Val Fremden Mystery Box Set 1 Read online

Milly’s left eyebrow arched like a Halloween cat. “No.”

  I kicked off my shoes and carried them toward the file room. “Then let’s just get back to work, shall we?”

  “You know, that attitude isn’t going to fly around here, Val. What’s up your butt?”

  “So now you want to get personal?”

  “Ladies, let’s cut the bull crap and get back to work,” Mrs. Barnes interjected, nipping our catfight in the bud. She picked up a pack of cigarettes and walked toward the front door. “The sooner this mess is cleaned up, the sooner we can all go back to our pathetic lives.”

  Milly eyed me up and down, her mouth a pinched line.

  “You know, Val, maybe you should come to my Ladies’ Network meetup on Sunday. You might learn how to conduct yourself in an office. I’m afraid after all these years, you’ve gone a bit...feral.”

  Luckily for Milly, I wasn’t a cat. I’d have scratched her eyes out. I turned to the old woman who’d already worked me to the bone. Thank you, ma’am. May I have another? I put on my prissiest business tone.

  “Mrs. Barnes, what would you have me do next?”

  The old woman pointed to the room heaped with files. “What else, Sherlock?”

  Milly smirked and disappeared into her office.

  I returned to my dungeon, beaten down, but not defeated.

  Speak for yourself, you jerks. My life isn’t pathetic. Tonight I’m going to ditch a handsome man who loves me in favor of eating cheese-flavored vomit with three homeless guys in the hopes of nabbing the lunatic master of disguise who stole my mother’s ashes.

  Let’s see you top that.

  WE WERE IN A BOOTH at Garvey’s, waiting for our pot of cheese glop to arrive. Winnie had to work and Goober had gone AWOL. I’d been forced to take his place as one of the three stooges – Winky, Jorge and Val. I was desperate to find out if Jorge had invited Winky to live with him, but I didn’t want to jinx it, or hurt anyone’s feelings if the answer had been “no.”

  “Where’s Milly tonight?” Jorge asked without slurring his words.

  I eyed him suspiciously. “Don’t ask.”

  “Okay. Then where’s Tom?”

  I was in a foul mood and Jorge was getting on my last nerve. Why did he have to pick tonight to sober up and resume his washed-up career as a police detective?

  “Tom needs to stay out of it – and uninformed, Jorge. I don’t want his reputation on the line. Besides, I’m not a hundred percent sure Cold Cuts is the same woman who bought the RV.”

  “If you’re not sure, why don’t you go show this Lefty guy a picture of her? Find out if Cold Cuts and this baloney woman are the same person?”

  “Two reasons, Jorge. One, she wears disguises. She could have looked like anyone when she bought the RV. Second, I don’t have a picture of her.”

  “Well, I do,” Winky said.

  “What?”

  “Yep. Took it last night. Got her on camera, so she ain’t no vampire. But she shore is a witch.”

  Winky pulled his cellphone out of his pocket. I jerked it out of his hand.

  “Let me see that.”

  In the left side of the screen stood a woman in a Goth outfit. Her hair was jet black, her face ghostly white, and her eyes were encircled by thick bands of black liner. Overall, the shape of her face was right. And I thought I recognized the ring on her middle finger. She’d been caught in the act of displaying it prominently.

  I handed the phone back to Winky. “It could be her. Hopefully, she’ll show up again tonight.”

  But she didn’t.

  The only measurable result from the second stakeout attempt involved copious amounts of methane. That night, I’d had to tie my foot to the bedpost to keep from rocketing into outer space. Good thing I’d turned down Tom. He’d asked at lunch if he could come over and spend the night. The evening had been embarrassing enough. Besides, I was completely knackered. It turned out that work was...well...work.

  Chapter Thirteen

  WHEN I WOKE UP THE next morning, there was no desperate, red-haired mongrel at my backdoor. A tiny part of me felt empty and sad at the realization. The rest of me smiled and danced a jig. I peered out the sliding doors. Definitely no Winky! I flung off my ratty bathrobe and sang along with the imaginary bluebirds flitting around me. I brewed up a cappuccino and crawled back in bed with the warm cup of froth. Ahhh. Life was back to normal.

  Then I remembered I had to go to work.

  The bluebirds pecked me on the nose, crap all over the place and flew out the window.

  I groaned and hauled myself out of bed. I searched my closet and picked out a pair of skorts and a halfway-decent t-shirt. No fancy blouse, polished pencil skirt or heels today. I tied my hair back and slipped into some flats. Why dress for success when all you are is a grub?

  The bruise on my butt was fading. And it hurt less than my sore muscles. Looking on the bright side, I figured another week of hauling files and I could go to the beach without being reported to the Florida Fish & Game Commission. Manatees were still endangered, after all.

  I climbed into Maggie and backed down the driveway. When I glanced back at the house, I nearly swallowed my gum. Sitting in the yard by the corner of the house was that dang hideous sofa that had almost landed me in jail.

  “Winky!” I screamed his name like an obscenity. Of course, now that I needed him, he was nowhere to be found.

  Back in Greenville, where my mom lived, it would have been considered a status symbol to have upholstered furniture in your front yard. Here, not so much. I cringed in embarrassment. My mother would’ve told me I’d gotten too fancy for my britches. Why did I care what she would have said?

  I was running late. There was no time to move the couch, even if I could have on my own. I pulled onto Bimini Circle and hit the gas.

  WHEN I GOT TO THE OFFICE, Milly’s car wasn’t there. Maggie and Mrs. Barnes’ old Lincoln Town Car were the only vehicles in the lot. I breathed a sigh of relief. At least I wouldn’t have to start the day off with another confrontation with Milly.

  I yanked open the door to Griffith & Maas. Mrs. Barnes glanced up from her desk. A look of surprise livened up her usually tired face.

  “What’s up?” I asked.

  “Here, this is for you.”

  I walked up to the desk. Mrs. Barnes handed me a jelly donut and eyed me up and down.

  “Uh...thanks.” I took the donut from her hand and wondered where her fingers had been.

  “You earned it. You’ve worked harder than anyone else we’ve ever hired.”

  “Really?” I smiled with pride.

  “Yeah. And you even showed up for a second day of it.” She shook her head, as if she could barely believe it and muttered something indistinguishable. From the tone of it, it wasn’t complimentary.

  My smile faded. I was pretty sure the old lady had just insulted me. Mrs. Barnes dismissed my existence and grabbed a yellow pencil. She scratched at the inch-wide stripe of undyed gray hair running down the middle of her head, then turned her tired eyes to the light-green pages of an accounting workbook. She nodded in the direction of the file graveyard.

  “Best get at it.”

  I trudged to the room crammed with stray files. I set my purse down and was contemplating my escape when I noticed something unusual lying on the first heap of files. It was a pink envelope and a white, lipstick-sized box. I recognized the tiny carton immediately. It was from Chocolateers. My name was on the envelope. I tore it open. The note inside read: “There ought to be a law against best friends arguing. I’m sorry. Lunch today? Nitally’s. Noon. My treat.”

  I smiled, opened the tiny box and shoved the two chocolate covered cherries in my mouth. I poked my head out of the file room.

  “Where’s Milly?” I asked Mrs. Barnes, my words garbled by cherry cordial and dark chocolate.

  “Off to see a client this morning.”

  “Oh.”

  “Back to work!” she barked. The powdered sugar on her upper lip made
her look like an ancient, coke-addicted skunk.

  “Yes ma’am.”

  I smirked to myself and went back to filing.

  “VALLIANT!”

  I let go of the door to Nitally’s restaurant and waved at my old friend. She was seated at a table for two.

  “Millicent!”

  It felt good to be free of the tension our spat yesterday had caused. I rushed over to Milly, and leaned over and hugged her. “Thanks for the peace offering. It was delicious.”

  “I’m glad. Sorry I didn’t support you, Val. With the stakeout, I mean. I feel like a turd. But I’ve been on so many bad dates, I kind of got cold feet. You know what I mean? Like going to the doctor’s when you know you’re going to get a big-ass shot.”

  “I get it. But it really wasn’t that bad.”

  Milly appeared shocked. “No?”

  “To be honest, the guys’ company was better than the food.”

  Milly scowled. “I’ve eaten at Garvey’s. That’s not exactly a glowing endorsement.”

  I snorted, then grabbed Milly’s hand. “Do the next stakeout with me, please?”

  Milly looked unconvinced.

  “I was thinking Saturday night.”

  Milly clicked to attention like we were in a board meeting. “No. Statistically, most bad dates happen on Wednesdays and Thursdays. Friday and Saturday are reserved for the A list.”

  “Where do you get all this stuff?”

  Milly shot me a look of disbelief. “Date Data dot com, of course.”

  I hid my abject ignorance behind a feigned recollection. “Oh, yes. Of course. So...Wednesdays and Thursdays. Can you do it tomorrow?”

  “No. But I could on Thursday.”

  “Tomorrow isn’t Thursday?”

  “Ha ha. Don’t you wish.”

  Yes. I certainly did. I thought I’d worked at least three days by now. I sat back in the chair, disarmed by disappointment.

  “You okay?”

  “Yeah. So we’re on for Thursday?”

  “Yes. But you have to do me a favor in return.”

  “What? Anything.”

  “You have to come with me to my Ladies’ Networking Meetup on Sunday.”

  “Argghh. I hate those things.”

  Milly shrugged. “No meetup, no date.”

  “Crap. Okay. Are you going back to the office this afternoon?”

  “Yeah. Why? Are you afraid to be alone with Battle-Ax Barnes?”

  “You know, she was actually nice to me this morning. She gave me a donut.”

  “And you’re still alive? Lucky you. Don’t let her fool you. Mrs. Barnes plays both sides of the fence.”

  “She’s bisexual?”

  Milly chewed on the thought and spit it out in disgust.

  “Eww. Well, I suppose it’s possible. But I was talking about her being a snitch. She reports everything back to Mr. Maas. You can best believe that.”

  “Oh. Whatever happened to Griffith?”

  “I think he ate one too many jelly donuts.”

  I smirked. Milly’s eyes scanned the room.

  “Look at that guy, Val. There ought to be a law against fat men in biker shorts.”

  ON THE WAY HOME FROM work I spotted Winnie’s van in the parking lot of Davie’s Donuts. I hit the brakes and pulled in. I needed to find out what was going on with the couch. I hoped the reason Winky had left it in my yard this morning was because he and Winnie were moving on. Probably to Jorge’s. But it didn’t matter so much where. Just when. If I had to hear another euphemism for taking a dump, I was going to lose it.

  I stepped inside the small shop. The aroma of coffee and vanilla made my mouth water.

  “Hey, Val Pal!”

  Winky greeted me from his perch on one of the twenty or so shiny chrome bar stools surrounding the 1950s-themed dining counter. For 5:30 on a Tuesday afternoon, the place was doing a respectable amount of business. The counter was full except for the stool next to Winky. On the other side of the empty seat was a fat cop eating a donut and drinking coffee. How apropos. I slid onto the empty stool between Winky and the portly policeman.

  Winnie’s slits for eyes peeked out of a porthole in the stainless steel door leading to the kitchen. She emerged a second later wearing a black shirt and skirt covered by a white apron emblazoned with Davie’s Donuts, Better by the Dozen. Twelve maniacal donuts danced around the red trimmed edges of her apron. I noticed the trim perfectly matched Winnie’s red glasses. Her outfit and her black bob hairdo made me think of Minnie Mouse – if she was a plump, Asian soda jerk.

  Winnie smiled at me and absently plopped a plate of donuts and sandwiches in front of Winky. They were all cut into bite-sized pieces as if for a child. Winky beamed proudly.

  “See there, Val? My gal treats me right.”

  Winnie leaned her chubby body over the counter. She cupped her hand over her mouth and whispered in my ear.

  “I make ‘em out a customers’ leftovers. You want a plate?”

  Winnie withdrew her hand. Her ample torso returned to the other side of the counter.

  “No thanks, Winnie. I just ate. I’ll take some coffee, though.”

  “Coming right up.”

  I turned to Winky. He’d already scarfed down half the food on the plate.

  “Why’d you leave the couch in my front yard?”

  Winky wiped his face with a napkin and took a dainty sip of coffee.

  “Winnie and me’s found ourselves other accommodations.”

  “Oh. That’s great!” I said, trying not to sound as elated as I felt. “Chez Jorge?”

  Winky looked at me like I’d lost my mind. Maybe I had.

  “Jorge ain’t a ‘she.’”

  “I meant...look. Are you moving in with Jorge?”

  “Yep. Done did it last night.”

  I felt my stomach relax. “That’s great. Good for you. But I need you to help me move that couch to the backyard.”

  “Sure. You gonna have that bonfire with it?”

  “Uh...why not. Friday night okay with you?”

  “Hot dog, yeah!”

  Winnie came back with my coffee and another plate of hand-me-down hors d’oeuvres.

  “What’s going on?” she asked.

  “We just got ourselves invited to a bonfire party,” Winky beamed. He popped a chunk of donut in his mouth. I flinched internally at the trace of red lipstick on it.

  “That’s right,” I said too loudly. “Bonfire Friday. And the next stakeout at Garvey’s is Thursday night at 6:30 sharp. Can you two make it?”

  “Sure!” Winnie said. “Can I bring anything to the bonfire party?”

  “Oh, no.” I eyed Winky’s rapidly disappearing secondhand smorgasbord. “Nothing at all. Your help with the stakeout is contribution enough.”

  I WAS TOOLING DOWN Gulf Boulevard with the top down, humming and pleased with myself. The sun was shining and everything was going according to plan. By the end of the week I’d be rid of Winky and the couch, I would have found Cold Cuts, and I’d have put Glad and her Mr. Peanut piggybank back on my mantle.

  I smiled and hit the gas on Maggie. Nothing happened. I mashed the pedal again. The old car sputtered and died. I coasted to the side of the road and put her in park. A second later, I saw blue lights flashing in my rearview mirror. I figured this could go either way.

  A uniformed cop in a beige fedora and sunglasses climbed out of his patrol car. I watched in the side mirror as he walked up to the car.

  “Ma’am, you can’t park here.”

  “I know, officer. My car just died.”

  “Try to start it again.”

  I turned the ignition and pumped the gas. Nothing happened.

  “Hmm. Could it be out of gas, Ms. Fremden?”

  My head involuntarily jerked to the left. “Do I know you?”

  The man answered my question by lowering his sunglasses on his nose. It was Lt. Hans Jergen – the smug son of the Chief of Police, Franz Jergen. The same jerk who’d given Tom a hard ti
me over a misunderstanding about his sister. A misunderstanding that Tom didn’t want cleared up, even though it made Tom look like a heel in Jergen’s eyes.

  “Oh. Lieutenant Jergen,” I said stiffly. “Hello. Thanks for returning the couch to me. I was desperate to get it back. Can I have the finger, too?”

  “Look, Ms. Fremden. It was nothing personal. It’s standard procedure. Just returning no longer needed evidence.”

  “With a snarky note?”

  “Interpret it however you want.” Lt. Jergen fingered the rubber service baton hanging off his belt.

  “You’re not going to hit me with that, are you?”

  Lt. Jergen took a step back. “What? With this? No. Look, have you got a gas can?”

  “No.”

  “Then come with me.”

  I eyed him warily. “Am I under arrest?”

  “No. I’m giving you a ride to the nearest gas station.”

  “Oh. Let me grab my purse.”

  I sat in silence in the back of Lt. Jergen’s police car and looked out the window. At a traffic light, a young girl in the car beside me shook her head at me scornfully. Horrified, I tried to use gestures to explain, through the window, that I wasn’t a convict. My efforts resulted in a view of her bubble-gum pink tongue. I scooted to the middle of the backseat and kept away from the windows.

  Lt. Jergen pulled his cruiser into a gas station. I tried to get out, but the doors were locked...and...to my horror...had no handles. Jergen smirked at my frightened face, then opened the door. I stuck my chin up and got out. To ease the embarrassed awkwardness, I tried to strike up a conversation as he pumped gas into a red, plastic fuel can.

  “You know, Tom’s not a bad guy,” I said.

  Jergen shot me a sideways glance. “Yeah? Well, neither am I.”

  “If you only knew....”

  “Knew what?”

  He waited impatiently for words I couldn’t say.

  “Yeah. I thought so,” he said sourly. “Look, I’m running inside for a minute.”

  “Okay. Here’s a five for the gas.”

  Jergen took the money, put the fuel can in the trunk and disappeared in the store. All of a sudden, I realized I needed to pee. I left the cruiser, went inside and followed the restroom sign leading to the back left corner of the store. I yanked open the door and got the shock of my life. Standing before me was Lt. Jergen, his pants to his knees, offering me an unobstructed view of his “personal baton.”