Fortune and Glory

by Janet Evanovich

  Potts looked at the corpse, his eyes rolled back into his head, and he crashed to the floor.

  “He handled that pretty good,” Lula said. “At least he didn’t poop himself. Not yet anyways.”

  I called 911 and reported a possible homicide. It looked like the woman had been shot in the chest and the head, so I was pretty sure it wasn’t self-inflicted. We grabbed Potts by his ankles, dragged him into the hall, and shut the door.

  “I guess we gotta wait for the police,” Lula said. “I hope this all doesn’t take too long. I’ve got some stuff lined up on my TV. I’ve been binge-watching Game of Thrones. This is my second time around, but I still like it. Not to mention if I stay here much longer, I’m going to throw up.”

  Potts opened his eyes. “What?” he said.

  “Stay down and relax for a couple of minutes,” I told him. “You fainted.”

  “I had the craziest dream while I was out. I thought I saw a dead woman with blood all over. It was horrible.”

  I gave Lula the keys to my car. “I’ll stay here, and you can go home. I’ll pick my car up tomorrow. Take Potts with you and drop him at his parents’ house on Porter Street.”

  “How will you get home?”

  “I have options.”

  “I bet,” Lula said. “Probably involve a happy hour. Or at least twenty minutes.” She pulled Potts to his feet and pointed him at the door. “Time to go,” she said. “Auntie Lula is driving.”

  * * *

  I moved from the second floor to the lobby, where the air was better. Two uniforms arrived and I sent them upstairs. I knew plainclothes would follow. I was hoping it wasn’t Morelli. I gave up a sigh of relief when Tom Schmidt walked in. I went to high school with Tom. He graduated into plainclothes a year after Morelli. He was a good cop. Not as talented as Morelli, but he was honest, and he cared about the law.

  “Looks like you’re pulling the night shift,” I said to him.

  “Yeah, lucky me. What do we have here?”

  “A very dead body in 2B. The name on the mailbox is Alice Smuther. I was looking for a hooker going by Patches. I don’t know what Patches looked like but I’m guessing she’s lying on the floor upstairs.”

  “Do you have anything else that’s interesting to tell me?”

  “She was servicing Charlie Shine. Do you have anything interesting to tell me?”

  “No, but I saw your picture online and you looked real cute jumping out of the hotel window.”

  “I didn’t jump. I dropped. Big difference. Huge difference.”

  “Did you remove anything from the crime scene? Are your fingerprints all over everything?”

  “No. And no. I can leave now, right?”

  “Yeah. I know where to find you.”

  I went outside and called Ranger. “I need a ride,” I told him. “I’m on Parker Street. Just look for all the squad cars and EMT trucks.”

  “This is the homicide that just got called in?”

  “Yep. Dead hooker. Close friend of Charlie Shine.”

  The line went dead. I hoped that meant he was on his way.

  Seven minutes later, Ranger snaked his way through the cluster of cars and trucks in front of the peace symbol building and picked me up.

  “Thanks,” I said. “Lula didn’t want to wait for the police, so I loaned her my car.”

  “I’m guessing this has something to do with the treasure hunt. Were you able to look around before the police arrived?”

  “No. She’d been dead awhile. The smell was really bad. I’m surprised her neighbor didn’t investigate.”

  “You don’t go looking for trouble in this neighborhood,” Ranger said. “Tell me about her.”

  “I knew Shine liked the ladies, so Lula and I talked to a couple of her hooker friends earlier tonight on Stark Street. They gave us the address.”

  Ranger left Parker Street, turning toward the center of the city. “Is it important that you get home tonight?”

  “No. Rex has lots of food and fresh water.”

  * * *

  Ranger owned a stealth office building that was located on a quiet side street in the middle of downtown Trenton. The façade was brick and low-key. A small gold plaque by the impact glass front door had a single word on it. Rangeman. The man at the desk in the modest lobby was armed and dressed in Rangeman black. The interior of the building was high-tech and more secure than the White House. The heart of the operation, the control room, was located on the fifth floor. Ranger’s lair was on the seventh floor. His clients were for the most part wealthy businessmen who for one reason or another needed personalized security services that went beyond the norm.

  Ranger drove into the underground garage that housed the fleet cars and Ranger’s personal cars. He parked in his slot next to the elevator and reminded me that until we were in his apartment, we were on an audio and video security feed. I’d been in the building many times before. Sometimes with Ranger and sometimes without Ranger when he’d been off-site and I needed a safe haven.

  We went directly to Ranger’s apartment, which occupied the entire floor. When he bought the building, he’d turned it over to a design firm. He was probably sleeping with the designer at the time, because the color palette and furnishings were perfect. Simple, modern, comfortable. White walls. Furnishings in black, gray, brown, and cream. Elegantly masculine. Small state-of-the-art kitchen. Everything kept immaculate by his housekeeper, Ella.

  I followed him to the kitchen.

  “What would you like?” he said. “Wine?”

  “Red.”

  He took a bottle of Pinot Noir from the wine cooler and selected two glasses from the above-counter display. “Prowl through the fridge if you’re hungry,” he said. “Ella usually has some late-night food in there.”

  I pulled out a tray with dried fruit and nuts and cheese, and I set it on the counter. Ranger lived well. This hadn’t always been the case. When I first met him, his address was a vacant lot.

  “Let’s move this into my office,” he said. “I’ll do a search on Alice Smuther.”

  I took the cheese tray and my wine and followed Ranger.

  The apartment consisted of a hallway leading to the kitchen, a small eating area off the kitchen, and a living room with comfy couches. Ranger’s office was in the master bedroom area off the living room.

  I set the cheese tray on his desk and pulled a chair up next to him. He typed Alice Smuther into his search program, and we sat back and waited for the information.

  She was relatively clean for a hooker. A few arrests for solicitation. That was it. She was twenty-six years old. Grew up in Atlanta. Migrated north when she graduated from high school. Had a bunch of short-term minimum wage jobs and then turned to prostitution. Ranger pulled her driver’s license up and I was pretty sure it was the woman on the floor.

  “She owned a ten-year-old Range Rover,” Ranger said. “Here’s her plate. If it’s not parked on the street close to her building, Shine might be driving it.”

  “Do you have any other ideas?”

  “Yes. Let’s move this into the bedroom.”

  Oh boy.

  When I spend a night in Ranger’s bed the sex is always great, but honestly, his sheets are equally orgasmic. They’re gloriously soft and as smooth as glass because Ella irons them. His pillows are perfect. His comforter is perfect. When he turns the light off, the room is dark and quiet and cool. The cool never lasts very long. Ranger is hot in bed.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  I was dragged out of sleep by the sound of the shower running. The bedroom was dark. My cell phone read 5:00 a.m. I fell back asleep and when I woke up it was twenty-five minutes later, and I could hear Ranger moving around the room. I switched the bedside light on and saw that he was already dressed. Usually Ranger wore the same cargo pants and Rangeman logo shirt that the rest of the men wore. He was in a suit today. Black and custom tailored. Black dress shirt. Black striped tie.

  “Nice,” I said. “Sexy in a successful-b
usinessman sort of way.”

  “New corporate client meeting this morning. Don’t think he’d be happy if I came dressed ready for a SWAT ambush.” He strapped his watch on. “Stay as long as you like. Ella will bring your breakfast up at eight o’clock. If you want it sooner, you can call her. Rafael will pick your car up this morning and leave it in the garage for you. Try not to jump out of any windows today.”

  “Dropped! I dropped out of the window.”

  * * *

  I rolled out of bed at seven thirty and shuffled off to take a shower. This is an experience second only to being in Ranger’s bed. The tiles are gleaming white, his showerhead is perfect and not encrusted with lime, and he has unlimited hot water. And the best part is that Ella makes sure he’s supplied with Bulgari green shower gel and shampoo. I’ve never gotten a full-on orgasm just from smelling Bulgari green, but I’ve had some decent rushes. The scent evaporates almost immediately on me but mysteriously clings to Ranger. This explains the reason for the rush.

  My hair was still damp when I went in search of breakfast. Ella had obviously tiptoed in when I was in the shower because the tray was already on the kitchen counter. Coffee, cream, and croissants with jam. Plus, smoked salmon with a dollop of caviar and crème fraîche, if I was in need of protein. Some toast points for the salmon. Assorted fresh fruit. No Frosted Flakes.

  I planned my day while I ate. I would make a fast stop at my apartment to check on Rex and change clothes. Then I’d give Connie the information about the car and have her feed it to her network of gossips and snoops. There were two open FTAs and there was Grandma and the treasure. I was getting nowhere fast on all this stuff, but as Yoda says, “Do or do not. There is no try.” So, I was all about the do today.

  It was almost nine o’clock when I left Ranger’s apartment. I took the elevator to the garage and found my car. It had been detailed and the keys on the dash were attached to a Rangeman key fob. I looked into the security camera pointed at me and said, “Thank you.”

  I rolled into my building’s parking lot a half hour later. I took the stairs and found Potts, sound asleep, stretched out in a sleeping bag in front of my apartment door. I carefully inserted my key, opened my door, and stepped over Potts. I closed and locked the door and looked out my peephole. Couldn’t see Potts. That meant he was still asleep on the floor. Yay.

  I changed my clothes, pulled my hair up into a ponytail, and gave Rex a piece of croissant from breakfast.

  Potts was still asleep when I opened my door to leave. I stepped over him again, closed and locked the door, and sprinted down the hall to the stairs. I got to the stairs and looked back at him. He hadn’t moved. Crap! What if he was dead? I watched him for a minute and saw him move. Okay! Not dead.

  * * *

  Lula was surfing the net on her phone when I walked into the office. Connie was reading a Nora Roberts page-turner.

  “What’s new?” I asked.

  “I have a positive ID on the dead hooker for you,” Connie said. “No surprise. Alice Smuther. AKA Patches.”

  “I did some research last night,” I said. “She owned a gray Range Rover.” I handed Connie a slip of paper. “Here’s the plate number. Pass it on to your network of snitches.”

  “You think Shine killed her and took her car?” Lula said. “That’s not smart to be driving around in someone’s car after you drill two holes in them.”

  “People aren’t always smart,” I said. “Shine has gotten away with a lot of horrible things. I suspect he feels above the law after all these years.”

  Charlie Shine was the La-Z-Boy dandy. He wore flashy jewelry, drove flashy cars, and enjoyed abusing beautiful young women. He was a ruthless killer who left his calling card of a bullet in the forehead and another in the chest. In his prime, he supplemented his wet work business with a variety of illegal activities, including but not limited to white slavery, gaming, pushing drugs, and extortion. He was frequently charged with crimes but never convicted. Witnesses always recanted or disappeared. Evidence vanished.

  “What do you want to do? Do you want to ride around and look for him?” Lula asked.

  “No. I want to see if Trotter is home. I have a responsibility to Vinnie to bring him in, and I need the capture money. We can keep our eyes open for the gray Range Rover on our way across town.”

  “I guess I’m game for that,” Lula said. “Maybe we can lure Trotter into your car with the promise of roadkill. We can tell him we saw a nice bloated dead possum on the side of the road, and he can have it if he comes with us. In case that doesn’t work, we should take the giant can of bear Mace we got in the back room.”

  I hiked my messenger bag higher on my shoulder and headed for the door. “I’m hoping he’ll be more reasonable before lunch.”

  “What about breakfast? You think he doesn’t drink breakfast?”

  “Maybe, but I have a new attitude. I’m going to be the ball-breaker I want to be.”

  “Who said that?” Lula asked. “Was that AC/DC? They had a lot of songs about balls.”

  “I don’t know. It just popped into my head.”

  “I noticed you got a bunch of those things popping into your head lately. Motivational sayings. We should choose one and make business cards. Like how about Stephanie and Lula, Apprehension Agents. We do epic shit.”

  I liked it. Might not be accurate but it was something to work toward.

  Lula followed me out and pulled up when she saw my car. “Hold on. Your car is clean. It’s all shiny and the inside looks clean, too. There’s something wrong here. Your car is never clean. It wasn’t clean when I drove it home.”

  I got behind the wheel. “It’s clean sometimes.”

  “It wasn’t even clean when you bought it.”

  She buckled in, leaned close to me, and sniffed. “Ah hah! I know that smell. That smell is delicious. You smell like Ranger. Holy cow, you spent the night with Ranger, didn’t you? And that’s why one of his muscle men picked your car up this morning. And they got it detailed! Girlfriend, you must have done something special for that man last night.”

  I pulled out into traffic. “I called him to give me a ride home from the crime scene.”

  “See, now that’s an invitation.”

  “It wasn’t an invitation. I needed a ride.”

  “You could have called Morelli.”

  “We aren’t a couple anymore.”

  “Yeah, but you’re friends. And you know you’re going to be a couple again. You break up and get back together all the time. You been doing it since you were five years old.”

  “This is different. He has a girlfriend.”

  “Already? That’s just wrong.”

  “Exactly!”

  “Everybody knows there’s a period of time to be observed,” Lula said. “It’s common courtesy. How do you know about this?”

  “He had to work late, so I offered to walk Bob.”

  “Now that was real nice of you. No reason Bob should suffer because you and Morelli aren’t getting along.”

  “Anyway, I let myself in and I immediately knew something was going on because the house was clean.”

  “Like how clean?”

  “Really clean.”

  “Maybe his mama came and cleaned up.”

  “That was my first thought, but when I went into the kitchen and looked in the fridge there was no Mama Morelli food there. No lasagna. No vodka rigatoni. No ricotta cake. And here’s the clincher.” I paused for effect. “He had Chardonnay chilling in his fridge.”

  “What? Are you shitting me? Chardonnay? Morelli isn’t no Chardonnay drinker.”

  “I think it must have been in there for his girlfriend.”

  “The bitch. I bet she’s a blonde, too.”

  “Yes! And thin.”

  “Chardonnay drinkers are always skinny blondes,” Lula said. “With fake boobs. Not that I would want to talk bad about someone wanting to enhance their body. Just sayin’.”

  “You drink Chardonnay.”


  “Yeah, but I don’t like it. I just like the way it sounds… I’ll have a Chardonnay. Someday I might get a dog. It would be one of those Chihuahua dogs and I’d name her Chardonnay.”

  Here it is. You think you know someone and then next thing they tell you is that they want a Chihuahua named Chardonnay.

  “Wait a minute,” Lula said. “This isn’t the way to Trotter’s house.”

  “I’m taking the scenic route,” I said.

  “This isn’t the scenic route,” Lula said. “There’s nothing scenic about Trenton. You’re heading for the Mole Hole. I thought we weren’t treasure hunting this morning.”

  “I can’t help myself. I’m just going to do a drive-by. See if the gray Range Rover is parked in the lot.”

  I drove past the train station and turned onto the Mole Hole street. No gray Range Rover in the lot, but there was a black Mercedes sports car there.

  “Gabriela,” I said.

  “Maybe she got a job on the pole,” Lula said. “Pick up some spare change.”

  “Maybe she’s down in the tunnel,” I said.

  “No way are you getting me back in that tunnel. Don’t even think about it.”

  “No problem,” I said, cruising past the Mole Hole. “I don’t want to go back into it, either. At least not from the Mole Hole side. I want to take a look at the Margo.”

  “I saw it on the news this morning and there isn’t much left.”

  The street was open to traffic but the sidewalk in front of the hotel was cordoned off with crime scene tape. A squad car and two sedans were angled against the curb. One of the sedans was an unmarked Trenton PD car. The other sedan had the fire marshal sticker on it. I didn’t see anyone by the cars, so I assumed they were prowling through the rubble. I thought there was also a good chance that Gabriela was on the scene, following the tunnel from the Mole Hole to the Margo. She was pursuing something that was clearly important to her. I didn’t know why or what.