“Exactly.”
“And this Loo character said he gave the finger to a dwarf?”
“A green dwarf. But Loo put it in a pocket and the dwarf didn’t find it.”
“But you did.”
“Yes. In the couch.”
“Uh huh. And this green dwarf…is he the same one that broke into your house to steal the finger?”
“I don’t know. He was wearing a mask. Alfred E. Neuman?”
Mr. Charles’ eyebrows shot up. He reached for the intercom on his desk.
“I see. You’re aware, of course, that this sounds a bit…um…implausible.”
“Painfully aware.”
“Yes. Well, let me just call my secretary.”
Oh, crap! “Mr. Charles, I know this sounds crazy….”
“Yes. Hmmm. Well tell me, what exactly did the green dwarf say when he broke in, Ms. Fremden. Did he ask specifically about the finger?”
“Yes. When I told him I didn’t have it, he cussed and I kicked him across the room.”
“Uh huh.”
Aww shit. What did I have to lose now? I closed my eyes and let it rip.
“And then he said, ‘Mother of macaroons.’”
I cringed and opened my eyes just in time to see Mr. Charles’ eyebrows shoot up again. He punched a button on the intercom on his desk.
“Mr. Charles –”
He held a finger up to silence me.
“Miss Chandler…I need you to do something for me. Immediately…”
I grabbed my purse and the recording device. I jumped to my feet. He was calling the nuthouse. I had to make a run for it! Mr. Charles shook his head and motioned for me to sit.
“…I need you to cancel all of my appointments for this afternoon.”
I collapsed back into the chair. Mr. Charles eyed me sternly, then his hard face softened.
“Miss Fremden, you come in here with a story no one on earth would believe. Then you put the cherry on the sundae with a green dwarf who says, ‘Mother of macaroons.’”
“Yes. I know it sounds –”
“You may be the break I’ve been trying to find for two years.”
“What? I mean, you believe me?”
“Well, to be honest, I was about to call a psych ward until you said ‘mother of macaroons.’”
“I don’t get it.”
“That’s a code used by a bookie organization run by a guy named Bingo Bob.”
“Bingo Bob!”
“You’ve heard of him?”
“Yes. I think he might even be on this tape. He and Loo were planning on torching the Water Loo’s for the insurance money. It went up in flames this morning.”
“If you did capture that on tape, it would certainly be the icing on my racketeering case.”
“Racketeering?”
“Yes. A fancy, catch-all name for extorting money, carrying on illegal business activities, etcetera.”
“Oh. Does that include cutting off a finger?”
“If it involved doing it for extortion or monetary gain, yes. Tell me, what day did you find the finger, Ms. Fremden?”
“On my birthday. April Fool’s day.”
“So about three weeks ago.”
“God, is that all? It seems like three years ago. Can you help me, then, Mr. Charles? Prove my innocence?”
“If this tape has what I need, yes. And I’ll do it pro-bono. You will have handed me my smoking gun.”
“Oh my god! That’s fantastic! Thank you!”
“Don’t celebrate yet, Ms. Fremden. There’s still work to be done. Bingo Bob and his attorneys are slick. You had the finger and gave it to the police. How did the green dwarf know you had the finger? Unless we can show a line of evidence tracing the finger’s whereabouts from Loo’s knife to your couch, his lawyers could snag you as complicit. Possession is nine-tenths of the law, you know.”
“Yes, I’ve heard that somewhere.”
“I’m going to call an emergency meeting of my task force and have them listen to the tape. I’ll get back with you as soon as I know anything.”
“Okay. But could you answer one question for me?”
“Perhaps.”
“Who’s the green dwarf in the Halloween mask?”
Mr. Charles laughed.
“Oh. His name is Albert Greene. He works as a general go-for and flunkey for Bingo Bob.”
“Oh.”
“Ms. Fremden. Does anyone else know about this tape?”
“Just me and a few friends.”
“Well, I’d encourage you to tell your friends to keep quiet about it for now. Let’s keep this a secret from Bingo Bob and his defense team. Of course, we’ll have to admit it as evidence in court, but if this tape has him talking about arson, the case probably won’t go that far. If he has any brains, he’ll plead.”
“Okay. But I’m curious, Mr. Charles. If you’re involved in racketeering cases, why did your office even let me make an appointment?”
“Ms. Fremden, we changed our main number twenty years ago. The only people with access to our private racketeering hotline are team members and the occasional emergency witness. Apparently, you called the magic number.”
I touched the dragonfly pendant hanging around my neck and smiled.
***
I left the law offices of Charles & Charles feeling like I’d just survived a week-long juice cleanse. I’d been through the wringer, but I wanted to jump and skip and float off to the moon. I turned my phone back on. There was a message from Lieutenant Jergen. I came back to earth and hit the playback button. Jergen’s voice cracked over my phone.
“Ms. Fremden, the DNA results are back for the man found in the dumpster. It was not a match to the finger’s DNA. I wanted you to know so you didn’t worry about being up for murder charges. We’re still waiting to see if Mr. Michaels is a match. I hope you have acquired legal representation by now.”
Strange. Jergen had sounded almost supportive. Had the tide really, actually turned on this whole mess? Maybe Tom will have the right answers tonight when we meet, and everything will go back to normal. That wasn’t too much to ask, was it?
I climbed in the old convertible and turned the ignition. All I had to do now was figure out how the finger ended up in my couch. On my windshield, a slip of green paper flapped in the breeze, held down by a wiper blade. I got out and yanked it free. It was an ad for a company promising to pay top dollar for used cars. I slid back into Maggie’s bucket seat and patted the dash.
“Don’t you worry, girl. I’d never trade you in.”
I wadded the paper up and threw it on the floorboard. I pulled out of the parking lot and headed for home. I took a hard right and the green wad of paper rolled across the floor. Green. Green. Where had I heard that name before?
When I’d said ‘mother of macaroons” to Hemingway, the attorney J.D. Fellows had referred to me, he’d dropped me like a hot coal. I’d figured he’d thought I was crazy. But his excuse had been conflict of interest. When I’d originally gone to see Fellows to get the referral, he’d sent me packing, too. Right before he did, Mr. Fellows’s secretary had come over the intercom…What did she say? Mr. Greene was on the line…it was an emergency….
Was that Mr. Greene actually Albert Greene, aka the green dwarf? Did Mr. Fellows know him? Oh my god! If that’s true, Mr. Fellows could have put the finger in my couch when he was at my party! But why would he do that?
I was just two blocks from Fellows’ office. I hung a hard right. Tom drove by in his silver 4Runner. Gorgeous Milly was in the passenger seat beside him, laughing.
Chapter Thirty-Three
Lying asshole! Every fiber of my being wanted to turn Maggie around and flatten those two love birds under my whitewalls. But just like Mr. Finkerman, at the moment, I had bigger fish to fry. I pulled into the parking lot of Fellows & Associates and made a quick call.
“Goober Two to Goober One.”
“Goober One here.”
“How’s the conditio
n of our…uh…”
“The suspect regained consciousness. I dropped him at his car ten minutes ago.”
“You didn’t mention anything to him about the tape, did you?”
“I’m not an idiot, Val.”
“No, you’re not. Do me a favor, don’t mention the tape or any of this stuff about Loo to anyone – including Jorge.”
“But –”
“I’m sorry, but I think he tells Tom what we’re up to all the time. I don’t think Tom should be involved in this. For his career…and –”
“The burrito is in the belfry.”
“What?”
“The taco is in town.”
“Goober, what the hell are you saying?”
“Good grief, woman. Jorge is here with me.”
“Oh. Well, keep him out of range of Tom, okay?”
“Roger that.”
***
“I’d like to speak with Mr. Fellows, please,” I said to the receptionist.
“Do you have an appointment?” she asked, looking down her nose at me.
I smiled sweetly.
“Just tell him it’s an emergency.”
She stared at me blankly, her lips scrunched as if she’d just sucked on a lemon wedge.
“A Mr. Greene emergency,” I added.
The woman whipped around and hit a button on the intercom.
“Mr. Fellows? There’s a woman here about Mr. Greene. Oh. Her name?”
She looked up at me for the answer.
“Why don’t we just let it be a surprise.”
“She says it’s a surprise.”
A moment later Mr. Fellows appeared wearing a grey Armani suit and a black scowl. When he recognized me, his face brightened to a smile, then shifted to alarm.
“Val! What are you doing here?”
“I need to talk to you about Mr. Greene.”
Mr. Fellows tried to maintain a poker face, but was betrayed by his left eyebrow.
“Come this way.”
I followed Mr. Fellows to his office and took a seat as he hoisted his small frame into his specially made chair. He settled himself in, sighed, and looked me in the eye.
“What’s your involvement with Mr. Greene?”
“As if you don’t know.”
Mr. Fellows looked confused. “I…I’m afraid I don’t.”
“Mr. Fellows, I trusted you. I came to you when I needed help – when I found that finger in my couch. You let me sit here like a moron and tell you the whole story, pretending that you didn’t already know the whole spiel. How could you do that to me?”
“Val, I…I’m at a loss here.”
“Are you telling me you didn’t plant that finger in my couch?”
“What? Why on earth would I do that?”
“That’s what I need to find out – from you!”
“Val, I had nothing to do with it.”
“Then why did you just now drop everything when your receptionist said it was about Mr. Greene?”
“I…I always…my door is always open to you. You know that.”
“But you didn’t know it was me.”
Fellows hung his professional head for a moment, then looked up again as a friend.
“Alright. Look, Val. Mr. Greene is my idiot nephew. He’s always in some kind of shit – uh – situation.”
“Why didn’t you tell me he was the guy who broke in my house looking for the finger?”
“Because I didn’t know…until after you left. That was him on the phone when you were here last. I’m sorry for my behavior that day. He really knows how to push my buttons. I was angry.”
“You’re angry? What about me? Why didn’t you tell me once you knew?”
“What was the point? The police had the finger, Albert promised not to bother you again. It seemed the easiest thing to do. He hasn’t…been back to see you again, has he?”
“No. But why did you put the finger in my couch for him to come get?”
“I didn’t.”
“But…if you didn’t, how in god’s name did the finger get in my couch? And how did your nephew know it was there?”
Fellows lined his fingertips together and knitted his brow.
“Yes. I can see your line of reasoning now. How you might come to the conclusion of my involvement. But I promise on your mother’s name, Val. I didn’t do it.”
“Then who the hell did? And why would Albert be trying to find the finger in the first place?”
“Like I said, Val. He’s an idiot. He’s always getting messed up with the wrong kind of folks.”
“Like ‘mother of macaroons’ kind of folks?”
Fellows looked me in the eye and blew out a breath.
“Precisely.”
Chapter Thirty-Four
Where do I go from here? I was driving back home, out of ideas and almost out of hope. Please, somebody tell me, how did that frickin’ finger end up in my couch?
I was racking my brain at a red light when a bright-yellow garage sale sign caught my eye. Of their own accord, my hands turned the steering wheel to the right, and against my will I followed the signs all the way to that purple cottage I’d stopped at a week or so ago. I pulled up in front. The plump, redheaded woman was waiting in her lawn chair in the driveway. Her money belt was around her waist, that clear-green plastic visor wrapped around her brow. She held a bag of Fritos in one hand and waved at me with the other. I waved back.
“Hey there!” she yelled. “I was hoping I’d see you again. I’ve got something I think you’ll like.”
“What is it?”
“Come see!”
I hauled my butt out of Maggie and hoofed it up the drive. The lady wiped her right hand off on the seat of her shorts. I shook her greasy hand.
“Right over here.”
I followed her into her second-hand lair. The garage was stuffed to the gills with tables and bookshelves, junk heaped upon junk.
“What do you think of these?”
She reached into a box and held up three cheap figurines.
“I’ll take a dollar each for ‘em. Except this one. It’s got a chip off the face, so it’s half price.”
“Sold. I’ll take all three.”
She eyed me curiously.
“You’re an easy sale today.”
“Yeah. Not much in the mood to put up a fight.”
“Something knock the wind out of your sails?”
“You could say that.”
“Well, I hope these little guys will cheer you up.”
“I’m counting on it.”
Suddenly, I felt overwhelmed by the collection of junk surrounding me.
“I gotta go. Here’s three bucks. Keep the change.”
I grabbed the bag of figurines and headed for Maggie. I exchanged waves with the woman as I drove away, but a deep-blue melancholy threatened to tag along for the ride. I’d lived my whole life amid someone else’s leftovers. Hell, I was even a hand-me-down baby. That old couch had been someone’s cast-off, and it had cost me plenty. I was living in my parents’ house – another dream that had belonged to them, not me. I was a second-hand patsy for Finkerman. Tom had traded me in for Milly. Was I just a used-up woman ready to be throw in the bargain bin?
I hit the gas, hoping to leave my sad thoughts in the dust. I headed toward Bimini Circle. My parent’s home. I needed to pound out a few frustrations before Tom got there. Chocolate couldn’t fix this. It was time for someone to die.
***
I lined up the three figurines, executioner style, along the concrete block. One was a clown. Easy kill. A clown had been the inspiration for my macabre habit. I remembered my first smack-down like it was yesterday. I’d been fourteen at the time. A snotty rich girl at school had gotten my name as secret Santa. She’d known I hated clowns. Yet when it had come my turn to open my gift, inside was a clown figurine with the insipid inscription, “Waddle I do without you?” I’d loathed every molecule of its existence. After school, I’d taken it home, snuck
off to the nearby vacant lot and beaten it to death with a hammer. That day, a serial ceramic killer was born.
I stared into the eyes of “Sammy the Silly Clown.” Yes. He would be the first to face Val’s Hammer of Injustice today. I raised my weapon above my head and let it crash down hard. The first strike was perfect. It hit at a top-down angle that cracked Sammy’s hideous, smiling head in half. A few more strategic whacks and Silly Sammy had rejoined the great circus in the sky.
Next up was an angel holding a bell. Her face was already badly chipped. Her entire nose and half a cheek were missing. I figured I would be forgiven. It was a mercy killing, right? The first whack cracked her cute little haloed skull and broke off her wings. Five more blows and she was off to join the choir in heaven.
I turned my attention to the last figure. It was a blond boy with blue eyes, dressed in a cop uniform. “Petie the Police Boy” was about to be handed a death sentence. I lifted the hammer over my head. Tom? Jergen? Nope. It was BOGO day….
“Hey, Val!”
I glanced to my left. Laverne was at the picket fence, waving.
“Watcha doing?” she called out.
“A little housecleaning.”
“Want to come over for coffee?”
I lowered my arm and placed the hammer on ground amidst the rubble of my ceramics cemetery. I picked my way through the weeds over to Laverne.
“Sorry. I don’t have time. I’ve got to get ready for Tom’s visit.”
“Whew. Are you ready for the showdown?”
“I don’t know. My stomach’s doing belly flops. He told me the baby wasn’t his, Laverne. I want to believe him, but then I saw him driving around with Milly again today. Honestly, I don’t know what to think.”
Laverne reached in her pocket and pulled out a small tin. She opened it up. Inside were some square, blue tablets.
“Here. Have one of these. It’ll steady your nerves.”
“Thanks Laverne, but I don’t take drugs.”
“It’s herbal. Give one a try.”
I picked one out of the tin and popped it in my mouth. It tasted like peppermint. Laverne closed the tin. It was a pack of breath mints.
Val & Pals Boxed Set: Volumes 1,2 & the Prequel (Val & Pals Humorous Mystery Series) Page 66
