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

by Margaret Lashley

  “Uh…sure.”

  I let Laverne in and pointed to the coffee pot. I sat on a stool at the bar and dialed Winnie while the nosy lady from Vegas rifled through my kitchen cabinets.

  “Winnie? Hey. Can you talk?”

  “Latrina?”

  “No. It’s me. Val!”

  “Sorry! It’s just…well, Latrina left in a huff right after you did. I thought maybe it was her call –”

  “It’s okay. Winnie, do you know what Latrina does on that computer? I mean, what are all those charts and tables I saw her working on?”

  “Oh. That’s dog track stuff. She and Loo are down at Derby Lane betting every day that place is open. She’s gone off there now to catch the afternoon matinee.”

  “Okay. That makes sense, thanks. Can I talk to Winky now?”

  “He’s in the john.”

  “Oh. Uh…just curious. Do Latrina and Loo know a guy named Mickie?”

  “I don’t know. What’s he look like?”

  “Hard to miss. He’s got an eye patch and a gold front tooth.”

  “Hmm. We got a couple of regulars match that description.”

  What? “Okay. He’s missing a finger?”

  “Got a few of those, too.”

  “Really?”

  “Yeah.”

  “He plays a guitar?”

  “Not sure. How would I know?”

  Good point. “Winnie, do you think Loo might be capable of chopping off a guy’s finger?”

  “Oh. Hmmm. Well, you know he’s always throwing knives at the rats in the kitchen. His aim’s pretty good, too. It’s gross, but he likes to cut the rats’ heads off after he stabs ‘em. Loo told me one time that was his way of ‘getting even with the rat bastards.’ I saw him one time –”

  “So I guess that’s a ‘yes.’”

  “For sure. I could definitely see Loo cutting off somebody’s finger. Especially if there’s money in it for him.”

  “Really?”

  “Val, I heard them talking. Loo and Latrina are just about flat broke. I’m not supposed to tell anybody, but lately they’ve been making me ‘recycle’ the coffee and the creamers. They say reheating takes out the germs, but I don’t know if I believe all that.”

  I fought back a gag. “Thanks, Winnie.”

  “Sure. Anytime. But what good is a finger, Val? Can you sell them on the black market or something?”

  WTF. “I don’t think so. But this one had a gold ring on it. That might go a ways toward paying off gambling debts.”

  “Oh. I get it.”

  “Winnie, why don’t you just bring Winky by when you get off work?”

  “Okay. Will do.”

  I clicked off the phone. Laverne set a cup of coffee on the counter in front of me. I watched the cream swirl around in the mug and fought back a retch.

  “What’s the matter, sugar?” Laverne asked. “I thought you liked it with cream.”

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Couches Today was still holding my new sofa for ransom, so Laverne and I sat on stools at the kitchen breakfast bar. While we waited for Winnie to come by with Winky, Laverne drank coffee. I sipped on iced tea.

  “I still can’t for the life of me figure out how that finger ended up in my couch, Laverne. Life can really suck sometimes.”

  Laverne reached a long, thin arm over and patted my back.

  “Sorry, sugar. Hey, do you have a picture of it?”

  “The couch?”

  “No. The finger.”

  “Really? You want to see it?”

  “Hey, indulge an old lady. Cheap thrills are the only ones I can afford anymore.”

  “Okay, but it’s gross.”

  I searched my cell phone for the picture. I handed it to Laverne. She eyed it and grimaced.

  “Eeew. You’re right. Mighty gruesome.”

  “Told you.”

  Suddenly her horsey face brightened. “But that’s a nice manicure!”

  A horn sounded in the driveway. I climbed off my stool and shuffled to the front door. Winnie drove up in a bluish-gray Dodge Caravan at least a decade older than she was. She hit the brakes. A second later, the side door opened and all three stooges tumbled out like a low-budget clown-car act. Winky ran toward my front door like he needed to use the crapper, but he stopped a foot in front of me, his eyes as big as saucers.

  “Val, you won’t believe what I just did!”

  I wasn’t at all sure I wanted to know. I turned my face sideways and braced for the words that would surely come, whether I wanted them to or not.

  “What?” I said out of the side of my mouth.

  “I found an insurance policy. For a million bucks!”

  My head snapped back to face him.

  “What? What are you talking about, Winky?”

  Winnie sidled up to Winky and punched him on the arm.

  “Val, he told me he was going to the toilet, but he didn’t. He snuck into the kitchen and went through Loo’s papers. He’s gonna get me fired!”

  “Now I didn’t do nothin’ of the sort,” Winky said. “That there policy was sittin’ right on top of his desk. And I won’t say a word about it if you don’t want me to, darlin’.”

  “But you just did!” Winnie punched Winky on the arm again.

  “Oh. Yeah. Sorry ‘bout that.”

  “Why would he have his insurance papers out?” I asked. “Is he planning on making a claim?”

  “Maybe,” Winnie said. “I’ve noticed a few things missing lately.”

  “Like what?”

  “Well, like the dishwasher…and the steam cleaner.”

  “It wasn’t like they were using them anyway,” I sneered.

  “They’re really hurting for cash,” Winnie said. “I heard them talking about not being able to make their mortgage payments.”

  “That sounds like motivation enough to cut off a finger to get the gold ring,” Laverne said.

  “Bingo,” I said.

  “Or maybe Bingo Bob,” Laverne said.

  I looked over at the idiot-savant. Her donkey eyes were staring up at a point to her right. Whether she was contemplating the man’s motive or merely lost in space was anyone’s guess.

  ***

  My life was hanging on by a thread attached to five needles – none of which was sharp enough to puncture wet tissue paper. Winnie, Winky, Jorge, Goober and Laverne were sitting in a circle on my living room floor, trying to devise a plan to find out what Loo and Latrina were up to. I stood in the kitchen watching them, my hand on the freezer handle, contemplating whether or not it was TNT time. I was pretty sure it was.

  “I’ve seen Loo and Bingo Bob hanging out at Cigar Daddy’s,” Goober said.

  “I could go over there,” Winnie offered.

  “No. Not plausible. A woman would never hang out there,” Goober countered. “Besides, they know you. It would have to be someone they didn’t know – or couldn’t recognize. If I had a disguise, I could try to eavesdrop on their conversation.”

  “How about that Über-dog scam you got goin’,” Winky suggested.

  Goober smoothed his moustache with his thumb and index finger as he considered the idea. The other four stared at him like lost groupies, waiting patiently for their fearless leader to announce the way to salvation.

  “It would seem more authentic if I actually had a customer of the canine persuasion,” Goober said finally.

  “If you mean you need a dog, I think I can help with that,” Laverne chimed in.

  “Yes, that’s precisely what I mean. What do you have in mind, Laverne?”

  “Well, my next-door neighbor has a bulldog named Buster.”

  “I was hoping for something a little less aggressive. A more passive pooch, if you will.”

  Laverne nodded agreeably. “Oh, he’s a real pussycat when you know how to handle him. I got him to stop barking all day with one little trick.”

  Goober’s left eyebrow raised an inch. “Really? What was that?”

  “I f
ound out he likes beer.”

  “That could work,” Jorge said.

  “Shore could,” Winky agreed. “What’s the worst that could happen?”

  Everyone turned to face me. I shrugged and nodded. With no other options, the worst that could happen didn’t seem all that bad.

  ***

  After everyone left, I checked my phone. There was a text from Tom. It read, “I’m worried about you. Stay out of trouble, please. Call me.”

  A shiver ran up my spine. What does he know? It was almost as if Tom was spying on me through my window. How could he know what I was up to? I tapped a finger on my chin until an idea shook loose. Oh yeah. Tom’s little pal Jorge. The thought of him invading my privacy made me madder than a bucktoothed Billy goat. I punched speed dial.

  “Val! Finally!”

  “Finally what, Tom? I don’t appreciate you having your little minion Jorge spying on me.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “Don’t give me that shit or I’m hanging up.”

  “Okay, okay. How did you know?”

  “I’m a freaking detective, remember? You called me one yourself. What do you want, Tom?”

  “I want to make sure you don’t do anything stupid.”

  “Me do something stupid? You’re one to talk.”

  “I know. Look, just give me a chance to explain. About the baby. It’s complicated.”

  “Well, make it uncomplicated.”

  “It wasn’t my baby.”

  “Then why is Lieutenant Jergen so sure it is?”

  “Because I let him believe it.”

  “Why would you do that?”

  “Please, don’t make me do this over the phone.”

  “Do what? Break up with me? Tell me about your affair?”

  “What?! No! I meant don’t make me –”

  A will stronger than mine took possession of my thumb and made it push the little red circle on my phone. The line went dead. I’d heard so many excuses in my life, I didn’t have time for one more.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  I was holed up inside Chocolateers with my eyes on the door and my mouth full of chocolate. If Goober didn’t show up soon, I was going to have to go buy bigger pants. Two peanut clusters and an almond bark later, I watched him shuffle by the glass storefront. Buster the bulldog was passed out inside the patched-up, moon-lander stroller. His tongue hung out of his drooling chops like a huge, pink slug and dangled halfway down to the sidewalk.

  Goober touched his thumb to his middle finger as he passed. Everything was A-Okay. Go time. My phone rang.

  “Goober One to Goober Two. Approaching target. Out.”

  “Roger that. Good luck,” I whispered and clicked off the phone.

  “What was that?” Jack asked.

  “Looked like a guy and his dog,” I said casually.

  “Was the dog dead?”

  “I hope not.”

  Jack came and stood beside me at the front of the store. Through the shop window, between a huge, maniacal-looking stuffed bunny and big baskets of chocolate Easter goodies, we watched Goober carry out the plan. He strolled over nonchalantly and took a seat at a table adjacent to Loo and Bingo Bob. They’d arrived at Cigar Daddy’s five minutes and four chocolate-mint patties ago. I’d texted Goober the moment they’d shown up.

  Yesterday, I’d begged Goober not to wear the Burger King crown to the stakeout. He’d complied with my request, but had gone rogue and upped the ante with a hideous, dime-store false nose and eyeglasses combo. At least he’d removed the moustache. That he hadn’t needed to fake. Combined with his improvised derby hat, Goober looked like Mr. Peanut’s psychotic cousin, Looney Legume.

  “Now I’ve seen everything,” Jack said.

  How had my life lead up to this moment? I thought about my college degree. My time in Europe. My professional writing career. Like Jack, I’d seen everything, too. And like the rest of it, this moment would end up one day as mere dust in the gutter. I hoped it would be soon. I closed my eyes, took a deep breath and buoyed myself with false hope.

  “Don’t you know, Jack? Dog-sitting is a growing cottage industry. Rich people getting flunkies to push their pampered pooches around in strollers seems like the next logical step.”

  “I guess anything’s possible.”

  Jack went back to work behind the counter. I put my nose to the glass and cringed as Goober leaned over the stroller and his fake nose and glasses fell to the sidewalk. He yanked them of the ground, slapped them on his face and glanced around. He looked my way and nodded. Not knowing what else to do, I nodded back. He pulled a newspaper out of the stroller, sat back down and pretended to read it, even though it was upside down. I glanced over at Loo and Bingo Bob. So far, they hadn’t noticed. They were busy yacking it up between puffs of thick, yellow smoke. I could almost smell the disgusting blend of cherry and tobacco farts through the glass.

  Goober laid the newspaper down on the table. I held my breath. He whipped out a bright-yellow funnel from his stroller and put it to his ear. I shook my head in disbelief.

  “Why didn’t you just ask them to talk into a microphone?” I muttered.

  “What did you say?” Jack asked from across the shop.

  I turned to face him. “Nothing. Just talking to myself.”

  Jack raised his eyebrows at me. I turned back to the window just in time to see all hell break loose. Shit!

  Loo was on his feet, yelling at Goober. I grabbed the display Easter bunny by the neck and watched in horror as Loo reared back and punched Goober in the plastic nose. Goober’s head shot sideways. The fake eyeglasses and proboscis went flying in the air. By some idiotic stroke of fate, the plastic funnel landed right on Buster’s head like a dunce cap. The bulldog woke from his beer-induced coma, lunged out of the stroller and latched his jaws squarely on Loo’s right calf. Loo kicked like a mule. Buster hung on like a bad debt.

  While Loo did the mamba with Buster, Bingo Bob scrambled to the top of the metal table. He bent over, picked up a black plastic ashtray and threw it at Buster. It hit the bulldog on his right rear flank. Buster let go of Loo and made a lunge at Bingo Bob. The jerk’s smug Elvis sneer disappeared, replaced by wild panic. He took a step backward, lost his balance, flailed his arms wildly and fell off the table. Bingo Bob landed hard on his ass on the sidewalk. His hands flew up to his throat. I couldn’t tell if he was protecting himself from Buster or he’d swallowed his stogie. The table rolled in front of him, blocking my view.

  I looked around. Goober and the stroller were gone. Someone yelled something I couldn’t make out. All at once, Laverne, Winky and Jorge came out from behind cars and corners and scattered like cockroaches. A flash of movement caught my eye. I looked down. Buster trotted by the store window dragging half a pants leg in his mouth. I gasped and took a step back.

  “You okay, Val?” Jack asked.

  I suddenly remembered where I was.

  “Oh. Sure, Jack.”

  I let loose of my stranglehold on the psychotic-faced Easter rabbit. His twisted head flopped to one side. Jack frowned at me.

  “Sorry about the rabbit.”

  I peeked out the window again. Loo and Bingo Bob had gotten to their feet. They dusted themselves off and disappeared inside Cigar Daddy’s.

  “What are you looking at?” Jack asked.

  “Nothing. Gotta go. See you next time.”

  I snuck out of Chocolateers and ran like a chocolate-fueled fool the block and a half to Maggie. I’d parked her in the alley behind The Deet, in back of Winnie’s Dodge. Winnie had stayed in the van to make sure our cars didn’t get towed. Now she was going to get a lesson in driving a getaway vehicle. I turned the corner to the alley and saw Jorge’s tattle-tail butt disappear inside the van’s side door. He’d already ratted out our plan to Tom, so I figured there was no harm in letting him tag along. I hadn’t planned on this turning into a flipping fiasco. I should have known better.

  I stopped running and huffed and puffed
up to the van.

  “Everybody in?” I asked.

  “No sign of Goober,” Winnie reported.

  I looked behind the van. Laverne was in Maggie’s passenger seat, holding Buster in her lap.

  “We can’t wait for him, Winnie. I don’t want to be spotted with the attack dog.”

  “Okay,” Winnie said. “Lead the way.”

  I pulled out and drove down to Beach Drive. Winnie, Winky and Jorge followed behind us in the van. I took a left and cruised by the park to the Vinoy Hotel. I hooked a left on Fifth Avenue North and headed west toward the beach. The whole while, Laverne and I sat in silence, listening to Buster hassle and whine as I headed toward home. We were halfway to the beach when the phone rang. I put it on speaker.

  “Goober One to Goober Two.”

  “Woo hoo!”

  Laverne and I both hooted for joy, then broke out in nervous laughter.

  “What the hell’s so funny?” Goober asked. “My butt was on the line.”

  “Sorry, Goober. We’re just relieved you survived. Are you okay?”

  “Affirmative. With intelligence gathered.”

  “What?”

  “Mission accomplished. I got what we came for.”

  “What did you find out?”

  “They’re planning on burning Water Loo’s to the ground.”

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Insurance fraud? Damn. I was back to those two bad choices; call the cops or call an attorney. I was about to stick a blind finger in the yellow pages when I heard a sharp rapping at my door. I looked out the peephole and saw a frizzy-haired man at the door and a bright-yellow Hummer in the driveway. I set my jaw to scowl and opened the door.

  “Mr. Finkerman, what are you doing here?”

  “Slow day. I came by to personally serve you with Mr. Michaels’ lawsuit myself. I thought I’d give you one last chance to pony up some cash before this shit hits the fan.”

  “Your client went to the police. The shit’s already hit the fan.”

  “What? That little son of a –”

  “How did you find my home?”

  Finkerman laughed.