With Vics You Get Eggroll (A Mad for Mod Mystery Book 3) Read online

  Praise for the Mad for Mod Mystery Series

  Books in the Mad for Mod Mystery Series

  Copyright

  Dedication

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  ONE

  TWO

  THREE

  FOUR

  FIVE

  SIX

  SEVEN

  EIGHT

  NINE

  TEN

  ELEVEN

  TWELVE

  THIRTEEN

  FOURTEEN

  FIFTEEN

  SIXTEEN

  SEVENTEEN

  EIGHTEEN

  NINETEEN

  TWENTY

  TWENTY-ONE

  TWENTY-TWO

  TWENTY-THREE

  TWENTY-FOUR

  TWENTY-FIVE

  TWENTY-SIX

  TWENTY-SEVEN

  TWENTY-EIGHT

  TWENTY-NINE

  THIRTY

  THIRTY-ONE

  THIRTY-TWO

  THIRTY-THREE

  Reader’s Discussion Guide

  From the Author

  About the Author

  In Case You Missed the 1st Book in the Series

  Don’t Miss the 2nd Book in the Series

  Be sure to check out Madison’s prequel novella

  Sign up for the Henery Press newsletter

  THE DEEP END

  ARTIFACT

  BOARD STIFF

  DINERS, DIVES & DEAD ENDS

  MACDEATH

  Praise for the Mad for Mod Mystery Series

  WITH VICS YOU GET EGGROLL (#3)

  “A sense of danger and menace pervades the entire novel, but it is lightened by Mad’s genuine likability and strength. Vallere has crafted an extremely unique mystery series with an intelligent heroine whose appeal will never go out of style.”

  – Kings River Life Magazine

  “If you love Doris Day, you’ll love Madison Night, decorator extraordinaire. She specializes in restoring mid-century homes and designs, and her latest project involves abductions, murder and vengeance!”

  – Books for Avid Readers

  “A well-constructed tale with solid characters and page after page of interesting, intelligent dialogue. Diane Vallere delivers a cunning plot as well as humor and romance.”

  – ReadertoReader.com

  THAT TOUCH OF INK (#2)

  “A terrific mystery is always in fashion—and this one is sleek, chic and constantly surprising. Vallere’s smart styling and wry humor combine for a fresh and original page-turner—it’ll have you eagerly awaiting her next appealing adventure. I’m a fan!”

  — Hank Phillippi Ryan,

  Agatha, Anthony, and Mary Higgins Clark Award-Winning Author

  “Diane Vallere…has a wonderful touch, bringing in the design elements and influences of the ’50s and ’60s era many of us hold dear while keeping a strong focus on what it means in modern times to be a woman in business for herself, starting over.”

  — Fresh Fiction

  “All of us who fell in love with Madison Night in Pillow Stalk will be rooting for her when the past comes back to haunt her in That Touch of Ink. The suspense is intense, the plot is hot and the style is to die for. A thoroughly entertaining entry in this enjoyable series.”

  — Catriona McPherson,

  Agatha Award-Winning Author of the Dandy Gilver Mystery Series

  PILLOW STALK (#1)

  “A humorous yet adventurous read of mystery, very much worth considering.”

  — Midwest Book Review

  “Make room for Vallere’s tremendously fun homage. Imbuing her story with plenty of mid-century modern decorating and fashion tips…Her disarmingly honest lead and two hunky sidekicks will appeal to all fashionistas and antiques types and have romance crossover appeal.”

  — Library Journal

  “A multifaceted story...plenty of surprises...And what an ending!”

  — New York Journal of Books

  “If you are looking for an unconventional mystery with a snarky, no-nonsense main character, this is it…Instead of clashing, humor and danger meld perfectly, and there’s a cliffhanger that will make your jaw drop.”

  — RT Book Reviews

  “A charming modern tribute to Doris Day movies and the retro era of the ’50s, including murders, escalating danger, romance...and a puppy!”

  — Linda O. Johnston,

  Author of the Pet Rescue Mysteries

  Books in the Mad for Mod Mystery Series

  by Diane Vallere

  Novels

  PILLOW STALK (#1)

  THAT TOUCH OF INK (#2)

  WITH VICS YOU GET EGGROLL (#3)

  Novellas

  MIDNIGHT ICE

  (in OTHER PEOPLE’S BAGGAGE)

  Copyright

  WITH VICS YOU GET EGGROLL

  A Mad for Mod Mystery

  Part of the Henery Press Mystery Collection

  First Edition

  Kindle edition | April 2015

  Henery Press

  www.henerypress.com

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever, including internet usage, without written permission from Henery Press, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

  Copyright © 2014 by Diane Vallere

  Cover design by Stephanie Chontos

  This is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people, or real locales are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental. No affiliation with Doris Day or Paramount is claimed or implied. Related subjects include: cozy mysteries, women sleuths, mystery series, whodunit mysteries, whodunnit, humorous murder mysteries, amateur sleuths, book club recommendations, midcentury modern design.

  ISBN-13: 978-1-941962-45-9

  Printed in the United States of America

  Dedication

  For Deenie

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  It is always a joy to reflect on a completed book and think about who was a part of the journey with me. As always, I’m grateful to Sisters in Crime, the Guppies, and the Mysteristas, and to Josh Hickman, who introduced me to Lakewood, Texas, and to the world that became Madison’s.

  I owe much of this book to the influence of three women who I am proud to call my friends:

  Cynthia Kuhn, for suggesting that the Mysteristas sign up for NaNoWriMo in 2013. I started this manuscript that November to support your own efforts. I did not finish it (nor did I hit the NaNo 50K challenge), but I set out enough of the story that I was eager to revisit it in May 2014.

  Thank you Nancy Golub, who may be the nicest woman in Dallas, for your hospitality. From our fun-filled, mid-century modern weekend to a feast of Chinese food! And especially for suggesting that morning walk through the Greenville Cemetery.

  Thank you to Kendel Lynn, who has been a strong advocate for Madison since Other People’s Baggage. Writing this book made me laugh and cry, and I was nervous to send it to you. Your reaction helped me feel like I’d done something right. Both Madison and I love having a home at Henery Press.

  ONE
r />   The flashing red and blue lights remained visible in my rearview mirror far longer than I would have liked. I accelerated through the twists and turns of Gaston Avenue’s residential streets, almost lost control and swung wide when the road cut to the right, but kept going. If the police officer behind me wanted to catch up with my zippy Alfa Romeo, he was going to have to put pedal to the metal.

  He’d been pursuing me for over a mile. Up ahead, the tall parking lot lights of the Whole Foods grocery store loomed. It was after ten and the neighboring businesses had long since been closed. I put on my signal, turned into the vacant lot, and parked under a row of streetlamps by the store’s east-facing exit.

  The royal blue Dallas police car pulled up behind me. The glass of the car’s windows were tinted, telling me nothing. I double-checked that my doors were locked and kept my engine running. My heart sped like a leaky faucet with a rapid drip.

  A gloved hand tapped the window. I cranked the lever until there was a two-inch opening and looked up at the officer. He shone a flashlight into my car. His expression changed from serious to concerned, probably as he noted the smudges of concrete and dirt from the construction site I’d been at all day. His eyes dropped to the navy blue coveralls I wore, and then moved to the yellow hardhat that had fallen from the passenger side seat onto the floor.

  “License and Registration, ma’am,” the officer said.

  “May I see your identification first, officer?” I asked.

  He held what looked like a small black wallet in front of the window. One side displayed his police badge. The other had a photo identification. I cranked the window down another turn so I could read his credentials more clearly.

  Officer Brian Iverson. Lakewood Police Department. That was Lt. Tex Allen’s precinct. I reached into my bag and pulled out my wallet. My hands shook. I fumbled while trying to get the license out of the plastic sleeve. When I finally did, I handed it to him.

  “Madison Night,” he read. “Wait here.”

  He strode back to his car. I waited until he was seated before reaching for my phone, flipping it over twice before making the call.

  “Lt. Allen? This is Madison. I just got pulled over.”

  “Where are you?” he asked, a trace of panic in his voice.

  “The Whole Foods parking lot by the Lakewood Theater.”

  “Did you get a badge number?”

  “I saw his badge. Officer Iverson. Blond, fit. Looks to be in his forties or fifties.”

  “Brian Iverson. He turned thirty last month. Lives a hard life. Not sure what the job is going to do to him in the long run, but he’s a good cop. You’re safe with him.”

  I tipped my head back against the head rest and closed my eyes, imagining the tension leaving my body. It was okay. Tex knew the police officer who had pulled me over. He wasn’t the Lakewood Abductor.

  “What did he get you on?” he asked, the tone of his voice shifting from concern to flirtation.

  “I don’t know yet.”

  “You should have told him you know me. Might have saved you from a ticket.”

  “I don’t like using our relationship like that.”

  “It’s not like you’re using it for anything else. One of these days you’ll see me for the prince I am.”

  “And until then I’ll see you as a frog.”

  “It’s not easy being green. Remember that.”

  Officer Iverson returned to my window. “I have to go,” I said to Tex.

  “Call me when you’re home.” We hung up.

  I took the paperwork from Officer Iverson, slid my license back into my wallet, put the registration inside the front cover of the Alfa Romeo car manual, and put the manual back into the glove box.

  “Do you know why I pulled you over?” Iverson asked.

  “No.”

  “Broken tail light.” He tapped the end of his pen against a metal clipboard that held a form I sincerely hoped wasn’t a citation.

  “Doesn’t Lt. Allen work in your precinct?” I asked.

  He tipped his head to the side and smiled. “That’s how I knew your name. Madison Night. You were there when Lt. Allen got shot.”

  “Yes.”

  He tapped his pen a few more times and looked at the form in front of him. “I sure wish you’d told me that when I first pulled you over. I already wrote up this ticket.” He looked torn between protocol and doing me a favor. “Tell you what. I’ll make this a warning. Get the tail light fixed in the next five days and take this paperwork to the courthouse.” He pulled a piece of the multi-layered form off and handed it to me. “I couldn’t help noticing that you gave me a little chase before you pulled over.”

  I took the form. “The only thing on the news these days is about the missing women and the Lakewood Abductor. The reports say we shouldn’t pull over for anybody unless we’re in a public parking space or a crowded area.”

  “That’s right. Glad you’re paying attention. Are you headed home now?”

  I nodded.

  “Your address says Gaston Avenue. Home’s close?”

  “A couple of blocks.”

  “Good. Be careful, Ms. Night.”

  I waited until Officer Iverson was back in his car before I backed out of my space. It was true that I was only a couple of blocks from my apartment, but I’d lied when I called it home. There was a time when it had been the place where I felt most comfortable, but I hadn’t been staying there lately. Nobody had.

  I drove down Gaston Avenue, past my apartment building, and then took a side street to Greenville, double-checking the rearview and side mirrors frequently. My heart still raced.

  From Greenville I turned left on Monticello and slowed when I reached the house I’d inherited a few months ago. I parked the car in the detached garage, hustled past the tomato plants to the porch and let myself in. This was where Rocky waited for me, and in my book, home is where you keep your puppy.

  Now two years old, his hyper nature came and went in spurts. Anybody entering the house was cause for an outburst. He bounced around my feet and stood on his hind legs, paws on the back of mine, while I set a plastic milk crate filled with files on the dining room table. I put the hardhat next to the files and stepped out of the dirty blue coveralls.

  Ah, the glamorous life.

  I scooped Rocky up. “Hey there, cutie! Are you happy that I’m home?” He licked my cheek and nuzzled his face into the side of my neck. I locked the front door behind me and locked the door between the front door and the kitchen. After turning on the TV in the living room, I carried Rocky upstairs. I set him on his dog bed, a custom-made, heavily padded circle with a one-foot high border. The whole thing was covered in turquoise bar cloth printed with black radials and white squigglies, all reminiscent of the atomic era I specialized in with Mad for Mod Decorating. The dog bed had arrived as a very large package delivered to my studio a few weeks ago. To Rock, From Hudson. It was the only gift to mark the occasion of my forty-eighth birthday, and even though it was clearly for my Shih Tzu, I found the timing pleasantly suspicious.

  The bedroom was hot. I kept a window AC unit ready to roll at bedtime, but otherwise preferred to spend my time on the first floor of the house. Under the coveralls I’d worn a belted light blue tunic and matching blue cotton trousers from my latest estate sale bid. I made a habit of making offers on estates of people I learned about from the obituaries, and while most of the time it was the wife who outlived the husband, in this case, the husband had been the one to maintain their mid-century modern ranch after his wife had passed away. Her closet had been filled with clothes from the late sixties—a large portion still with the tags on them. They were slightly groovier than my usual early to mid sixties wardrobe, but I wasn’t one to look a gift horse—in this case, in the form of forty-five-year-old new-with-tags merchandise—
in the mouth. The dirty clothes went into the wicker hamper in the corner. I showered and dressed in a paisley caftan and went downstairs. Rocky followed. I made a salad from the lettuce in the crisper and the half chicken breast leftover from last night, and carried it to the living room, and then doubled back to the kitchen for a glass of white wine.

  “We have breaking news on the identity of the Lakewood Abductor,” a female reporter said as I took my seat on the sofa. She stood at the end of a parking lot, an empty field behind her. I speared a chunk of iceberg and crunched on it. The photo of a woman flashed onto the upper right-hand side of the screen.

  “The body of Kate Morrow was found by two Lakewood residents who were hiking by Lockwood Park earlier this evening. Kate, a pre-med student at Loyola University, was in town visiting family. Her family reported her missing, and the police have been looking for leads. A witness from the Organic Foods Market in the Casa Linda shopping center said he saw a woman matching Ms. Morrow’s description get into a black sedan last week. According to the police, evidence found near her body confirms that the abductor was impersonating a police officer. She has been dead for several hours.”

  The report was chilling. Kate’s rental car was found abandoned in the parking lot of the Casa Linda shopping center last month, only a few miles from where I lived. Her handbag and keys were on the passenger side floor. The two security cameras in the parking lot of the organic food store had malfunctioned so no video had been recorded.

  I knew the Casa Linda shopping center well. It was so named because of the old theater that occupied one of the corners of the lot. After closing its doors in the early nineties, the theater had passed through a number of hands, eventually falling into a state of disrepair. A group of movie historians invested in it, renaming it The Mummy Theater, where I was a regular volunteer. We put together a calendar of events featuring classic movies to be shown on the big screen. Even though the theater had been renamed, the shopping center had kept the Casa Linda marquis, and residents of the Lakewood area continued to refer to it as such.