“You’re kidding, right? This is the internet age, grandma. Give anyone half a name or most of a phone number, and you can find where they’re hiding, even if it’s on Mars.”
“Oh.”
“Are you going to let me in? We can either discuss terms now, or at the courthouse.”
I opened the door wide enough to let him pass.
“You know I didn’t do it.”
“Yeah, well. Boo hoo. Somebody’s got to pay my rent.”
“What if I could get you a bigger fish to fry?”
Finkerman looked around my place. I watched his high hopes fade to middle class.
“What kind of fish?”
“A million-dollar fish.”
Finkerman’s lips curled upward.
“I’m listening.”
“I know who cut off Mickie’s finger. It was Loo…of Water Loo’s Restaurant.”
“Alright. So, this Loo. Has he got more money than you?”
“Don’t you want to hear the story of why I think he did it?”
“Irrelevant. Unless he’s got more money than you. I don’t ask my questions willy-nilly, Ms. Fremden. Priority one is to crack the biggest nest egg.”
“Wow. At least you’re honest about it.”
“No point beating around a bush if it’s full of deadbeat birds. So, is this Water Loo’s place worth a million? Fine dining, perhaps?”
“Not exactly.”
“So where’s the million dollars? Land? Building value?”
“No. It’s more like…a million dollars in insurance coverage.”
“Worth nothing unless the place is destroyed.”
“But that’s just it. The restaurant is a month away from foreclosure. A friend of mine heard Loo talking about torching the place for the payoff.”
Finkerman scowled, then smiled wryly.
“Ah. Good old insurance fraud. The last bastion of a broke scoundrel. There’s good money in it, if you can pull it off.”
“So you’ll consider dropping me for Loo?”
“Where’s your proof. Do you have his computer with the plan outlined on it?”
“No.”
“Notes in his handwriting?”
“No.”
“Video?”
“No.”
Finkerman shook his head.
“A tape recording, then?”
“No. Just the word of my friend.”
Finkerman blew out a disappointed breath.
“Is this person of upstanding character? Would a jury believe him or her?”
I pictured Goober with his Burger King crown. Crap! “Not exactly. What other kind of evidence would work?”
Finkerman scowled again.
“You’ve got nothing then, I take it.”
“Not at the moment. But with your help, maybe we could get it on tape. I know a waitress at the restaurant. She could help.”
Finkerman looked around my place again.
“Can’t you even afford a couch?”
“No,” I lied.
“Okay. I’ll give you a bug and two days.”
“A bug?”
“A micro-sized recorder, Ms. Fremden. Smaller than a pack of gum. Here, look.”
Finkerman reached in his pocket and pulled out a device that looked like a computer thumb drive.
“This little baby is the spy’s dream come true. Looks like a thumb drive, but it’s eight gigabytes of video and audio surveillance. Motion activated, too. Brilliant.”
“What should I do with it?”
“Plant it where you can catch them talking. Where do they congregate? Conduct business? Chew the fat?”
“Uh…at the restaurant. They sit in a corner booth, mostly.”
“Perfect. Just put it on the table. Inside a salt shaker is best. Doesn’t mess up the lens, usually. It’ll come on automatically when it detects motion or sound. Record something incriminating and bring it back to me.”
Finkerman handed me the device. It really did look just like a thumb drive.
“That’s amazing.”
“I’ve always got one running. In my line of work, I never know when some juicy bit of news will spill. You really do need to get into the twenty-first century, Ms. Fremden.”
***
After Finkerman left, I went out in the backyard and stared out at the water. Even if I was lucky enough to get Loo on tape plotting arson to commit insurance fraud, given Finkerman’s integrity, it might end up doing zilch to get me off the hook about the finger. It was a longshot that Loo would mention it anyway. Why would he bother talking about cutting off a finger when he had a new, million-dollar scheme to plot out?
Crap! How did that finger get from Mickie, to Loo, then to my couch? What if it wasn’t Mickie’s finger at all? What if the DNA came back positive on the dumpster guy? I didn’t know squat about him. Maybe I should find out what I can….
I took a long shot and called a guy I knew at the county morgue. He’d helped me claim Glad’s body last year. I was hoping that maybe he would do me another favor. It was worth a try.
“Hello, could I speak with Mr. Darren Dudley?”
“Who’s calling, please.”
“Um…Val Fremden?”
“Valiant Stranger! Is that you?”
“Yes. You remember me?”
“How could I forget? The one that got away.”
“Not easy in your line of work.”
“Ha ha! Stop with that awesome sense of humor of yours. Don’t make me miss you more.”
“You miss me?”
“You were the best date I’ve had in years.”
“Out of how many?”
“Do relatives count?”
“They do where I come from.”
“Stop it! You’re too much!”
“I can’t believe you remember me, Darren. I’m sorry to call asking for another favor, but I could really use your help.”
“Uh oh. Here it comes. What’s up?”
“It’s just that…well…I’m in a bit of a pickle. Did you happen to see a guy come in that was missing a couple of fingers?”
“You talking about the dumpster guy?”
“Yes. It’s a long story, but I found a finger with a ring on it. The initials were either HM or WH. I heard the guy’s name was Warren Harris. Can you confirm that?”
“Yeah. I’m pretty positive that’s the guy.”
“How come?”
“His name was tattooed across his back.”
“Oh.”
“Was he missing an index finger?”
“He was missing every finger except his thumbs.”
“Oh my gawd! How did that happen?”
“My theory? He was dumpster diving. He rigged the lid open, but when he went to haul himself out, he knocked the lid closed. It landed on his hands and cut his fingers to the bone.”
“Did that kill him?”
“Probably got knocked out when the lid hit. Concussion, loss of blood most likely.”
“Did they find his other fingers?”
“Nope. Inside the bellies of a few stray dogs and cats, most likely.”
“Yuck. The finger I found was wrapped in a cloth. Probably not his, then.”
“Where’d you find it?”
“In an alley. I mean, in a couch that was in an alley.”
“I won’t ask what you were doing on a couch in an alley.”
“Thanks.”
“Hmmm. Wrapped in a cloth, huh? It still could be this guy’s finger. You know, people like macabre souvenirs. Maybe someone picked it up, held onto it until it started to stink, then ditched it in the couch. Where was the couch?”
“In the alley between Sixth and Seventh avenues.”
“Hmm. Let me look. Yeah. His toe tag says “found in dumpster off of Ninth Avenue and Second Street. That’s pretty close by, isn’t it?”
“Yes. But Darren, are you…I mean…you’re looking at his body right now?”
“Yeah. Just wanted to be sure about t
he tattoo. Wanna go out again? Give it another try?”
“Thanks, but….”
“You still seeing that cop?”
“I was until recently.”
“Then let’s go out. Take it slow. If it’s just friendship, so be it.”
“Why would you want to go out with me again?”
“Because you, Valiant Stranger, are the most interesting woman I’ve ever met.”
“It’s easy to compete with cadavers.”
“Ha ha! Come on, what do you say?”
“I’m kind of in a jam right now. I’ll call you when I’m up for it.”
“Fair enough. Good luck. Call me anytime, okay?”
“Okay. Thanks, Darren.”
I clicked off the phone and washed my hands. I grabbed my purse and headed for the door. I was going to need some more figurines.
Chapter Thirty
“Did you bring the salt shaker?”
“Oh crap. I’m sorry, Val. I knew I was forgetting something.”
Winnie’s features scrunched together and her head drooped. We were inside her van, parked in my driveway. It was 6:30 a.m. We were going over our scheme to catch Loo’s arson plan, on tape this time. As I held the recording device in my hand and explained it to Winnie, I felt a little like James Bond – if he had boobs, trepidation, PMS and a conscience, that is.
“It’s all set to automatically record. You don’t have to do a thing. Just get it in the salt shaker. Do you think it will fit?”
I handed Winnie the micro recorder. She laid it along the length of her index finger and nodded confidently.
“It should work. It’s shorter than my finger. The salt shakers are exactly as long as my finger.”
“How do you know that?”
“Oh. Well…there’s lots of down time between customers.”
Okay. “So, you think it’ll be safe inside the salt shaker? I mean, if someone uses it?”
“Yeah. I think we’re cool. Loo sold the stove yesterday. I saw some guys hauling it out last night. Unless somebody likes salt in their coffee, we should be good.”
“And you think you can get the recorder into the shaker and set it on the table in the corner booth without Loo or Latrina noticing?”
Winnie looked up at me.
“I’m not a child, Val.”
“I know. I’m sorry. It’s just…this could turn dangerous. I don’t want you to get caught.”
“Trust me, Val. It should be no problem. We’re supposed to open at 7:30, but if I didn’t go in early and get the place going, I don’t think we’d open before ten. They’re always running late.”
“Okay. Good. But promise me, if you hit a snag you’ll text me. I’m only a few minutes away.”
“Right. I promise.”
I hugged Winnie, climbed out of the van and shut the door. Winnie sat frozen in the driver’s seat like a worried, plus-sized mannequin. I tapped on the window.
“Hey. Are you okay?”
Winnie rolled the window down a crack.
“Yeah. Just nervous. I’ve never done anything like this before.”
“Me either. You know, you don’t have to –”
“No. I want to. You’ve been good to me and Winky. Not many people treat us with respect. I want to return the favor.”
Hot tears filled my eyes.
“Thank you, Winnie. You could be saving me from jail time. I’m not keeping score, but if this goes off as planned, I’ll be the one owing you. Big time.”
Winnie grinned. “Yeah. Okay.”
I smiled and gave her a thumb’s up.
“Good luck, Winnie. And remember, I’m right here if you need me.”
Winnie nodded, looked straight ahead and put the van in drive.
“I’ve got this,” she said to herself.
I watched the van’s taillights disappear down the street. The sky was just starting to pink up from the coming sunrise. A lump formed in my throat as I thought about Winnie and her day ahead. Like Goober had yesterday, she was putting her butt on the line for me. It was both scary and wonderful to know there were people on the planet who thought I was worth the risk.
I went inside and fixed a cappuccino. Winnie texted me ten minutes later. It read: “Shaker in place.” I sent back an emoji “thumbs up” symbol.
The trap was set. Now all we needed were the rats.
***
At noon, I got a call from Winnie.
“Val, there’s a problem.”
The hair on my neck prickled.
“Are you okay?”
“Yeah. But I’m not at work.”
“What happened?”
“I set the salt shaker up with no problem. But when they came in this morning, Loo and Latrina were at each other’s throats again. They kept arguing and acting real paranoid, you know? Bingo Bob came in, and then they all three kept looking at me funny. I don’t know what I was doing wrong. Maybe I looked at them too much. Anyway, they told me to make a pot of coffee and go home. I made the coffee and carried it over to the booth. I poured them each a cup and tried to take the salt shaker, but they had papers piled on top of it. I’m sorry, Val.”
“Don’t worry. We’ll just pick it up in the morning. It might actually be good. We can record them all evening this way.”
“Oh. Okay. Thanks for understanding, Val.”
“Thank you for helping, Winnie. Call me in the morning and I’ll go with you to pick it up.”
“Thanks. That place is kinda creepy in the dark.”
“It’s kinda creepy in the daytime, too.”
***
I made myself a glass of iced tea and went out in the backyard. I unfolded a lawn chair next to the old RV and pretended I was camping out with Glad. I spent the evening in silence, watching the pelicans and ibis fly to their roosts as the stars blinked on one-by-one like nightlights illuminating their way home. Right before dusk a dragonfly landed on my hand. I reached up to touch my mom’s pendant on a chain around my neck and the dragonfly flew away. I took it as a good sign.
***
At the crack of dawn, I got up and pulled on my stealth spy outfit – black sweatpants and a dark-gray t-shirt. I perked a cappuccino and googled the news. The headline read: “Major Fire on Gulf Boulevard.” My gut fell a foot closer to the floor. I scanned the article. No address was mentioned, but there’s no denying it. The gut knows what the gut knows.
Winnie’s headlights flashed in my front window. I inched into my sneakers, sprinted outside and jumped in the van.
“Morning, Winnie. Let’s get going. I think we should hurry.”
“Why?”
There was no point getting Winnie upset over nothing. I made up an excuse.
“I ate some bad seafood last night and I’m not feeling so great.”
“Oh. Okay. I’ll step on it.”
Winnie hit the gas. The g-force sent me tumbling backwards.
“Oh no! I’m sorry!”
“Don’t be. Put the pedal to the metal.”
“What?”
“Mash the gas pedal to the floorboard.”
“Oh. Got it!”
The van turned right onto Gulf Boulevard on two wheels. After a couple of blocks, I could already see the glow of the fire in the purple morning twilight. It formed an eerily beautiful, light-orange backdrop for the flashing red-and-blue lights of every cop car and firetruck in Pinellas County.
“Wow! What’s going on, Val?”
“I’m not sure. Tell you what. Turn right here. Let’s take the back way on Boca Ciega and avoid this mess.”
I pointed the way and we skirted the main arteries already clogging with gawkers and early-morning commuters. We parked in front of a house a block behind Water Loo’s and stared through the windshield as a firetruck shot a plume of water at the smoking hull that was once the most disgusting coffee house in the world. Water Loo’s had gone down in flames.
“Oh no! Your salt shaker!” Winnie cried.
“Yeah. Shit. But there goes
your job, too. I’m sorry.”
“It wasn’t your fault.”
“Yours either.”
I blew out a big breath.
“Shit. Hey. Since we’ve both got nothing better to do now, let’s go get a closer look.”
The Dodge’s worn-out struts squeaked in protest as we climbed out. We walked toward the blaze until we reached a yellow tape stretched around the scene. It fluttered in the pre-dawn breeze, daring us not to cross it. Winnie and I joined the crowd of dozens of pyro-maniacal onlookers mesmerized by the smoldering heap. Paramedics arrived a few minutes later. Right behind the ambulance I spotted a lemon-yellow hummer. A few seconds later, I saw Finkerman’s frizzy brown hair bobbing in the crowd. He walked up to me and handed me a card, his eyes already on the lookout for the next empty palm.
“Lady, if you feel injured or traumatized by this in any way, give me a call. There’s cash in catastrophe.”
Finkerman shot me a smarmy smile. It disappeared the instant he recognized me.
“What are you doing here?”
“I could ask you the same thing, but I already know the answer.”
Finkerman looked over at the blaze, then back to me.
“Don’t tell me. Is this the place?”
“Yep.”
“The million-dollar policy place?”
“Yep.”
Finkerman scanned the charred remains and grinned with the right side of his mouth.
“Okay, Ms. Fremden. You’ve got my attention. Tell me what I need to know right now and we might be able to scratch your name off the Michaels’ lawsuit and write in a new one.”
“What do you need to know?”
“How much are you worth?”
“Geeze, you get to the point, don’t you. I don’t know for sure.”
“Guestimate it. As a percentage of a million.”
“Not even twenty-five percent.”
“Okay. So we’ve established Loo’s the bigger cash prize. But still, you had possession of the finger. That’s troubling. A guy like me could plow that fact into the ground until a nice nuisance settlement sprouted up.”
“Yeah, I know.”
“Oh. Yeah, I guess you do. Possession of said missing body part is usually good for at least ten grand, Ms. Fremden. But I’m willing to consider dropping it for this ‘bigger fish,’ as you say. Just hand over the recording.”
“Yes. That sounds good. There’s only one problem.”
Val & Pals Boxed Set: Volumes 1,2 & the Prequel (Val & Pals Humorous Mystery Series) Page 64
