“Yes’m, honey.”
Short and sweet. That was Dale.
“Vallie!” Mom’s razor-sharp voice startled me, causing me to nearly drop the plate of chicken I was carrying. “You about burned up that chicken dinner yet?”
Short and not-so-sweet. That was my mom.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
I’d set the alarm on my cellphone to 6 a.m. to avoid another one of Mom’s flyswatter wake-up calls. I heard it beep, switched it off then lolled around inside the wispy memory of a dream. Glad and I had been laughing together. I was sitting behind her, my arms wrapped around her and we were riding on a giant blue-and-green dragonfly. No, wait. We were shrunk to the size of matchsticks and riding a normal-sized dragonfly. I think. Anyway, it soared over Glad’s Minnie Winnie, which was parked on the sugar-white sand between the beach and Paddy’s. The sky was blue and warm, and Glad was leaning back, whispering something in my ear. It tickled. What was she saying? “Be Glad. Glad. Glorf. Glorf. Grrof.” Her breath smelled like kibbles and barf….
I shot awake. Mom’s damn yappy dog was licking my ear. I sat up on the couch and pushed the pooch away. My ear was sopping wet with slobber. Gross! I got up and scurried down the hallway to the bathroom, holding my ear and cursing under my breath. Preoccupied, I ran headlong into Tom.
“Wow, Val. You really aren’t a morning person.”
Someone kill me now. “Told ya.”
He wrapped his arms around me and squeezed. “How about a good morning kiss?” he teased.
“Not the time or place,” I said, trying to squirm out of his grip, dog saliva trickling down my ear.
“It’s okay. We’ve already had our first kiss, remember?” he asked with his minty fresh breath.
I turned my face away before I spoke, in case my breath was worse than the dog’s. “Yeah, in a nuthouse.”
Tom touched the side of my face and turned my head gently until we were eye to eye. He was smiling! At this ungodly hour! Without even so much as one cup of coffee!
“I heard that’s good luck,” he joked in a deep, sexy morning voice.
I snorted out a sarcastic laugh. “Come on, you’re spoiling my bad mood.”
His smile evaporated and his face registered concern. He pulled his hand away from the side of my face and examined it. “Is your ear leaking?”
Horrified, I pushed past Tom into the bathroom and locked the door behind me.
***
Miraculously, Tiny got the 4Runner up and going by breakfast. Tom and Dale had taken the golf cart up to IGA at half-past six and scored two big boxes of donuts. I guess they had freed Tiny up so he could dive right in to fixing the oil line. It didn’t take him long. In fact, he was done in time to join us at the breakfast table. Tiny washed up at the kitchen sink, then turned a dining chair around and straddled it, lowering his huge bulk precariously onto the unlucky chair as it protested with groans and squeaks. Actually, it felt good to have a house full of men around me. Dale, Tom, Winky and Tiny provided a testosterone-filled buffer zone between me and my mother.
“Well, Valiant Jolly, when are me and Dale gonna see you again?” Mom asked, cramming half a cream-filled donut in her mouth. She shot me a pathetic look that could have made Mother Teresa feel like shit.
“It’s Fremden now, Mom. My German name.”
“Fremden? I never can remember it. What in tarnation is a Fremden?”
I had wondered the same thing a few years back. Lots of names like Smith and Jones didn’t really have any meaning. But Fremden did. I’d looked it up in my German-to-English dictionary. “It means stranger, Mom.”
“Well, you do keep gettin’ stranger and stranger,” Mom snorted, amusing herself so much she nearly choked on her Maxwell House.
I nodded silently, counting her intended insult as personal gain. I sure hope so.
“Tiny, thanks again for fixing up the 4Runner,” Tom said. My hero! Coming to my rescue by changing the subject! I had to admit, Tom did look a bit like Prince Charming. Especially sitting amongst this lot. I threw him a grateful smile. He caught it.
“No problemo, Tom,” replied Tiny. “Only thing I like better’n donuts is gettin’ under the hood of a vehicle, even if it is a Ty-otee.”
“It’s been a real pleasure havin’ you and these boys here,” Dale, aka The Hostage, said in my direction. He took out a hanky and dabbed at his nearly useless eyes. He was a small, delicate man, and for some reason the thought of him and my mom together brought to my mind a pair of black widow spiders. After mating, the much larger female often annihilated her partner by eating him alive. The male had to be crafty to avoid such a fate. I hoped Dale was crafty.
A sudden wave of melancholy threatened to overcome me. It left me no choice but to bust out crying or get busy doing something. I chose the latter and I stood up. “Thank you, Dale. It’s always a pleasure to see you…and Mom. I guess I better get started on the dishes if we’re going to get out of here anytime soon.”
“Leave ‘em. I’ll do ‘em,” my mother said. My knees nearly buckled at the surprise.
“Thanks, Mom.” I started to reach over and hug her.
“You don’t get ‘em clean enough anyway,” she said, never looking up. She chose instead to take a huge bite from a cruller.
***
Some things just look an awful lot better from the rearview mirror. As we drove away, I watched the reflection of Mom and Dale waving from the front yard until it shrank and faded away. Despite the feeling of relief, my throat got tight and my nose grew hot. Longing to return to a fairytale that never was is, I guess, the universal irony of family.
Tom offered me a hanky that came with the welcome bonus of a tender squeeze of my hand. I blew my dripping nose and was reminded of something to be grateful for. My nose was healed enough for my mom not to notice. At least I didn’t have to explain to her why I got punched in the face.
“Did I hear your mom call you Valiant?” Tom asked, returning me from Lady Lala Land.
I took a quick glance in the backseat. Winky was passed out. Sometimes a girl’s gotta do what a girl’s gotta do. God bless you whoever invented Dramamine.
“Yes. Val is short for Valiant. Valiant W. Jolly. That’s the name my parents gave me.”
“So…is there a story that goes with that name? I’ve never heard of anyone called Valiant before.”
I glanced over at Tom. He actually looked serious. Damn handsome too, his blonde bangs gently moving with the gusts from the air conditioner. His mirrored shades gave him a sort of movie-star cop mystique.
“I guess. But it’s a short story. My dad said he called me that because I was brave.”
“What did you do that was brave?”
I scrunched up my eyebrows. “You know, I don’t think I ever asked him. I guess I never thought about it. Maybe I was brave just to be born into a family run by my mother.”
I laughed. Tom didn’t.
“I could see where that would count for something,” he said. “So what’s the W stand for? Who, what, where, when or why?”
He turned and shot me that grin I’d begun to enjoy so much. I liked it when he joked. It was easier to breathe. Serious Tom made me nervous…in more ways than one.
“Another mystery. My mom said they couldn’t decide on anything good. They thought a W would make me sound more distinguished. A distinguished redneck. Talk about being born into irony….”
“Well, you are pretty distinguished, if you think about it. College educated. Lived in Germany. Speak the language.”
“Danke.”
“And you’re pretty redneck,” Tom added, deflating my fledgling ego boost.
“What do you mean?”
Tom resurrected his horrible Southern accent. “You know how to cook vitals. You was born in Chattahoochee. You speak the language.”
I laughed. “It’s vittles, not vitals.”
“See? You speak fluent redneck.”
“And you don’t. So please, drop that horrible acce
nt or I’m sending you back to Maryland.”
“Yes ma’am.”
“Since you aren’t from around here, I guess you’ve never had the pleasure of experiencing redneck foreplay,” I joked.
“Redneck foreplay? You’ve got my attention, ma’am. What’s that?”
I sidled up to Tom and poked him hard on the bicep with my index finger. “Hey. You awake?”
Tom looked at me for a second, expecting more. Then realization dawned on his face and he burst out laughing.
“You’re funny, Valiant.”
“Oh! Please don’t ever call me that!”
“Why?”
“Just don’t.”
“Okay, okay! Let’s change the subject. I think she likes me. Your mom, I mean. She said I was good looking, ‘If you go for that sort of thing.’”
“I didn’t hear her say that.”
“Aha! So you were listening in.”
“Busted. But I didn’t get to hear everything. I was cooking vittles, you know.”
“And they was some gosh-darn good vittles, too. That chicken is somewhere up in heaven crowing about how good you fried him up. Deeeelicious.”
“What did I tell you about that accent, officer?”
“Sorry ma’am.” Tom winked. “What do you redneck girls do with naughty boys who won’t listen?”
“Wouldn’t you like to know.”
***
I let Tom concentrate on driving as we wound our way east on I-10 through busy Tallahassee. Coming out the other side we were facing over an hour of boring highway until we hit Lake City. Winky was still sawing logs in the back, but not too loudly. Every once in a while he would rip out a round of flatulence that sent us scrambling to roll the windows down for fresh air. We’d just ventilated the 4Runner for the third or fourth time when a thought occurred to me.
“Tom, when was it you had your first case? The Buckaroo Bandit?”
“November a hundred years ago.”
I slapped his arm playfully. “I’m serious.”
“Twenty years ago…so…1989.”
“Do you remember the month?”
“Fishing season. So, May or June.”
“Tony and Glad got married in October that same year. If that was Bobby’s skull in that Piggly Wiggly bag, it means he was dead before they got married. Do you think Glad knew Bobby was dead?”
“Huh. There’s a thought. That would make her marriage to Tony legit. Pretty convenient, timing-wise. If the skull really is Bobby’s.”
“It’s his. Who else’s could it be?”
“Okay, let’s assume it is. Jacob said he pulled Bobby’s teeth out in like, 1987, right? That leaves two years of unaccounted time before the skull was found. Anything could have happened in between. If Jacob left Bobby alone in the woods, he could have bled to death. Or Bobby could have recovered and later had a fishing accident. Or Jacob could be lying and he actually finished Bobby off himself. That way Jacob would be able to tell Tony and Glad that the coast was clear, so to speak.”
So to speak, not sore to speak! He’s literate! Hurray! I looked over at Tom. He seemed even more handsome somehow. “Or maybe Glad didn’t know anything about what Jacob did,” I speculated. “If she didn’t, why would she marry Tony if she knew she was still married to Bobby?”
“People do it all the time, Val. It’s just a piece of paper until you mail it in. Even then, different states, different names. Cross-checking public records has its limitations.”
“Hmmmm.”
“You sound like your m….”
The hard look on my face froze Tom’s mouth mid-word. “I mean it sounds like you haven’t been to your mom’s in a while.”
Guilt washed over me like a ton of dirty gym socks. “Yes, I’m a stranger now. And keep getting stranger.”
“Jolly to Fremden. Think about it, Val. You went from being happy – Jolly – to being a stranger, Fremden. I hope you didn’t become a stranger to being jolly along the way.”
How poetic. “Me too,” was all I said.
Chapter Thirty
We got lucky and Winky slept all the way to Tampa, giving Tom and me a chance to get a little more personal with our conversation and sneak in that second kiss. It was worth the wait – and the guilt of drugging Winky with Dramamine. The poor guy was still a bit groggy when we arrived at my place. Jorge was there, sitting in his old grey-and-bondo Buick, dutifully staking out my street. He saw us and jumped out of his vehicle. He greeted us both with Old Spice-scented hugs.
“Hola, guys! Como estas?”
“No she wat’n in no coma, mister,” grumbled Winky, climbing out of the backseat of the 4Runner. He rubbed his head and stumbled over to Jorge’s Buick. “She was just crazy’s all. Y’all don’t mind me. I’m gonna take a nap.” Winky crawled into the backseat of Jorge’s car. He laid down and his head disappeared behind the front seat.
Jorge looked questioningly at Tom and me. We both shrugged. Jorge smiled and shrugged too, then presented me with my apartment key as if he were handing over the crown jewels. What he said next was really good news. He and Goober had located the whereabouts of the Bulldog Woman’s hideaway.
“So, what did you find out?” Tom asked Jorge.
“This woman, she’s staying at the Landmark Motel over by Mirror Lake. And she’s not alone. There’s some old gringo guy with her.”
“Señor Blanco?”
“Jes. Everything blanco. White shirt, white belt, white shoes.” Jorge touched his chest, then waist, then shins as he talked, as if doing some type of show-and-tell calisthenics routine.
“Did they come by here again?”
“No. But Goober called about a half an hour ago. He said they were at Tony’s place. They tried the front door and then walked around back. He said they were back there for a long time. Goober got tired of waiting and snuck a peek behind the back corner of the house. He saw the fat lady giving old Blanco hell. Goober tried to tell me something else over the phone, but he was whispering too low. I don’t know what he said. Then he hung up. You’re gonna have to get the rest of the story from him.”
“Where is he now?”
“Probably still in front of Tony’s. He told me he ran out of gas.”
“Okay. Good work, partner.” Tom patted Jorge on the shoulder. “Thanks for taking Winky home, too. You did great.”
Jorge beamed. Tom turned to face me. “Val, I’m going to head over to Tony’s. I’ve got a spare gas can in the back of the 4Runner.”
“I’m going with you,” I said.
Tom smiled. “No argument here.”
***
It was almost 3 p.m. when we turned onto Bimini Circle. Goober’s car was parked about four houses down from Tony’s. The Dodge was empty except for about four million mangled Marlboro cigarette butts. They spilled like a jumbled waterfall out of the ashtray and onto the floorboards. There was no sign of the white Prius. We drove on to the house and pulled up in the driveway. Still no Goober. Tom tried him on his cellphone. No answer. But we heard a faint ringing coming from the backyard. Goober had set his ringtone to the theme from Superman. Of course.
I grinned wryly at Tom. But the look on his face caused my mood to switch to worry. Before I could say a word, Tom raced around the side of the house. I followed, picking my way through the gravel as quickly as I could in sandals. I rounded the corner and saw Tom kneeling beside Goober. Old Peanut Head was splayed out on the back landing, his phone a few feet from his right hand. I was about to laugh with relief when I spied a huge red knot in the middle of Goober’s forehead.
“Goober, buddy, wake up,” Tom said. He shook Goober gently by the shoulders.
“Hmmm?” Goober groaned and tried to sit up.
“You okay? What happened?”
Goober touched his forehead and winced. “I don’t know.” His eyes focused first on Tom, then on me. A grin crept over his face. “I guess I OD’ed on Fukitol.”
I smiled and breathed a sigh of relief. At least his sens
e of humor was still intact.
“Looks like the back door’s been jimmied open,” said Tom. “Val, stay with Goober.”
“I’m going with you,” I said.
“You keep saying that.”
“I’ve been in the house before.”
“I’ve been in, too, Val. DNA samples, remember?”
“Yeah. But I went through Glad’s personal stuff. I think I’d notice if more than a few toenail clippings were missing.”
“Fair enough.”
Tom propped Goober up against the outside wall. I got him a glass of water from the kitchen, then scrounged around in my purse for an aspirin. The best I could come up with was Extra-Strength Midol. I thought twice before handing the tablet to Goober.
Goober examined the pill and laughed. “Perfect! You know, Val….”
“Careful. I can make that knot a matching set.”
Goober flinched, then mockingly whined. “I was just going to say that you’re a sweet lady.”
I looked at Goober’s swollen forehead and remembered he’d been doing me a favor. “And you’re a nice man. I’m just not in the mood for a joke right now.”
“Maybe you need this more than me.” Goober held out the Midol tablet.
I shook my fist at him and laughed despite myself.
***
The house had been ransacked. Drawers were pulled out. Papers were strewn everywhere. To the unsuspecting, it might have looked like it was normal for Tony’s hoarder house. But I knew better. When I made it through the garbage-lined hallway to the bedroom, I saw Glad’s three shoeboxes dumped out on the bed. The sight hit me hard in the gut. It was pretty obvious who the perpetrators were. But as far as I could tell at first glance, nothing was missing.
“What do you think they were looking for?” Tom asked.
“I was about to ask you the same question. Maybe the marriage certificate?”
“Maybe.”
I sorted through the papers and mementos strewn all over the bed. “The picture of Glad and Tony on the beach is gone, Tom. Tony’s letter to Glad from boarding school, too. Shit! So is the picture of Glad with her baby!”
Val & Pals Boxed Set: Volumes 1,2 & the Prequel (Val & Pals Humorous Mystery Series) Page 45
