, my friend. Want to stay for dinner?”

  Winky’s freckled nose twitched. “You and Tom still on that health kick thang?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Well then, I might just have to graciously decline.”

  I GUESS IT WAS BOUND to happen. Still, I never saw it coming.

  Winky and I were stretched out in recliners in the backyard. We were taking turns teaching Snogs how to howl at the rising moon, and making faces behind Tom’s back as he barbequed a package of fake tofu dogs on the grille.

  “Smells delicious,” I lied, then whispered to Winky, “At least the fumes are keeping the mosquitoes away.”

  “Yeah,” Winky said loud enough for Tom’s benefit. “Cain’t beat the aroma of honest-to-goodness bona fide bean curd.”

  “Speaking of curds, I’m going to visit my mother,” I said.

  Tom turned around. His forehead was lined with concern. “Is she sick?”

  “No,” I sighed.

  Tom’s face morphed into a grin. “Are you?”

  “Ha ha,” I replied sourly.

  Tom turned back to roasting wieners and asked, “What brought this on all of a sudden?”

  I crinkled my nose and pondered my options.

  Should I tell Tom and Winky that I suspected Goober might be in Greenville working as my mother’s transvestite beautician? What if I got up there and Elmira turned out to just be some random weirdo with a rainbow Mohawk? I’d never live that one down! But if I said nothing about it and we just happened to go up there and stumble on Goober together...well, I could claim the credit for finding him and not face total and complete humiliation.

  The solution was clear. I’d tell Tom a lie I knew he’d believe.

  “She kind of guilted me into it,” I said.

  Tom laughed. “There’s a new one.”

  As he removed the seared tofu wieners from the grille, I got up and touched Tom on the arm.

  “Tom, I was hoping you could go with me tomorrow.”

  He looked surprised. “Tomorrow? I can’t.”

  “Why not?”

  “You know that’s too short a notice. I have to work in the morning.”

  “But –”

  Tom grinned and laid on his lousy impersonation of a Southern accent. “But you be sure and give yore momma an’ Dale a big ol’ hug and kiss from me.”

  “Thanks,” I said.

  Tom handed me a hotdog. “Consolation prize.”

  I sniffed the fake tube steak and crinkled my nose.

  “Tom, I don’t think Maggie can make the trip. If you can’t go, can I at least take your 4Runner?”

  “Well – ” Tom began.

  “I know!” Winky bellowed. “I’ll go with you, Val! Yore momma likes me. And we can take my truck.”

  “There you go,” Tom said with a devious wink. “Problem solved.”

  I opened my mouth to object, but a pig squeal beat me to it.

  I turned in the direction of Laverne’s place just in time to see a portly little pig come flying over the picket fence. Randolph grunted at the three of us, squealed again, and made a beeline for the front yard.

  Oh, crap!

  “Catch him!” I hollered, and tossed my tofu dog on the ground. I took off after Randolph, Tom and Winky hot on my heels.

  As I rounded the corner of the house, the scene playing out in front of me stopped me dead in my tracks. Tom and Winky bumbled into the back of me, and we all tumbled onto the grass like three drunken stooges.

  It was just as well. If I’d have remained standing, I’d have fallen on the ground from laughter.

  Across the street, Krassco was claiming its last victim.

  Apparently, the pineapple upside-down time-bomb cake Laverne had baked using the last remnants of WWII grease had made its way through Randolph’s digestive system. There, it had detonated and released a chain-reaction diarrhea explosion of epic proportions.

  Tom, Winky and I watched in awe as Randolph bucked and twirled around in the middle of Nancy Meyer’s front yard, squirting pig poop from his posterior like a sprinkler head possessed by demons.

  “What in blue blazes has got into that pig?” Winky asked.

  I bit my lip. I knew the answer, but I couldn’t say. Laverne had sworn me to secrecy over her secret ingredient. Her supply of Krassco was finished and could do no more harm. So I didn’t see any reason to spill the beans now. Besides, I hated the idea of Laverne ending up in some kind of lawsuit over it. Over the years, at least half the people I knew had fallen victim to her Krassco-laced culinary disasters.

  “There’s no telling,” I said. Which, in a way, wasn’t a lie, since I couldn’t tell them.

  Winky rolled over, sat up and admired the show. “You know, if’n he had him a little saddle and a monkey on his back, we’d have us a min’ature rodeo.”

  Tom shook his head and whistled. “Gives new meaning to the term rear-jet propulsion.”

  “Shore do,” Winky said. “Never thought I’d ever see me a pig fly.”

  Nancy’s front door flew open and banged against the wall. Framed in the porchlight, I could see the Knick-Knack Nazi in an olive-grey nightgown. A helmet of curlers framed her head. In one hand, she wielded a rolling pin.

  “Hush!” I warned the guys.

  We hunkered down on our hands and knees and held our breath as Nancy took a cautious step into her front yard. A second later, she was mowed down by an enthusiastically ejected stream of excrement from Randolph’s AK47-like sphincter.

  “Uh-oh,” Winky said. “Looks like the pig poop’s done hit the fan.”

  “I suggest a hasty retreat,” Tom said.

  “Roger that,” I said.

  We spun around on our hands and knees like a trio of synchronized lawn crabs, then scrambled along the side of the house as fast as we could. As we dashed through the grass, Winky snorted like a pig with laughter. It was all I could do to keep from wetting my pants as we crawled toward the hidden sanctuary of the backyard.

  As we rounded the corner out of Nancy’s sight, I took a tiny bit of comfort in the fact that now, at least, I had a real reason to visit my mother.

  It had suddenly become a most excellent time to leave town.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  “Good luck and god speed,” Tom joked as he headed out the door for work Wednesday morning. He wrapped his arms around my waist and kissed me on the nose. “You know you’re allowed to stay longer than one day at your mom’s, Val. I can take care of Snogs.”

  “I know,” I sighed. “But one day ought to be plenty of time for mom’s backhanded compliments to destroy my entire self-worth.”

  Tom laughed. “Don’t be so hard on her. Or yourself. Try to have fun, okay?”

  “Just remember me how I look now,” I said.

  Tom’s head cocked to one side. “How’s that?”

  “With my dignity still somewhat intact.”

  Tom shook his head. “See you tomorrow.”

  Tom climbed into his 4Runner and I watched him drive away. I was about to shut the front door when I saw Winky pull up. I was certain Tom had driven past him. And I was even more certain Tom was laughing his butt off.

  Winky was driving the ridiculous, souped-up hearse he’d bought Winnie for her birthday.

  Let the destruction of my dignity begin.

  Winky pulled the l
ong, black vehicle onto the grass by the side of the road, giving me and all my neighbors a good look at the custom flames painted along the front side-panels. He revved the V8 engine and honked the horn, just in case someone had missed the sideshow. Anyone watching could be forgiven for thinking Winky was a limousine driver here to escort me to hell.

  I grabbed my suitcase, locked the door, and marched down the driveway to my doom, one lone thought whispering in my ear.

  Unbelievably, this is one occasion where I probably actually would be better off dead.

  WE WERE ZOOMING ALONG on I-275 and had just passed the exit sign for Dade City when I fished my cellphone out of my purse.

  “Who you callin’?” Winky asked.

  “Laverne. I want to find out what had happened with Randolph and Nancy last night. I figure we’re far enough away to be out of earshot of the screaming.”

  Winky grinned. “And the smell.”

  “Laverne? I’m on my way to my mom’s. Just wanted to check on you and Randolph.”

  “You haven’t heard?” Laverne asked.

  My gut sunk. “Heard what?”

  “Nancy came over last night. She caught Randolph in her yard and –”

  “Hello? Hello? Crap! I lost phone reception,” I said to Winky. “Nancy caught Randolph last night.”

  Winky winced. “Did she skin him alive?”

  “I don’t know. Poor Laverne!”

  Winky winced. “We should get reception again once we get towards Ocala.”

  “Geeze. I hope Randolph’s okay.”

  “Speakin’ a pigs, you hungry?”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “I could go for me a pulled-pork sammich.”

  “Oh.” Visions of diarrhea blasting out of Randolph’s sphincter did nothing to fuel my appetite. “No. I’m not hungry.

  “You don’t look too happy to be goin’ to see your mamma. What you got against her anyways?”

  “Nothing. She’s just not what you’d call a very ‘motherly’ mother.”

  “Well, she give birth to ya, didn’t she?”

  “Uh...no.”

  “Oh. That’s right. She only took you in and raised you as her own.”