“How about cash? Jewelry?” Tom asked.
My mind flashed to the little green rhinestone oval. It was still in my travel bag. Then I thought of something else. “Glad used to wear a lot of rings. I think she had them on when they took her to the morgue. Where would they be now?”
“Probably still there. When you signed for her, did they give you a bag with her personal effects?”
“No. I never thought to ask.”
“Maybe you should.”
I nodded. “I will tomorr….”
I was stopped short by the sound of Goober’s voice from outside. He was yelling a stream of obscenities. Tom and I locked eyes, then dashed toward the hallway. Tom grabbed my hand and we pushed and pulled our bodies through the narrow passage clogged with newspapers and magazines. Finally, the garbage pile opened up. We’d made it to the kitchen. Tom flung open the back door and we practically tumbled over each other into the backyard.
“Gaaddang pile of shit! Let me loose!”
I could hear Goober, but I couldn’t see him. It was like trying to find a toaster amongst the maze of junked appliances and furniture. Finally, Goober flailed a long, tattooed arm and I spotted him, twisted backward around a deep freezer, his belt loop hung up on the handle. Tom hurtled over a pile of rusty lawn furniture to reach him, and worked Goober loose from the Frigidaire’s rusty grasp.
“They got in the RV, too,” Goober said, exasperated.
Tom helped me climb over the deep freeze and we both peered inside Glad’s old Minnie Winnie. It looked like a tornado had picked up a ton of garbage and flung it around inside. The sickly sweet smell of air freshener failed to mask the funk of the abandoned old RV. The greenish-brown upholstery showed evidence that when Glad moved out, mice and who knows what else had moved in.
“There’s a new can of air freshener on the table. They must have sprayed it,” Tom said.
“I can’t blame them.” I felt like retching.
Tom climbed inside the cabin and scrounged around in an open kitchen drawer. He pulled out a set of tongs and picked up the aerosol can with them. “Fingerprint evidence.”
Tom brushed by me with the can. After he stepped out the door, I climbed in. That’s when I finally noticed the overwhelmingly obvious. Every inch of wall and door space in the RV was covered in stickers and pictures and drawings of dragonflies. A never-ending, dizzying decoupage of fairy-like insects. I stood open-mouthed, admiring the mad, hypnotic splendor of Glad’s artwork. Goober stuck his head in the Minnie Winnie and sniffed.
“Who farted flowers?”
“He said this place was covered in butterflies.”
“Who?”
“Jacob.”
“Who the hell is Jacob?”
“Señor Blanco.”
“You talked to him?”
“Yes. He said Glad’s RV was covered in butterflies.”
“Butterflies, dragonflies, what’s the difference?”
I aimed my frustration at the indifference of the male species. “Men!”
“Women!” Goober shot back.
***
Tom dropped the can of air freshener in an evidence bag and drove down to Goober’s car. Tom emptied the five-gallon gas can into Goober’s tank and handed him some money for his efforts.
“Negatory.”
“Take it. You earned it,” Tom insisted.
“I don’t take money for helping friends,” protested Goober.
“Then let me buy you dinner.”
“That I’ll do. As long as it includes a beer.”
“Of course.”
“Or two.”
“Don’t push your luck,” Tom said jokingly. “How about the Sea Hag?”
Goober looked over at me. “I guess she can come, too.”
Both guys burst out laughing. “Very funny,” I said, and punched Goober on the arm.
The Sea Hag was the name of a popular restaurant in St. Pete Beach. If it were any more casual it wouldn’t need a roof. Nestled on the waterfront by a causeway, it was a great place to kick back and have a few cold ones. And it was close by. In less than ten minutes, the three of us were there, throwing one back.
“Do you remember what happened, Goober?” Tom asked, taking a sip from his mug of beer.
“Actually, no. I was talking to Jorge on the phone, and all of a sudden I blacked out. I don’t know if I fell over or got whacked.”
“That’s not unusual. To not remember, I mean,” Tom said. He’d switched to his cop voice. “People with concussions often forget the last few minutes before they sustained their injury. Those missing minutes will probably never come back. They get erased like an Etch-a-Sketch.”
Goober touched the knot on his upper forehead. It looked mean and angry, as if a horn was trying to break through. “I’ve lived through worse. Thanks for the Midol, Val. It actually helped.”
I nodded, relieved he was okay. “Anytime.”
“Good thing you didn’t give him aspirin,” Tom interjected. “It’s a blood thinner. Could have made any internal bleeding even worse.”
“Oh. I didn’t know that,” I said. Tom’s news made me feel somehow wrong and inadequate.
“It’s all good,” Tom said reassuringly. Under the table, he placed his left hand on my lower thigh and gave it a light squeeze. My inadequate feeling melted under the electric heat that shot through my body. Tom didn’t appear to take any notice. Instead, he shifted his attention back to Goober.
“You remember what kind of car they were driving?” Tom asked.
“A white Toyota. One of those hybrids.”
“A Prius. That’s the same car Jacob drives,” I said.
“Jacob, as in Señor Blanco,” Goober said, incredulous. “You on a first-name basis with these screwers, Val?”
“Just one,” I answered defensively. “The guy. He actually came up and started talking to me in the Water Loo’s parking lot. He told me a lot of things about Tony and Glad.” A sudden streak of anger overwhelmed me. “Shit! Now that I think about it, Jacob set me up, Tom. I probably told him too much. About the letter, and the marriage license, I mean.”
“Don’t worry about it,” said Tom, squeezing my thigh. His protectiveness felt ironically reassuring and scary at the same time. “You don’t need to contact him again.”
“Bulldog Woman, either,” said Goober. “Unless you’d like your nose to contact her fist again.” He moved his right arm, miming a boxing uppercut.
I instinctively touched my nose, then recycled Goober’s line. “I’ve lived through worse.”
The waitress delivered our fish burgers and fries, and we ate and drank and swapped war stories like old pals. I noticed Tom only had one beer, then switched to water. Afterward, he drove Goober back to his car and me to my apartment. I lingered in the cab just long enough to give Tom a hug and a nice, but not-too-naughty kiss. I couldn’t. I hadn’t shaved my legs in two days.
“We’re both tired and grimy,” I said. “I just want to jump in the shower and go to bed.”
Tom looked relieved. His reaction caused a tinge of insecurity to shoot through me.
“Yeah. It’s been a long day,” he said.
“Thank you for everything.”
“Sure thing.” Tom touched my face and smiled tenderly. “We’re on our way, Val.”
My heart skipped a beat. “What do you mean?”
Tom withdrew, embarrassed. “I mean, the case is on its way. We’ve got the evidence at the lab. Just a few more odds and ends to do while we wait for the DNA results.”
“Oh. Yeah. Sure! Um, is the can from the RV part of the odds and ends?”
“You never know. It doesn’t hurt to gather ammunition, even if you never need it. As far as I know, breaking and entering is still a crime in Florida.”
“Unless the house ends up belonging to the perpetrator.”
“Point taken.”
Chapter Thirty-One
On Wednesday morning I woke up with time on my hands. With all t
he harried happenings lately, it seemed like a month had passed since I was free to do what I pleased. In actuality, it had been less than a week.
I thought about going to Caddy’s, but the weather was overcast. I got dressed. Before I knew it, I found myself riding along with Maggie as she tooled down First Avenue North in the direction of St. Pete Beach. Believe it or not, my audacious little auto pulled right into Water Loo’s parking lot like she owned the place. I really am getting to be pathetic.
I sighed and put Maggie in park. What the hell. I’ve got nothing better to do. I climbed out of the Sprint and into a greasy corner booth to shoot the breeze with the stooges. None of them looked surprised to see me. I guess I was now officially part of the scenery. Goober scooted over for me as I walked up. He was still sporting that nasty knot on his head.
“Morning, schnoz,” he said after moving his spoon to the side of his mouth.
“Morning, cyclops,” I said. I scooched into the booth beside him.
Winky chuckled at our exchange, and spilled coffee down the front of a faded green Donald Duck t-shirt, the latest from the Water Loo’s donations for half-naked humans. He cursed under his breath. I shot a glance over at Jorge. Poor guy was face down, snoring. Luxuriating in hair-of-the-Mad-Dog-20/20, no doubt. As for me, I’d just gotten a text from Jamie informing me that Double Booty was barely passable, and that I shouldn’t hold my breath on winning the publishing contract. Yep. The race to the bottom was really heating up.
“So what’s on the old agenda today?” Goober asked me, temporarily halting the clicking of his spoon.
“Good question.”
Goober’s lips widened into a familiar, knowing smile. I had mixed feelings over the thought that I was probably going to see a lot more of that grin in the future.
Winnie, the once surly waitress, dropped off my cup of coffee with a cheery, “Good morning.” Shocked, I looked over at Winky. He winked and licked his lips. Jorge snorted awake and wiped a puddle of drool from the table with his bare hand. My chest tightened. My life has been reduced to a scene from ‘Days of Whiners and Roses.’
Diametrically opposed waves of comfortable ease and horrified unease crashed over my head and threatened to drown me in my own irony. Part of me was desperate to leap up and run the hell out of there. Part of me was as planted as a willow by a lake. I closed my eyes and took a deep yoga breath. When I opened them again all three stooges were staring at me. Their stubble-lined faces registered amused curiosity. I squirmed, not wanting to be the focus of attention. I was just about to prompt the guys for Glad’s memorial toast when my phone buzzed. I wanted to kiss whoever was calling.
“Hello?”
“Ms. Fremden?” The deep, raspy voice on the other end of the line sent my memory racing.
“Yes….”
“Some lady’s here asking about your aunt.”
The clerk at the morgue! “What’s she look like?”
The rasp turned into a whisper. “A French bulldog.”
Curiosity got the better of me. I had to ask. “Why French?”
“She’s got a long French braid down her back,” he whispered.
“Oh. So why are you calling me?”
“Something seems fishy. The lady’s got your aunt’s date of death right, but the name wrong. She showed me a picture of your aunt with some guy on a beach. It was her, alright. For some reason, that old leatherback stuck in my mind. Probably because of you. You know how to take a joke.”
“Uh…thanks. What does she want?”
“Your aunt’s effects. More specifically, her two-carat diamond ring. She asked about it specifically.”
My jaw tightened so hard I thought my teeth might shatter. In the silent seconds before I could unclench my mouth, the clerk spoke again.
“Should I release her effects?”
I tried to calm the fury inside me. “Under no circumstances give that woman anything, please. I’ll come by for my aunt’s things tomorrow.”
“Okay. I’ll hold up a day for you. But you’ve got to bring the old lady’s official ID with you. For the records.”
“Sure thing.”
I hung up and punched Tom’s number. Goober tried to say something, but I shushed him with a wave of my hand.
“Tom, we have a problem.”
“Not another one!” Tom whined.
“What do you mean, not another one?”
“I just found out Tony’s ex is seeking a petition from his lawyer to gain access to the inside of his house.”
“You’re kidding! That’s a bit after-the-fact, isn’t it?”
“Sure. But I guess they didn’t find what they were looking for the first time.”
“I know.”
“What do you mean?”
“Bulldog Woman showed up at the morgue today with Glad’s picture, trying to get her rings. Apparently there’s a two-carat diamond at stake. Jacob must have known about it.”
“Incredible. But she’s going to need more than an old picture to get Glad’s effects released. She’s going to need official documentation.”
“Yeah, that’s what the clerk told me. I’m sure that’s why she and Jacob need to get back in the house. To find Glad’s ID. Bulldog Bitch-Woman was too fat to fit down the hallway. She must have sent Jacob in to do her dirty work. But it looks like he didn’t get the job done to her liking. That’s probably why they were arguing, like Goober said.”
“That makes sense.”
“Tom, what can we do about the search petition?”
“Nothing. We have absolutely no grounds to be messing around with this, remember?”
“Crap. You’re right. How long will it take for her to get the petition?”
“A day or two.”
“Good. That means we’ve got a chance to sneak in the house one more time.”
“What for, Val?”
“For the ID! I need to find it before they do. For the morgue. I’ve got to make Glad legit.”
“Make her legit?”
“Uh, yeah.”
“Why is Glad not legit, Val?”
“I kind of told them she was my aunt. Gladys Fremden.”
“Your mom’s right. You do keep getting stranger and stranger.”
“Very funny. It’s a long story. Will you help me?”
“Under one condition. You give the rings to Tony’s estate attorney.”
“That was my plan all along.”
“Good. Meet you there after work. Six.”
“Thanks, Tom.”
***
Winky was becoming a serious cock-blocker. When I told the guys I was going back to Tony’s house with Tom, Winky threw a fit until I promised he could go along. Winky said he got cheated by having to stay in the car the first time around. I figured it was better to appease the savage redneck now than forever listen to his whining about it later. I picked him up in the Water Loo’s parking lot at 5:45. He was still wearing that coffee-stained Donald Duck rag of a t-shirt. I wondered if he’d spent all day there or not. I didn’t ask. He didn’t tell.
When I drove up, he was half sitting, half lying under the shade of a palm tree on the side of the parking lot, like that was a normal, acceptable thing to do. At the sight of me and Maggie, he sprang to life like a Mexican jumping bean.
“Val Pal!” Winky hollered.
“Hey Winky. Hop in.”
Winky’s eyes lit up like a child at a pony ride. “I always wanted to ride in your car. Sweeeet!”
As he climbed in, I realized that for a man who had next to nothing, Winky possessed something of which I was downright envious. He had the ability to enjoy the simple things in life. Like food, shelter, and coffee refills. Things my jaded eyes and heart had long ago learned to take for granted. The thought made me want to reward Winky’s childlike enthusiasm. So I did a 360 with Shabby Maggie and pealed out of the parking lot, sending her twin glass-packs roaring to the heavens.
“Woooheeee!” Winky hollered, his face awash with bliss.
<
br /> A few minutes later, so was mine. Tom was standing in the driveway of Tony’s house in his full police uniform. I wanted to be arrested. Right then. Right there.
“Look at that shiny copper!” Winky said, his words clipping my cellmate fantasy’s wings. They fell to the wayside like a fly sprayed with Raid.
“Hey guys. Let’s make this quick.” Like his uniform, Tom himself was in official cop mode. I guess he had to be.
I turned to Winky. He was wiggling in the seat like a puppy. “Okay Winky, behave yourself. Like you promised.”
“Yes ma’am,” he replied. But I could tell his squirrely dog brain was already feasting on some soon-to-be savored milk bone.
***
Despite the chaos inside the house, I managed to find Glad’s ID by using my secret weapon: I knew how to think like a woman. Glad didn’t have a driver’s license. But thanks to a recent law, she’d been required to have a picture ID. I found her Florida identification card in a small, green, wallet-sized purse hanging on the doorknob behind the bedroom door.
“Got it!” I called out in victory.
“Good. Let’s get out of here!” I heard Tom call from down the cluttered hallway.
I met him in the kitchen. The squirming banana blob on the counter had dried up to a thick, black stain. I guess all the maggots had turned to flies and found a way to escape. It seemed like Vermin always did. Tom opened the back door and we stepped out into the humid air. The sky was just beginning to pink-up in preparation for sunset.
“Val, remind me again. Why are we doing all of this?” Tom asked.
I was beginning to wonder myself. But something compelled me to keep going, like a compulsive shopper with a boatload of coupons about to expire. “Just in case, Tom. In case there’s a chance Glad’s things belong to someone else. I just can’t let that horrible bulldog of a woman get her paws on Glad’s stuff. Not if Glad’s got a daughter out there. I feel like I owe it to her. Can you understand that?”
Tom blew out a breath. “Yeah. I get it. But promise me. This is it. Okay? You pick up Glad’s stuff at the morgue tomorrow and we’ll let the lawyer sort it out from here. No more playing amateur detective. Let the chips fall where they may.”
Val & Pals Boxed Set: Volumes 1,2 & the Prequel (Val & Pals Humorous Mystery Series) Page 46
