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

by Margaret Lashley

“Good for you.”

  “Yep. One feller was kinda persnickety. He wanted a reference. I give him your name and number. He called back an hour later and hired me on the spot.”

  “Really?”

  “Yep. Feels good to have my hands under the hood again. Thanks for telling him I did a bang-up job.”

  “Winky, I never told anyone that. He never called me.”

  “Huh. Well, maybe I give him the wrong number. Anyway, he knowed by my honest face that I was a hard-working man.”

  “You’re kidding, right?”

  Winky’s proud smile faded a notch.

  “Didn’t yore momma teach you to play nice?”

  “Sorry, Winky. You’re right. How’s this for nice? Would you like to help Laverne fix her engine?”

  “Now come on, Val. You know I already got my hands full with Winnie.”

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  I’d hung my head in shame and braced for a heap of humiliation from the guys about my Blurs & Slurs debut. But they’d surprised me. My dialing disaster had had the exact opposite effect – it had actually earned me street credit. I’d passed an unspoken rite of derelict passage; I’d committed and survived an act of complete and utter public humiliation.

  At the picnic table, Winky had bought me that beer to celebrate. I’d drunk it gratefully, and listened to Goober as he’d lain out the story of his own grizzly turn at bat, right after his divorce five years ago. Before I left, we’d toasted Glad, and a feeling akin to camaraderie had crept into my heart as our voices rang out together, chanting my mom’s signature salutation: “Screw you, kiddo!”

  Maggie’s seats had been almost at lava level when I’d skootched into the driver’s seat at 2 p.m. I’d checked my phone to find Tom had called four times. The fifth time he’d left a text. It read, “Please. Let me explain. It’s complicated.”

  With men, it seemed, it always was.

  ***

  I went home and googled the news again. Still nothing. Not even about Blurs & Slurs. I sighed with relief. It lasted about a minute. Then my phone rang.

  “Hello?”

  “Valiant Fremden?”

  “Uh…yes.”

  “Offi…Lieutenant Jergen here.”

  I braced for another kind of impact. Was he calling to tell me I’m under arrest? I took Winky’s advice. I played nice.

  “Yes. Congratulations, lieutenant. What can I do for you?”

  My graciousness must have caught him off guard. His voice softened a smidge.

  “Oh. Well, thank you. I’m calling to let you know we’ve identified the body of the man found in the dumpster. His name is Warren Harris. Are you acquainted with this man?’

  “No. I’ve never heard of him. Why do you think this is the guy?”

  “He’s missing the correct finger, and his initials match the ring in question.”

  “Really? W-H…couldn’t that also be H-M? If you turned the ring around?”

  “I suppose so. Why?”

  “The man who accused me of cutting his finger off. His name is Harden Michaels.”

  “Yes. That’s correct. How do you know that?”

  “I…I’m not sure I should be speaking with you about this.”

  “Ms. Fremden, I’m not the bad guy here. Your philandering boyfriend is.”

  “He’s not my boyfriend anymore.”

  “Well, I’m glad to hear it. The man is a menace to women in general.”

  “I guess you think I’m a menace to men in general.”

  “You said it, not me.”

  “Have a nice day, lieutenant.”

  “I will. But I can’t guarantee the same for you.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  His answer to the question was to hang up the phone. My gut wadded into a knot.

  Crap! What am I supposed to do now? Call the cops? I blew out a big breath. The cops weren’t an option. It was time to eat crow.

  I hit redial for attorney Marvin Hemingway, the lawyer Mr. Fellows had referred to me – the same one I’d blown off so casually just two days ago. I was surprised and unprepared when he answered the phone himself on the first ring.

  “Hello, Hemingway here.”

  “Oh! Mr. Hemingway. It’s…um…Val Fremden.”

  “Who?”

  “Val Fremden? Mr. Fellows –”

  “Oh. Yes. The woman with the missing finger.”

  “Um…yes. Are you still interested in taking the case? There have been some…developments.”

  “Really? Like what?”

  “A lawsuit, for starters. Have you heard of Ferrol Finkerman?”

  “Unfortunately, yes.”

  “His client is claiming to be the man missing that finger. He’s threatening to sue me for personal injury and loss of career earnings.”

  “Threatening? Did he offer you some kind of deal?”

  “Kind of. Half my money now, or all of it in court.”

  “Not the worst deal I’ve heard. Why aren’t you taking it?”

  “Seriously? Because I didn’t do it.”

  “You had the finger, didn’t you?”

  “Yes.”

  “Well, you know, possession is nine –”

  “Look, Mr. Hemingway. I need help. I didn’t do this. My boyfriend – ex boyfriend – brought an old couch into my house. I found a finger in it. I gave it to the cops. Some dwarf in an Alfred E. Neuman mask broke in looking for it. I kicked him –”

  “Wait a minute. Alfred E. Neuman?”

  “The kid from Mad Magazine.”

  “Okay. Continue.”

  “Really? You ask about the mask, but not the dwarf?”

  “Believe it or not, Ms. Fremden, yours is not the strangest story I’ve heard. I deal with a lot of carnies from Gibsonton.”

  Unbelievable. “Okay. So, this dwarf breaks in, I tell him I gave the finger to the cops and he cusses up a storm. Then he says, ‘mother of macaroons,’ and runs out the door.”

  I waited for his response. There was only silence.

  “Hello?”

  “I’m sorry, Ms. Fremden. I can’t represent you.”

  “What? Why?”

  “Let’s just call it a conflict of interest.”

  “Wait!”

  “Good day.”

  Mr. Hemingway clicked off the phone. The doorbell rang.

  Freaking dirtbags! Now what?

  I opened the door. Laverne stood there looking like a starving orange mule in a pink velour jumpsuit. She took one look at me and her smile evaporated into a scowl.

  “Looks like someone’s been up all night arguing with the voice of reason.”

  “I guess that’s one way to put it.”

  “Did you win or lose?”

  “I’d say I lost. Definitely.”

  “Too bad. Huh. I thought you’d be in a good mood. Revenge is supposed to be sweet, right? So, how’d it go last night?”

  “Huh?”

  “The party benefit thingy.”

  “Oh.”

  It seemed like it had happened a week ago.

  “I really don’t want to talk about it.”

  “Are you gonna invite me in or leave me hanging here like a door-to-door salesman?”

  “Oh. Sorry. Come in. I’ll go get your chicken fill-its.”

  “Keep ‘em. I don’t need ‘em anymore.”

  “Okay, thanks. I think I might have ruined them, anyway.”

  “How do you ruin a glob of rubber?”

  “Laverne, I really don’t want to talk about it. Do you need something? I’m sorry, but I’ve got a lot on my plate right now. Tom and I broke up for good last night, and the attorney I thought was going to save me from Finkerman fired me before I had a chance to hire him.”

  “Why?”

  “I don’t know. I was explaining what happened to him and all of a sudden he shut up like a clam with laryngitis.”

  “That’s strange.”

  “Yeah. It is. But Laverne, like I said, I’m busy. Did y
ou need something?”

  “I just wanted to know if you ever got a chance to talk to Winky about fixing my car. I can’t do another Über. Some of those people are nuts.”

  “Oh. I’m sorry Laverne. Yes. I actually talked to him this morning. He said he could come by anytime.”

  “Great. Could you call him? Or his girlfriend? Let’s get this thing going.”

  “Okay. I’ll do it right now.”

  Laverne smiled, pleased as punch, as I tapped the screen on my cell phone. Winnie picked up on the third ring.

  “Hi, Winnie? It’s Val.”

  “Hey Val. You looking for Winky?”

  “Yes. Is he there?”

  “Yeah. I’ll get him.”

  “Thanks, I really appreciate it. How are things going with you two?”

  “Better than with Loo and Latrina. They’ve been at each other’s throats all morning. Hey, that’s funny.”

  “Fighting is funny?”

  “No. I mean…if I couldn’t hear Latrina yelling from the kitchen right now, I’d swear I was talking with her on the phone. I never noticed it before, but you sound just like her.”

  “Winnie, tell Winky to hold tight. I’ll be right there.”

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  “What’s going on?” Laverne asked when I clicked off the phone.

  “I don’t have time to explain. You can either wait ‘til later or ride with me to Water Loo’s.”

  “Well, then, I’m riding with you, honey.”

  We jumped in the old Ford and made a beeline toward the restaurant.

  “Is this about Winky?” Laverne asked. She clasped her hands on her boney knees, trying to keep them from knocking against Maggie’s metal dashboard.

  “No. Winky can wait. It’s about Latrina. Winnie said I sounded like Latrina over the phone. Mickie, the guy who lost his finger? He said he heard me tell someone to cut his finger off. It must have been Latrina, because it sure as hell wasn’t me.”

  “Why would this Latrina woman want to cut off Mickie’s finger?”

  “I don’t know, Laverne. That’s what we’re going to find out.”

  I careened Maggie into the lot at Water Loo’s just in time to see Loo driving away. A grey-haired guy was in the passenger seat, but I couldn’t make him out.

  “Laverne, any idea who that guy is in the car with Loo?”

  “It could have been Bingo Bob, sugar. But I’m not a hundred percent sure.”

  We scrambled out of the old Ford. I trotted to the grimy entry door and flung it open like a six-shooter cowboy in a Western showdown. The place was almost empty and eerily quiet.

  Without Loo around to argue with, Latrina had gone mute and disappeared. Winnie dropped a grimy washrag and looked up. She’d been busy pretending to wipe down the corner booth while Winky flirted with her. Jorge was sitting opposite Winky, his head down on the table, his fingers wrapped around an empty beer bottle.

  “Hey, Val Pal!” Winky hollered across the restaurant. I gave him a nod and motioned for his girlfriend to come over to me.

  “Hey Winnie. I need to talk to you a minute.”

  Winky slapped on a look of mock suspicion and hollered across the room.

  “Hey now, Val. Don’t you be gettin’ any ideas. Winnie’s mine. I saw her first.”

  “Don’t worry. This is official business,” I called back.

  Winky twisted his lips skeptically. Laverne followed me and Winnie over to the coffee counter stacked with dirty dishes.

  “Where’s Latrina?” I asked Winnie.

  “Weird. You know, you sound more like her over the phone than in person. Maybe it’s because she’s always yelling. It makes her voice higher pitched, more like yours. You know –”

  “Winnie, this is important. I really need to talk to Latrina.”

  A furrow appeared in Winnie’s pudgy forehead. Her bottom lip pooched out.

  “Okay. I’ll go get her for you.”

  Winnie disappeared behind a metal kitchen door smudged with filthy handprints. She came out a few seconds later, her head hanging like a whipped dog.

  “She says she’s busy. You need to make an appointment.”

  “Busy? What could she possibly be doing?”

  I pushed past Winnie into the kitchen. What I saw inside made me want to go home and suck on a bottle of bleach. One thing was for sure. I’d never drink another cup of coffee at Water Loo’s again as long as I lived.

  Latrina was hunched over a table, back to me, studying a computer screen covered in tables and charts. Without my cheater glasses, I couldn’t make out squat. Latrina scribbled something on a piece of paper, then used the pencil to scratch a spot underneath a raggedy bun of thick, frizzy black hair. The thought that I sounded like this shrieking shrew made my face scrunch into a self-pity frown.

  “I need to talk to you,” I said.

  Latrina’s eyes never left the computer screen.

  “I told that girl to tell you to make an appointment.”

  “She did. Look. I know you cut off Mickie’s finger.”

  Latrina whipped around, her eyes as black as a raven’s.

  “Who the hell told you that?”

  I played a wild card. “Bingo Bob.”

  “That bastard! Can’t trust nobody anymore. Well, he’s a liar. I didn’t do it. Loo did. These assholes are always trying to make me take the hit for their bullshit!”

  “Loo did it? Why did Loo cut off Mickie’s finger?”

  Latrina’s face twisted with suspicion.

  “Wait a minute…I didn’t say Loo did it. You wasn’t hearing me right.”

  “Really? What did you say, then?”

  “Who the hell are you? The freaking cops?”

  “No. I’m…a friend.”

  “Friend my ass! I seen you around. You been spying on me or something? Get the hell out of here. I don’t want to see your bitch face in here again!”

  Latrina picked up a knife and stabbed the air in my direction. I jumped back like I’d been shoved.

  “Any more dumb-ass questions, ‘friend,’ and your finger’s next!”

  Latrina stood up and lunged toward me. I turned tail and high-stepped it across the kitchen, pushed through the grimy door and ran headlong into Winnie. We crashed together, face-to-face, onto the floor. Landing on Winnie was like doing a belly flop onto a lumpy mattress. I rolled off of her and tried to suck some air back into my lungs.

  Winnie sat up and adjusted her glasses.

  “What’s going on, Val?”

  “Act like you don’t know me,” I whispered. “I’ll explain later.”

  I scrambled to my feet. Latrina kicked open the kitchen door and screamed.

  “I told you to get the hell out of here, bitch. I mean now!”

  “I’m leaving!” I shouted. “Your waitress was in the way. She wouldn’t let me pass by until you said it was okay.”

  Latrina glanced down at Winnie. She was still on the floor, but had pushed herself up to sitting.

  “Good work. Let the bitch go.”

  Latrina’s raven eyes locked on me.

  “But if you see her in here again, let me know. We’ll make some ladyfinger sandwiches.”

  Latrina grinned and chopped the air with her knife. I backed away, then turned and scampered around the coffee counter. Winky, Jorge and Laverne were standing in a row, open-mouthed, like kids waiting for a dose of castor oil. Winky started to speak. I raised my right hand and discretely ran a slash-throat finger across my neck. All three blinked over at Latrina and stared, wide-eyed and silent. I grabbed Laverne’s arm and marched us out of Water Loos like two indignant floozies.

  “What the hell-fire happened in there, Val?” Laverne asked when the door closed behind us.

  “I…I got what I came for. Loo did it. He…cut Mickie’s finger off.”

  My knees nearly buckled. I hobbled over to Maggie, turned the ignition with my trembling hand, and backed out of the parking lot like someone learning to drive a stick shift. Af
ter I’d put half a mile’s distance between me and Latrina, I could finally breath enough to speak normally.

  “I’m so sorry for involving you in all this, Laverne.”

  “Are you kidding? This is the most excitement I’ve had since Elvis left the building.”

  I glanced over at her. The old woman in the pink velour suit was grinning from ear to ear.

  “Thanks…for being there for me.”

  “My pleasure kid. What’s an adventure without someone to share it with?”

  “You sound like a greeting card.”

  “Yeah? Well, I hear there’s worse things to sound like.”

  Laverne winked at me. I smiled despite myself and hit the gas.

  ***

  The afternoon sky threatened thunderstorms. The tourists that normally thronged along Gulf Boulevard were tucked safely away in their rooms watching TV or getting drunk at a hotel bar. With no pedestrians to dodge, Lavern and I made it back home in under five minutes. I pulled Maggie into the drive and hit the button for the ragtop. It bitched and moaned and whined like an electric can opener until the canvas top hung in the air about three feet above the front seats. At that point, the motor gave up and let gravity take over. The top collapsed and flopped onto the windshield frame like a withered, white rose.

  “Click the clasp like this,” I instructed Laverne.

  I lined up the canvas top’s clip to the frame’s fastener and snapped it into place. Laverne tried to do the same on her side, but ended up breaking another nail.

  “Dammit! I wonder if the price of beauty is worth it, Val. Another blasted trip to Beauty Nail. I’d probably own a ski resort in Vail if I wasn’t addicted to gel nails.”

  I climbed out of the old Ford and studied the red polished claws I’d gotten to impress a man I’d probably never see again.

  “How do I get rid of these things, Laverne?”

  She swung her long, skinny legs out of the car and hoisted herself to her feet.

  “You’ve got another two weeks on those, sugar. Don’t waste it. I’ll glue this one back on until Winky can get my car fixed.”

  “Oh crap! I forgot! I’ll call Winnie again. Maybe she can drop Winky by when she gets off today at three.”

  “That’d be swell.”

  Laverne looked at her watch.

  “You know, that’s just an hour from now. How about I come inside and make us a pot of coffee? You still look a bit shaken up. Maybe you ought not be alone.”