Fifty is the New F-Word Read online

“You have your habits, and I have my spies,” Finkerman said with the evil, condescending pleasure of a cartoon bad guy.

  “Who’s your spy?”

  Finkerman shook his head as if I were a simpleton. “You really think I’d tell you?”

  I blew out a breath. “I won’t bother asking what you want, Finkerman.”

  “Good. Save us both the trouble.” Finkerman handed me a sealed manila envelope. “Sign here that you received it. Then read ‘em and weep. Assault with intention to humiliate. I’d say...hmmmm....fifteen grand ought to make my client feel better.”

  “Fifteen grand!”

  Finkerman laughed at getting a rise out of me. “Has a nice ring to it, wouldn’t you say?”

  “I’ll ring something all right!” Winky bellowed as he marched toward us. “Your neck! Finkerman, you rotten, bone-pickin’ vulture!”

  Winky put up his dukes for a fight. I wrapped my hands around his fists and pushed them down.

  “Let it go, Winky,” I said. “Before the vulture gets you, too.”

  I WAS FEELING PRETTY defeated when Winky turned the van back onto Gulf Boulevard and headed toward Sarasota. Something told me I was running out of time – in more ways than one.

  “I just got to get some fuel, and we’ll be on our way,” Winky said solemnly. My doom and gloom had begun to infect him, too.

  I sat in the car sullenly as he pumped the gas, my eyes avoiding the manila envelope in the seat beside me. My phone rang. The display read, “Unknown Caller.” I snatched it up.

  “Hello?”

  “Here’s the latest,” Bernard Charles said. “The RV was spotted heading north on I-75 just outside of Naples.”

  “North? That’s back toward the resort.”

  “Wouldn’t be the first time a perpetrator returned to the scene of crime.”

  “So you think a real crime’s been committed?”

  “I’m afraid so. The blood on the pliers. There’s no definite DNA match yet, but the type matches that of Ms. Piddleton. Have you heard anything else from her?”

  “No not a word. We tried calling her, but no one picked up.”

  “Okay. I’ll be in touch.”

  I clicked off the phone as Winky climbed in. “Woo doggy. I just priced a set of rings for Maggie. They’s gonna set you back $78.39. Yore whole dang car ain’t hardly worth that!”

  I burst into tears.

  Winky patted me on the back. “It’s just money, Val. But seein’s how you’re in a state, I’m gonna turn us around and take you home. I’ll get the parts and work on Maggie in the mornin’. Then we’ll give Sarasota another try tomorrow. Okay?”

  Who was I kidding? I couldn’t help Cold Cuts. I couldn’t even help myself.

  “Okay,” I sobbed. I buried my head in my hands and cried all the way back home.

  Chapter Thirty

  I woke up on the couch Friday morning with a broken neck and a pepperoni slice clinging to my cheek like a greasy kiss from an ugly stranger. It was 5:03 a.m. and Finkerman’s lawsuit papers were scattered on top of me like a hobo’s blanket. I turned my head slightly. Big mistake. I’d awoken the gin genie trapped inside my noggin. He started pounding to get out.

  I lay dead still on the couch, contemplating whether it was worth the cost to move again to fetch a headache tablet. Yesterday came flooding back. No word from Tom. The cricket attack. Finkerman’s lawsuit. Cold Cuts’ blood on the pliers.

  The doorbell rang and jarred another memory. Winky had promised to come over and fix Maggie.

  The plan was for Winnie to drop him off before her morning shift at Davie’s Donuts. I hadn’t realized it would be this early. As I hauled myself to standing, the gin genie broke out a set of base drums and beat a throbbing riff in the space between my ears. I grabbed the cane and tentatively put weight on my left foot. It registered only mild discomfort, compared to my thumping head.

  “You look like somethin’ the cat dragged in,” Winky said when I opened the door.

  “Good morning to you, too,” I grumbled. “Coffee?”

  “Wouldn’t mind a cup. You okay, there, Val Pal?”

  “I’ve been worse. But I’ve been better, too,” I muttered as I limped to the kitchen. “Thanks for coming over to work on Maggie. You still fixing people’s cars on the side?”

  “Sporatical, yeah. But I hear the real money nowadays is in mass marketin’.”

  “What do you mean?” I asked and fiddled with the stack of coffee filters, trying to free one from its death grip with the rest of the stack.

  “Goober told me somethin’ called ‘social media’ opened up a whole new way to make big money. He’s workin’ on getting’ hisself a followin’ on Snapchap, pestering folks.”

  “What? Why?”

  “Said he read about a feller got paid off a couple million bucks just to stop bein’ a pain in the hind end and leave them Snapchap folks alone. I reckon I could do that, myself.”

  I shook my head, immediately regretted it, and clicked the on button on the coffee machine. “You’re always dreaming and scheming.”

  Winky smiled proudly and hooked a thumb in the armpit of the ragged hole in his t-shirt where a sleeve used to be. “Sure. Why not? The good Lord didn’t make me this way for nothin’.”

  I sighed with envy. Winky was proud of who he was. I wished I could’ve said the same about myself. Here I was, fifty years old and still questioning my every move and motive. What was wrong with me? I pulled two mugs from the cupboard. “How long you think it’ll take to get Maggie going again?”

  “Less time than it’ll take to fix you up, by the looks of it.”

  I hung my pounding head. “Yesterday was a rough day, Winky. You know, Tom and I broke up two days ago.”

  Winky let out a low whistle. “Gaul-dang it, Val. How come you never said nothin’ about it yesterday?”

  I shrugged and poured the coffee. “What could I say?”

  “Uh...that you broke up with Tom?” Winky’s eyes rolled around in his freckled face. “This ain’t socket science, Val.”

  “Rocket.”

  “All right, then, I will.” Winky grabbed his mug and headed toward the front door.

  “Where are you going?”

  “I’m rockin’ it. Like you said. Shouldn’t take but an hour or three to get Maggie back in ship shape. You’ll probably take a tad longer.”

  “Thanks.”

  Winky grinned. “It’ll be all right, Val. You’ll see. Keep the coffee coming, will ya?”

  “Sure.”

  “Good. Now, let me get to work.”

  I limped to the bathroom and shook a blue pain pill out of the bottle. I downed it with a slurp of coffee. I was in my bedroom, contemplating the necessity of wearing a bra when my cellphone buzzed.

  “Val, it’s Milly.”

  “Hey.”

  “Any word about Cold Cuts?”

  “Nothing good,” I said, and flopped onto the edge of the bed.

  “Oh. How are you holding up?”

  “Ankle’s a lot better. My brain is another story.”

  “Winky told me you broke up with Tom.”

  That rat fink. “Wow. Good news travels fast.”

  “A joke? Really?”

  “What else am I supposed to do?”

  “Listen, Val. Winky’s worried about you. So am I. This is serious.”

  “I know!” My head was thumping and I felt like crying. “But what can I do? Tom wants a decision, and I’m not ready.”

  “Val, I can’t just sit by and watch you blow it and end up living half a life.”

  “Half a life?”

  “You’re afraid, Val. I get that.”

  I bit my lip. “I am not.”

  “Sure you are. You just don’t realize it. Fear doesn’t always look like some kind of scary monster, you know. Sometimes it creeps up on you and, I dunno, blocks your ability to see what’s right in front of you.”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “
Fear makes you wishy-washy. It makes you hang in limbo saying stuff like, ‘I don’t care.’ Or, ‘I’ll give it a little longer.’ I know you Val. You think you’re being practical. You think it’s safer to keep things the way they are between you and Tom. Call it what you want. It’s your choice. But that’s fear. And that’s how you end up living a half a life.”

  Milly’s words cut me to the quick like a lancing knife. I burst into tears. “Milly, what’s wrong with me? Why can’t I choose? Why is it so...hard?”

  “Because you keep questioning yourself, Val. You’re waiting for something to happen that’ll remove all your doubts. But I’m telling you now, it’ll never happen. Because it’s you who’s not sure, Val. The certainty you’re looking for has to come from inside you.”

  “Is it so wrong to want to be sure?”

  “Of course not. I’m not saying you can’t question your own heart. I’m just saying you can’t question everybody else’s.”

  “What if I told you I think Tom’s and my relationship is cursed?”

  “I’d say you’re full of it. You’re stalling. You’re playing the victim.”

  “What? I’m not a victim!”

  “You’re making the choice not to choose, Val. You figure if you never really commit to Tom, it’s not your fault if it doesn’t work out. You can blame Tom, bad luck, or this stupid curse you’re talking about. They’re just excuses, Val. You’re not taking responsibility for your life. You’re playing the poor, pathetic person that things just happen to. You’re playing the victim.”

  “Crap. Maybe you’re right, Milly. But I don’t want to be taken for granted again. I don’t want to disappear –”

  “Blah blah blah, Val!” Milly yelled into the phone. “No more excuses. I don’t want to hear them. Call me when you grow up!” she snapped, and hung up on me.

  My whole body went slack and I fell back onto the bed. Thoughts of Tom swirled in my mind – from how he’d helped me find my real mother to the way his sea-green eyes sparkled whenever he smiled at me. What more could the man do to convince me? He deserved someone who believed in him without question. Someone who wasn’t plagued with doubts. Someone better than me.

  Tears spilled from my eyes until they ran into my ears. I crawled under the covers, my body convulsing from the sobs overtaking me. I buried my throbbing head in the pillow and let the tears flow.

  Chapter Thirty-One

  My heart ached as much as my head as I stood in the hot shower and tried to wash away my sorrows. I’d never been very good at knowing what I wanted. I’d been better at knowing what I didn’t want. I couldn’t say I didn’t want Tom. Was that really good enough?

  I dried myself off, got dressed and poured a fresh cup of coffee for Winky. The clock in the kitchen wall said 8:38 a.m. I had taken me three hours to stop crying and clean myself up. I took a deep breath, steeled my resolve, and stepped out the front door.

  “Well there you are,” Winky said, taking the coffee. “You look like my ma after watchin’ Touched by an Angel on the boob tube.”

  I sniffed and laughed a short, choking laugh that almost got me crying again. “What’s the prognosis on Maggie? Will she make it?”

  “I was just about to give her a spin.” Winky unhooked the metal rod holding Maggie’s heavy hood open. He eased the hood down a few feet, then let gravity finish the job. It clicked shut with the solid, satisfying clunk of sheet metal.

  “Great. I could use some fresh air.”

  “Then climb aboard, Princess Crybaby.”

  I tried to sneer, but my heart wasn’t in it. “Let me grab my purse and we’ll be on our way.”

  “I got the keys already,” Winky said.

  “I just want to get my phone and license, okay?”

  “Might as well take my coffee cup, too. Done drained it dry. Have to say, your coffee’s better than Winnie’s. But don’t you dare tell her I said so.”

  I smiled, grabbed the cup and went inside. I heard Winky start the engine. I gathered up my purse, then limped over and stuck the key in the front door. I stepped out and turned the lock, then a thought made me open the door again. I looked over at the couch still strewn with legal papers and pizza remains. Winky honked the horn. I scrabbled through the debris on the coffee table until I found what I was looking for. I slipped it into my purse, and limped out the door.

  “What took you so long?” Winky asked.

  “I forgot something,” I said, and slid into the passenger seat. “How about a quick stop at Davie’s? I’m starving. How about you?”

  “I could always use a donut,” Winky said, and rubbed his beer belly.

  “And a little sugar from your sweetheart?”

  “That never hurt nothin’ either,” Winky said, and backed Maggie down the driveway.

  “I do like me a burrito, now and then,” Winky said, then swatted down his shirt, which was blown up like a balloon.

  We were cruising south on I-275 with the top down. Thanks to Winky’s mechanical skills, Maggie had stopped belching smoke and was running like a slightly off-balance top, which was her normal. After a glazed donut and a smooch from Winnie, I’d lured my redneck friend to Sarasota with the promise of a Mahi burrito from Doug’s Dugout.

  “The guy at the resort told me they’re the best,” I said.

  “That’s fine and all,” Winky said, “but you ain’t foolin’ me. I know you want to go snoopin’ around that resort. What do you think you’ll find out there?”

  “Okay, you’re right,” I confessed. “Like I told you before, whatever happened to Cold Cuts happened on Monday morning. Somebody had to see something.”

  “Maybe,” Winky said, unconvinced.

  “And the desk clerk, Monty? I have a feeling he knows more than he’s letting on. A gut feeling, you know?”

  “Sure. I know exactly what you’re talkin’ about,” Winky said, his voice more confident. “One time, when I was a kid, my brother told me they was alien bein’s from Mars lookin’ at us through the winders at night. I thought he was full of crap. Then one night, he showed me a pair of glowin’ eyes starin’ at us. Well, I flew out the door and run up to the winder. Just like I thought. It what’n no alien from Mars.”

  “What was it?”

  “An alien from Pluto,” Winky said matter-of-factly.

  I decided to let that sleeping dog lie.

  “YOU SURE ABOUT THIS? What would Tom say?” Winky asked as we pulled into the parking lot at the Sunset Sail-Away Beach Resort.

  “It doesn’t matter what he’d say,” I snarled. Tom was a sore subject, and Winky’d gone and poked it. “Besides, he’s gone back to work.”

  “But what if –”

  I cut him off and changed the topic. “Hey, isn’t Jorge supposed to find out about his tests today?”

  “Yep. That’s why I’m stayin’ clear of the place. He come back from that retreat actin’ like some kinda weirdo. He’s always been shy, but now he’s just...creepy and shy.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “He’s all calm-like. Like he ain’t got a care in the world. And he’s always smilin’ like a dog that done ate the Christmas goose.”

  “Is that so bad?”

  “It ain’t that it’s bad, Val. It just ain’t normal. Not for Jorge. We all got our own kinda normal. It ain’t like you notice it much, ‘til somebody does something that don’t fit. You know what I mean?”

  “Yeah. I think I do.” I said, and opened the passenger door. “On that note, let’s go see if we can find somebody acting abnormal.”

  “You mean besides you?” Winky joked, and waggled his ginger eyebrows.

  “Ha ha,” I said, and climbed out of the car.

  “ANOTHER STAKEOUT,” Winky said, and rubbed his hands together with glee. We were snooping along the tropical path between the resort’s lobby and the beach cabana bar.

  “For the third time, it’s not a stakeout,” I said. “It’s just...a reconnaissance mission. Look. See that sign? Number 22. That’s the
cottage we stayed in.”

  Winky peered between the crotons and hibiscus bushes. “Looks like they still got the crime scene tape up,” he said.

  “Crap. I guess that’s out. Let’s try the lobby.”

  “What exactly are you looking for, Ms. Fremden?” a stiff voice behind me sounded. I whirled around.

  “Uh...I...uh....”

  “Well hey there, Tommy Boy,” Winky said. “I thought you was at work.”

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Tom’s sea-green eyes seemed dull and elusive as they stared me down. I noticed he glanced at my naked ring finger. “You just can’t keep out of trouble, can you?”

  “I’m not trying to cause trouble,” I snapped, suddenly defensive. “I’m trying to find out what happened to Cold Cuts. And you have no jurisdiction over me, Tom Foreman. I can do what I want.”

  “Now hey there, you two,” Winky said, stepping between us like a referee at a prize fight. He held up his arms. “Hold your horses. Tom, we come down here like Val said. To help find poor old Cold Cuts. She’s one of us. We got to do what we can.”

  Tom’s face softened a tiny bit. He looked at Winky. “So, what’s your plan?”

  Winky nodded toward me. “Ask her. She’s the boss.”

  I smiled condescendingly at Tom, then laid out my masterful plan. “We were just going to wing it,” I said.

  “Brilliant,” Tom deadpanned. “Why didn’t I think of that?”

  Prideful anger made me get creative. “What I meant, was, I was going to talk to Monty, the desk clerk. Ask him for my stuff back, and see if I can tell if he’s acting...uh...abnormal.”

  “That’s right!” Winky said. For a second I thought had come to my rescue. But then he winked hard with his mouth open, like it was all a big joke. “Abnormal!”

  “Uh huh,” Tom grunted.

  “What’s your brilliant plan?” I sneered at Tom.

  He bit his lip. “Not much better,” he admitted with a sigh.

  My brow furrowed. “Maybe we could work together....”