Val Fremden Mystery Box Set 3

by Margaret Lashley

  “Her feet? I wasn’t looking at them.”

  In the backseat, Winky laughed so hard he farted.

  “She’s a blonde bombshell,” Goober said to Winky as the air cleared. He turned back to me. “And her cute little feet are no size ten, I can tell you that.”

  “Ugh!” I groaned. “That wasn’t Dimson. That was her snotty receptionist, you dimwit! Where’s the cigars?”

  “I gave them to her, like you said.”

  I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. “Tell me exactly what you said to her.”

  “I dunno.” Goober shrugged. “Something like, ‘I’m here to see Mr. Timothy Amsel. I’m from the Cigar Aficionados Club. I want to invite him to join us at Caddy’s tomorrow evening to celebrate his new venture with a box of our finest.’”

  I opened my scrunched eyes. A pleasantly surprised feeling zipped through me, somewhat on par with not being punched in the face.

  “Okay,” I said. “You did good, Goober. Thanks.”

  “Oh, and I gave her one of the cards you put in the blazer pocket.”

  “What cards?”

  “These.” Goober pulled out a business card. It was one of Tom’s.

  Crap on a cracked up cracker!

  “You didn’t!”

  “What? I thought you said you and Tom were working this case as a team.”

  The punch in the face arrived after all. “Right,” I said, and turned the ignition on Maggie. “Where to next? My funeral?”

  “Since we’re in the neighborhood, could we go check on the Chevy?” Goober asked.

  “Sure, why not. I may be in the market to relocate soon myself.”

  I DROVE MAGGIE SLOWLY down the alley and cut the engine next to Goober’s old Chevy. Finkerman’s frizzy head popped up.

  “What the?” Goober said.

  “I guess I should have told you. Ferrol Finkerman’s been living in your car.”

  Goober shrugged. “It was bound to happen.”

  “Where’s Victoria?” I yelled at Finkerman.

  “Went back to her husband,” Finkerman said as he climbed out of the driver’s seat of the rusty, baby-blue Chevette.

  “Couldn’t take life on the road?” I quipped.

  “Actually, we became a clichéd statistic. We fell out over a financial disagreement.”

  “I can’t imagine that,” I said. “As far as I can see, you had nothing to fight over.”

  “Har har,” Finkerman said. “It was that overdue library book thing. Victoria found out that while I was paying her a buck a name, I was cashing them in for ninety a pop.”

  “That’s like a nine-hundred-percent markup!” I said.

  Finkerman scratched his frizzy head. “Huh. That’s what she said. Anyway, I told Victoria what I told you, Fremden. Everyone works for the terms they negotiate for themselves. As you can see, it didn’t go over well.”

  “Right.”

  “So, it’s been three days. Where’s my fifteen bucks?”

  “I already gave you a twenty-dollar advance,” I said.

  “Here. Have another twenty,” Goober said.

  “Thanks, pal.” Finkerman grabbed the money and sneered at me.

  “Look,” Goober said. “The title’s in the glove compartment. Give it to me and I’ll sign it over. The Chevy’s yours.”

  Finkerman eyed the rusty Chevette. “Thanks loads.”

  “What? You don’t want it?” Winky asked from Maggie’s backseat. “I’ll take her!”

  “No,” Finkerman said. “It’s just...well, I gotta get outta here. The neighborhood’s gone to the dogs.”

  “What do you mean?” I asked.

  “I’ll show you. Come take a look at this pig I found yesterday.”

  Randolph! “Where?” I practically hollered.

  “Follow me.”

  We climbed out of the car and Finkerman led us down the alley.

  “I’m confused,” Winky said, tugging on my sleeve. “Has the neighborhood gone to the dogs or the pigs?”

  “With any luck,” I said, “we’re about to find out.”

  We followed Finkerman about fifty feet to a blind corner in the alley.

  “Have a look,” he whispered, and put a finger to his lips.

  Everyone stopped in their tracks. In the silence that followed, I heard a grunt.

  It’s Randolph!

  I jumped ahead of the guys and stuck my head around the corner. What I saw was pink and fuzzy, but it sure wasn’t cute. I whipped my head back around and nearly puked.

  Finkerman threw back his head and laughed like a demented piranha.

  “What’s wrong, Val?” Goober asked. He grabbed me by the shoulders. “What is it?”

  “It’s Amsel,” I said. “He’s behind there making whoopee with Darlene Dimson.”

  Goober peeked around the corner and winced.

  “Really?” Winky said. “I always wondered how they made whoopee cushions.”

  Goober grabbed him by the collar. “It’s not that kind of whoopee, Winky.”

  “It ain’t?” Winky asked.

  Goober whispered something in Winky’s ear. A second later, like a chameleon, Winky’s face blushed so red his freckles disappeared.

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  “What should we do?” Goober asked.

  “Turn around and get out of here,” I whispered. I blinked my eyes for the millionth time, hoping desperately to un-see what I’d just seen.

  “Why?” Goober asked. “Why don’t we just confront Amsel right now?”

  “I’ve already seen too much of him for one day,” I said. “And if he sees us together now, he’ll know you don’t belong to any stupid cigar club. Our plans for tomorrow will be ruined.”

  “Fair enough,” Goober said.

  I hissed out an order. “Come on, Winky. Finkerman. Let’s go.” I spun on my heels and started walking as fast as I could back to the car.

  “Wait a minute,” Finkerman said, catching up to me. “You know those two losers?”

  “Shhh! Keep your voice down,” I whispered. “Yes. That’s the guy who’s going to tear down Caddy’s beach bar.”

  “I read about that,” Finkerman said. “What’s his name...Jim Amsel?”

  “Tim.”

  “Kim?” Finkerman asked again.

  “Tim,” Winky called out behind us in a voice loud enough to wake the dead. “Like Tim the Tool Man.”

  “More like just Tim the tool,” I said to Finkerman, and shot Winky an annoyed schoolmarm look.

  “What do I do now?” Finkerman asked.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Now that Goober’s given me the Chevy, my gig guarding it is over. I could use some gainful employment.”

  “Finkerman, the only thing you’re good for is....”

  An idea hit me like a rotten tomato in the kisser.

  “You know what, Finkerman. I’ve got the perfect assignment for you.”

  “WHAT DID YOU SAY TO Finkerman?” Goober asked as we eased down the alley.

  “It’s a private arrangement,” I said, and turned left onto First Avenue North to make a straight shot back toward the beach.

  “Well, can I at least ask the terms?”

  I looked over at Goober and put a hand on my purse.

  “Finkerman could either do what I asked or I was going to rear back and wallop him with my hillbilly hacky-sack, okay?”

  Goober picked up my purse. “Geeze, what have you got in here? Bricks?”

  “Rolls of quarters.”

  Goober looked impressed for a bald Frankenstein. “Ah. Both effective and practical.”

  “That’s right,” I said smugly. “Not like that stupid Dalmatian purse Dimson had. Did you see it?”

  “Like I said once before, that wasn’t exactly what I was looking at.”

  Winky laughed, then chimed in from the backseat. “This Dimson gal. She’s got herself a pocketbook made out of a dog?”

  “No,” I answered. “Dalmatian just means it’
s spotted black and white.”

  “Oh,” Winky said. “Like the one in the picture.”

  “What picture?” I asked.

  “That one for that shoe place.”

  Goober picked up the newspaper on the floorboard by his feet and studied the picture.

  “He’s right, Val.”

  Goober held the paper up where I could see it, and pointed a long, boney finger at the corner of the picture. There, by the cash register, behind the clerk holding up the shoes, was the corner of a black-and-white spotted pocketbook.

  “Well, I’ll be,” I said.

  “You think it’s the same one?” Goober asked.

  My nose crinkled. “Well, like you said, I was a little distracted by...you know...too. But it could be.”

  “That would mean Darlene Dimson bought the other pair of Birkenstocks,” Goober said.

  “It would, if we could prove it,” I said.

  “Well, that’s what we’re working on, ain’t it?” Winky asked.

  “Indeed,” Goober answered. “So, where are we heading now?”

  “Well, we know Dimson made one set of those tracks on the beach, and Norma made the other,” I said. “They must have been working in cahoots with Amsel to get rid of Greg. I hope that means we’re heading toward a solution that puts Amsel behind bars.”

  “No,” Goober said. “I meant, where are we going? If you plan on taking us back to Winky’s, you should’ve turned right and gotten over onto Fifth.”

  “Oh. Sorry. You’re right. It completely slipped my mind.”

  WHEN WE PULLED UP IN front of Winky’s place, I was surprised to see that the old Minnie Winnie’s guts were no longer spread out from here to kingdom come.

  Tiny was bent over the garden hose, washing his hands. When he saw us, he straightened his enormous girth and waved a huge hand at us.

  “Got her runnin’!” he yelled.

  “I knew you could!” Winky hollered from the backseat.

  “So, we good until tomorrow?” Goober asked me.

  “Yeah. I guess so. We’ve got the footprints solved. I’ll tell Tom tonight. Now I think we should do like Finkerman suggested and follow the money trail.”

  “Hey, Goober!” Tiny hollered.

  I looked up to see gigantic Tiny waving a large, red pair of women’s pumps.

  “Found these on the floorboard,” he said in the worst women’s falsetto I’d ever heard. “Mind if I borrow ‘em? I got a hot date tonight.”

  “Keep your mitts off those,” Goober yelled back. “They’re my lucky shoes!”

  “Nice one,” I said sourly.

  Goober shot me a look. “What?” he asked. “Those are orthopedic. A real lifesaver when you’re on your feet teasing hair all day.”

  “Val, you goin’ to that luau tonight at Nancy’s?” Winky asked.

  “Yeah. I don’t have much choice. To tell you the truth, I’m not looking forward to sinking my teeth into Laverne’s pet pig. You coming?”

  “Naw,” Winky said. “I couldn’t stomach it myself.”

  Goober laughed and I punched him on the arm.

  “I’ll see you two at Caddy’s tomorrow, then. Hopefully Amsel will show up and bring Dimson with him. If he does, Goober, you’ve got to pretend to be Tom.”

  “Why?” Goober climbed out of the car. “No one saw me except the bombshell receptionist.”

  “Exactly. That means Amsel won’t know you’re not Tom. That’ll come in handy tomorrow night...if all goes to plan.”

  “What plan?” Goober asked.

  “I’ll fill you in tomorrow.”

  “Okay. What time should we meet?”

  “My place at six.”

  I shifted Maggie into reverse.

  I ought to be able to come up with a plan by then....

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  I peeked through a slit in the living room blinds and shook my head. I could barely make out the hazy, yellow glow of Nancy’s front-porch light through the gray wall of rain.

  “I think it’s a monsoon,” I said.

  “Nancy sure knows how to put out the Welkommen mat,” Tom quipped.

  I grinned. “I’m going to let her know we’re not coming.”

  “Unless you’ve got a kayak hidden away in the garage.”

  “Not even then.”

  I grabbed my cellphone from the kitchen counter and punched in her number.

  “Nancy?”

  “Ja.”

  “I think we’re going to have to take a raincheck on the luau.”

  “Don’t joke,” she said. “The barbeque pit is a swimming pool. What will I do with all these flowers?”

  Like a true Southerner, I felt the need to apologize – even for the weather.

  “I’m sorry.” Guilt compelled me to add, “We’re having a party at Caddy’s tomorrow night. It’s to celebrate the return of Goober, an old friend. Why don’t you come along?”

  I waited a beat while Nancy recovered from what sounded like a near-death strangling.

  “Really?” she asked.

  “Sure. Why not?”

  “Okay. I will come,” she said stiffly. “Dank...thank you.”

  “Sure. See you around seven at Caddy’s.”

  I clicked off the phone and sighed with relief. I looked over at Tom. He appeared even more pleased than I was at the sudden freeing-up of our evening’s obligations.

  “Looks like you’re going to get your quiet evening alone with me after all,” I said coyly.

  He took me in his arms and gently swept the hair from my forehead. As his lips brushed against mine, he whispered, “Who said anything about quiet?”

  SATURDAY MORNING, IT was still raining. Perfect weather for lying in bed with a hot, steamy...

  ...cappuccino.

  “I wish we could start every day like this,” I said to Tom as he slid into bed next to me.

  “Me, too. We make a good team, don’t you think?”

  I nearly choked on my cappuccino.

  “Uh...speaking of team, I’ve got some news I need to share with you.”

  “What’s that?” he asked.

  “Hold on. I want to show you something.”

  Tom grinned seductively at me. “Let me put down my cappuccino first.”

  “Ha ha. I’m serious. It’s about the case you’re working on. I’ll be right back.”

  I padded into the kitchen and came back with the ad for the Mega Shoe Universe Emporium.

  “Look at this.” I handed the ad to Tom.

  “Geeze!” Tom said as I crawled back into bed. “Don’t you women ever stop thinking about shoes?”

  I jabbed him with my elbow. “Har har. See the treads on those new Birkenstocks? Do they look familiar?”

  Tom squinted at the paper.

  “Here, use these.” I handed him the pair of pink cheater glasses from my nightstand.

  He scowled at them playfully, then popped them onto his nose.

  “Whoa! These look like the same shoe impressions as the ones on the beach.”

  “I thought so, too.”

  “That’s really good, Val.”

  “Thanks. But that’s not all. I know who was wearing them.”

  “What?” Tom sat up on one elbow and studied me through the pink bifocals. “Who?”

  “Norma Jeen and Darlene Dimson.”

  “How do you know that?”

  “I asked the clerk at the store. He told me he’d only gotten in two pairs of size tens, and he remembered who bought them.”

  “He knew them by name?”

  “Yes and no. He said he thought one was a man, but turned out to be a woman. He checked her credit card because he thought it was a guy committing fraud. He remembered her name because it was like a movie star.”

  “Norma Jeen.”

  “Yes.”

  “And the other one?”

  “Well, see that corner of a pocketbook on the counter?”

  Tom squinted at the newspaper clipping. “Yes.”

/>   “Darlene Dimson has one just like it. You know, I hate to think of Norma as capable of this. But she and Dimson are in this together with Amsel. They’ve gotta be.”

  “That’s unbelievable.” Tom shook his head.

  “Don’t be angry, Tom. I only did all that because you said you couldn’t go after Amsel and –”

  “I’m not angry,” Tom said. “I’m impressed. I think you really might have what it takes to be a detective, Val. Or should I call you Valliant Stranger?”

  “Let’s just keep it at Val. I’m tired of being a stranger.”

  Tom smiled. “Okay. But I do have one question. Why didn’t you tell me all this earlier?”

  “I just found out myself yesterday. I was going to tell you last night, but I didn’t want to ruin, you know, the mood.”

  Tom shot me his boyish grin. “I appreciate that. You know, what you’ve got here is still all circumstantial evidence, but it’s good. It gives us something more to go on.”

  “Are you going to call the office with it?”

  “I’d like to confirm everything myself first. Is there anything else you want to tell me? About the case, I mean.”

  “Only suspicions. Dimson forged my deposition for Langsbury. So I’m thinking, what would stop her from forging the sale papers for Caddy’s, too?”

  “Good reasoning. I wondered that myself. So, I had Parson’s signature on the sales contract compared against samples of his known signature. It checked out, Val.”

  “Then I don’t get it. Why in the world would they get rid of Greg? They wouldn’t need to...unless there was some death stipulation in the sale contract. You know, like the one you told me about in Boca Raton.”

  “Yeah. But I read the contract myself. Parsons wasn’t holding the note for Amsel. As far as I know, there weren’t any addendums added afterward, either. But there could have been.”

  “So, why would they have to get rid of Greg?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe what you said the other day. About Norma being in Greg’s will?”

  “It was just an idea.”

  “But your ideas are good, Val. I’m proud of you.”

  I winced. “Uh...thanks.”

  Tom eyed me dubiously. “I know that look. What are you not telling me?”