Val & Pals Boxed Set: Volumes 1,2 & the Prequel (Val & Pals Humorous Mystery Series)

by Margaret Lashley

  “Vallie, wake up.”

  Mom was standing over me. She tapped me on the forehead again with a dirty red flyswatter.

  I flailed at the flyswatter with my arm. “I’m awake, Mom!”

  “Good. I need you to make the coffee. I got a new can of Maxwell House and I can’t open it a’cause a my author-itis.”

  “Sure, Mom. Gimme a second.”

  I rubbed my eyes and watched the backside of my mother’s pink housecoat disappear into the kitchen. She’d worn that fuzzy, floor-length coat for as long as I could remember. I guess some things never changed…especially around here. I stumbled into the kitchen where mom was unloading things from the refrigerator. Whenever I visited she always told me it was a good time to use up leftovers, but I knew it was just a ploy to get me to wash all her dirty dishes.

  “It’s a good time to use up the leftovers, Vallie, while we got two strappin’ young men here.”

  “Sure, Mom. Everybody loves green fried chicken and fuzzy mashed potatoes.”

  “Don’t get smart with me, young lady.”

  “Just kidding.” I smiled at my mom and her face softened. “Where’s your can opener?”

  Mom turned her head and shook it slowly, gazing at me as if I were hopelessly retarded. “Hangin’ on the wall next to the stove, like always.” She pointed a finger toward the wall, then bent over to retrieve more containers from the refrigerator.

  “Oh.” I yawned. “Where’s Dale? Still sleeping?” I asked in the direction of her large, pink, fuzzy behind.

  “Nope. He run off to IGA to get us some donuts. You gotta get there early or old Tiny McMullen’ll buy the whole store out. I seen him eat three dozen glazed one morning in six minutes. Dale timed him. Tiny’s a donut-eatin’ machine.”

  “Well, hopefully Dale beat him to it this morning. He must have left early to walk there.”

  Mom slowly stood up with a jumble of plastic containers balanced in her hands. She shut the old fridge door with a shift of her ample behind. “Oh no. He drove the golf cart.”

  “Mom, isn’t he blind?”

  “He’s not that blind.”

  Greenville’s mascot, a one-legged Mallard duck named Greenback, had been the straw that finally broke the back on mom being able to keep her driver’s license. She’d already put a dent in nearly everybody’s car in town. But when mom flattened Greenback the day before Easter last year, the sheriff had confiscated her license and told her she no longer had the privilege to legally drive a car. Knowing Dale was blind, the sheriff had informed my mother she could still drive a golf cart. But mom didn’t take to the sheriff’s decision too well. Out of stubborn pigheadedness and pettiness, she refused, and made Dale drive the cart.

  Without my morning coffee I couldn’t think of a response anywhere approaching appropriate for sending poor, blind Dale out on the loose, so I kept my mouth shut and turned my attention to opening the can of Maxwell House. I watched the can slowly twirl along with the tinny grinding of the can opener, then click to a stop. I threw the metal disk in the garbage and scrounged around in the cupboards for a coffee filter. Soon, the aroma of fresh-brewed coffee filled mom’s dirty, dated kitchen.

  “I love that smell,” Mom said. She’d taken her place at the head of the table and prepared herself to be waited on by me.

  “Me too,” I said. I poured us both a cup and sat to her left.

  “Where’s my Bailey’s creamer?”

  “Ooops. I’ll get it.”

  I was poking around the inside of the fridge for the creamer when Tom came in the kitchen. He strutted around, making a grand appearance in his white t-shirt, white tennis shoes and socks, and a pair of Bermuda shorts held up with a white woman’s belt that could have wrapped around his body at least twice.

  “Good morning, ladies,” he said, grinning proudly.

  Mom grunted and looked back down at the paper. She was reading the comics, or as she liked to call them, “The funny papers.” Everyone in the family knew it was against the law to disturb her during this important quality time.

  I was also not amused by Tom’s foolery. “Definitely not funny,” I replied. “That guy could have killed me! Just for that you can get your own coffee.”

  Tom looked crestfallen. “Hey! I was just trying to make you feel better, Val,” he said. “See? I’m harmless.”

  “It’s not working.”

  “Ouch! Okay. Strike one. You’re not a morning person.”

  “Nope.”

  “Duly noted.”

  The living room door flew open and Winky and Dale tromped in together, laughing like old buddies. Each displayed telltale signs of premature donut devouring. Mom caught sight of the white powder around their mouths and lost track of her good mood.

  “Y’all didn’t eat my cream-filled, now, did yer? Or my cruller?”

  Winky and Dale jerked back and shriveled like schoolboys caught peeping in the girls’ locker room.

  “I…I don’t think so…” stumbled Dale. The Coke-bottle lenses of his glasses made his eyes look twice as big and doubly terrified. He opened the donut box and groped around inside. “Nope! Here’s your cruller!” Dale held up a glazed donut that looked like a little tractor tire. I guess he could feel the tread on it.

  “Good,” Mom barked. “Now where’s the cream-filled?”

  Winky licked his lips and made a beeline for the door, leaving Dale holding the bag…or should I say, box.

  “Now ain’t that just great,” bitched Mom. “I can’t rely on nobody fer nothin’ around here. Sometimes I feel like I’m livin’ with a bunch a Charlie Browns. Ever’body’s a Charlie Brown. Charlie Brown!”

  Tom ducked his head like a whipped dog and turned back to face the kitchen counter. As he poured himself a cup of coffee, I leaned over and whispered in his ear. “Better Charlie Brown than Hagar the Horrible.”

  Tom shook his head and blew out a breath. “I don’t know how you survived it here.”

  “Who said I survived?”

  Tom smiled. “I did.”

  I smiled back. “Just for that, you can have my cruller.”

  ***

  Winky hid out in the 4Runner all morning. I guess he was smarter than I gave him credit for. I’d snuck him a cup of coffee and another donut when Mom wasn’t looking. He was all sugared up and raring to go when Tom and I loaded up for the trip to Chattahoochee State Hospital. We planned on heading over to meet Thelma G. Goodrich and then hightail it back to St. Petersburg. Tom turned the ignition. The 4Runner sputtered, belched and died.

  “So much for our great escape,” I said.

  While Tom poked around under the hood, I went back in the house and asked Mom who we could call to take a look at the vehicle.

  “Tiny McMullen, a course. Number’s on the fridge. But don’t let on that Dale got the big box a donuts this mornin’.”

  I called the number and a man answered on the fifth ring. “Yellow?”

  “Is this Tiny McMullen?”

  “Yes ma’am. What can I do you fer?”

  “Our 4Runner won’t start. Can you come look at it?”

  “Sure thing. Where you at?”

  “Greenville.”

  “That your silver 4Runner over at Dale’s?”

  “Uh…yes.”

  “Be there in a sec. I just live across the street.”

  “Oh! Thanks.” Just like my mom to leave out a minor detail like that.

  I hung up the phone and went outside. Tiny was already on his way over. One look told me his name was a huge misnomer. The only way he could have been considered tiny was if he was supposed to have been a blue whale.

  “Hey y’all!” Tiny called out from the middle of the street. He hitched up his huge overalls as he half-walked, half waddled barefoot across the red clay road. Tom looked up from under the hood at him, then back toward me, his face one big question mark.

  “It’s the cavalry – Tiny McMullen,” I explained.

  Tom stood up and shook Tiny’s huge paw. �
�Nice to meet you Tiny, I’m Tom.”

  “Likewise, I’m sure,” said Tiny with a grin. Then he dove his head under the hood. “Watcha got here? Them Ty-otees can be tricky.”

  “Won’t start,” said Tom.

  “Give it a try,” said Tiny.

  Tom climbed into the vehicle and turned it over. It sputtered and died.

  “Hmm. Let me have a look at her,” said Tiny. “I ain’t got nothin’ else goin’ on today. Where was y’all headed, anyways?”

  “To Chattahoochee.”

  “In or out?”

  “What do you mean?” Tom asked.

  “In Chattahoochee nuthouse or out in Chattahoochee proper.”

  “Oh. In, I guess,” Tom answered.

  “We’re going to visit someone,” I said.

  Tiny looked over at Winky who was helping Mom’s yappy dog chase a squirrel up a pecan tree. Tiny nodded knowingly and winked. “Gotcha. Visit someone.”

  “I…uh…” I began but Tiny cut me off.

  “Seein’s how it’s kinda an emergency, y’all can take my truck if y’all wanner.” Tiny hiked a thumb toward his yard full of dead and decaying vehicles. “She ain’t a looker but she runs like a wet dream. Ooops. Sorry Miss.”

  I shrugged and looked over at Tom. “Beats hanging around here.”

  “Sure, why not,” said Tom. “Thanks, Tiny. Can we bring you anything back from Chattahoochee?”

  “You’re a gentleman and a scholar,” said Tiny. “I sure wouldn’t mind havin’ me a Chattaburger. And fries. Uh…and a Mountain Dew, if it ain’t too much trouble.”

  “Deal,” said Tom. “Where can we find this place?”

  I stuck a rib in Tom’s side. “I know where it is.”

  Tiny grinned. “You ought to. Chattaburger’s world famous ’round here.”

  The men talked about mechanical stuff while I rounded up Winky. Tom fished the grey plastic container that looked like a double-decker tackle-box out of his truck. We climbed into Tiny’s rusty old red Ford pickup. I sat in the middle of the bench seat because Winky had called shotgun. I guess I couldn’t win them all. But I wasn’t complaining. Sitting in the middle put me dangerously close to Tom. He sidled in next to me and handed me the grey box.

  “Hopefully we’ll need it today when we meet Ms. Goldrich.”

  “Miss Thelma G. Goldrich,” said Winky. “Got a nice ring to it. Tom, if I was to up and marry her, would I get me some a her money?”

  “I don’t know, Winky. First we’ve got to see if she’s even related.”

  “Yeah, they don’t take kindly to marryin’ inside the family no more.”

  “I meant if she’s related to Tony and Glad.”

  “That too. And if she’s ugly. Ain’t no amount a money worth marryin’ a butt-ugly person.”

  I looked over at Winky, un-showered, unshaven, unappealing and uncouth. “Amen to that,” I said.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Getting in to see Thelma Goodrich was a lot easier than Tom and I had planned. When Tom showed his badge to the guard at the main gate, he’d simply waived us through and pointed us in the direction of the mental health buildings on the west side of the huge state hospital campus. Following the guard’s directions, we arrived at a nondescript white building with black handrails leading up six concrete steps. We left Winky in the old Ford with a Randy Travis CD, a six-pack of Bud and a carton of banana moon pies for company. I don’t think I’d ever seen a grown person look so absolutely contented. I was almost jealous.

  Winky was already tearing into the first yellow moon pie as I closed the truck door. Tom was halfway up the steps, waiting on me. I stumbled on the second stair. Tom grabbed my arm.

  “Are you as nervous as I am?” I asked.

  “Nothing to be nervous about, Val. What will be will be. That’s all.”

  “I guess you can’t argue with that.” I blew out a breath and tried to relax.

  We walked inside the long, narrow building. The front door opened directly onto a lobby area. I took a seat with a view down the hallway while Tom spoke with the bespectacled, middle-aged receptionist behind a glass window. As they chatted it up, I saw a skinny, butt-naked man walk down the hallway and disappear behind a doorway. Another woman in tight jeans and a grey sweatshirt came down the hall and sat in the chair next to me. I smiled at her, thinking she was another visitor. She took my hand and launched into a stream-of-consciousness babble about being able to chew gum again after years of practice. Oh boy.

  I felt like an extra in One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest. I took turns fake smiling at the gum-chewing woman and stealing glances in Tom’s direction, hoping he would look back at me. When he finally did, I shot him my best “hurry up” look. He laughed with the receptionist one more time and walked over with two visitor tags in his hand.

  “Here. Put this on. It turns out Thelma is in here on a voluntary basis. They’re going to get her now.”

  The receptionist ushered us into a small waiting room that looked exactly as I pictured it would. The blank walls were that industrial shade of green found only in government buildings and the inside of dill pickles. White metal bars protected two curtain-less windows, and dust swirls danced in the twin rays of white sunlight they let into the room. The table and chairs were made of oak, heavy and square. I guess that made them harder to pick up and throw. The top of the table was scarred and covered in messages scrawled in different colored markers and pens.

  I was reading the inscription, “Screw you, Velda,” when the waiting room door creaked open. A thin, shattered-looking blonde woman poked her face inside.

  “Y’all lookin’ fer me?”

  “Are you Thelma Goldrich?” I asked. She must have lost a lot of weight since that mugshot was taken.

  “Yes’m.”

  “Hi, I’m Val. This is Tom. He’s a police officer.”

  “I ain’t done nothin’ wrong!” Thelma shrieked. Her head disappeared behind the door.

  “Wait!” I called after her. “Thelma! We know you didn’t do anything wrong! We’re here to see if something belongs to you!”

  The door creaked open again and Thelma stepped inside. She was thin and big bosomed, just like Glad. Her skin was white as milk and she wore a faded yellow sundress with a tiny daisy print that at first glance looked like white dots. Her hair was a tangle of brownish blonde straw stacked in a loose bun that looked an awful lot like an abandoned bird’s nest.

  She spoke tentatively, keeping one hand firmly on the doorknob. “I ain’t lost nuthin’ as I recall.”

  “Well…” I began, not realizing she wasn’t through talking.

  “’Ceptin’ my parents. That’s all.”

  “You lost your parents?” I asked hesitantly.

  “Nope. They lost me. People ’round here said I was left on a doorstep with nothing but a diaper and a note with my name on it.”

  “Oh. How long ago was that?”

  “Last November a hundred years ago.”

  Tom looked over at me and tamped his hand parallel to the tabletop. I took it to mean hush, so I did. I thought he was going to lead the interrogation, but instead he just asked, “Thelma, would you like a cup of coffee or something?”

  “What the….” I began.

  Tom shushed me again with his hand, then patted his shirt pocket where I’d seen him put the plastic bag for collecting the DNA sample.

  “Sure would,” answered Thelma. “You know they make us pay a whole dime for a cup a coffee around here? They think we’s made outta money or somethin’.” Thelma finally let go of the doorknob and took a seat across the table from us.

  “It’s my treat, ma’am,” said Tom. “Take cream or sugar?”

  “Yessir.”

  Tom did an almost unperceivable double take, but said nothing. He stepped out the door and left me alone with Thelma. Earlier, I’d thought of a whole list of questions to ask her, but now that I was face-to-face with Thelma, they all skittered out the window between the white bars lik
e mice from a barn cat. Before I could get my brain and mouth in sync to say something, Thelma spoke.

  “That’s a purty necklace.”

  I touched the cheap dragonfly pendant hanging around my neck. “Thanks.”

  “It reminds me a somethin’.”

  The hair on my neck stood up. “What?” I asked.

  Thelma raised her voice ten octaves. “Said it reminds me a somethin’!”

  “No. I mean…right. What does it remind you of, Thelma?”

  “What?”

  “The necklace? The dragonfly?”

  “Oh. It reminds me a them bugs that flies around outside. That’s why I don’t like to go out there. Too many bugs ever’wheres.”

  The door creaked open. Tom came in carefully balancing two paper cups in his flattened right hand. Relief flooded my body.

  “You said cream, Thelma?” he asked.

  “Yes’m.”

  “And sugar?”

  “Yep.”

  Tom nodded and removed one cup with his left hand. He offered Thelma the second cup by lowering his right hand like a tray in front of her. She picked up the cup and took a sip. I looked over at Tom while she drank. He smiled at me and mouthed the word, “Bingo.”

  “You want this one?” He offered me the other cup.

  I shook my head. I couldn’t take my eyes off Thelma.

  Thelma seemed to disappear into another time and place as she drank the coffee. She closed her eyes and hummed between sips. Tom and I watched her, as mesmerized by her as she was by a simple cup of coffee. When she’d drained the cup, it was as if someone hit her “on” switch again. Her eyes opened. She returned to this plane of existence and slowly tore the paper cup to pieces. She wadded it into a ball and threw it in the wastebasket beside her. Tom and I both tried hard to pretend we didn’t notice.

  “Mmmm. That was good,” Thelma said. “So what y’all want again?”

  “Thelma, you said your parents left you on the road. What were their names?” Tom asked.

  Thelma looked hard into the left corner of the ceiling. “Mickey and Memaw…or Minnie, I do believe. They was mouses, you know. I was only tiny as a mouse when they left me. They come back when I was fully growed, but I didn’t want to talk to them folks no more. They was too crazy! I was nice to ‘em and all, but still that old woman stole a piece a my hair! She reached out and cut it clean off with a pair a scissors!”