“Does it involve sex?”
“Not yet.”
“I can't imagine why else you'd be calling me.”
“Someone firebombed my apartment tonight, and I need a place to stay.”
“Where are you?”
“In front of your house.”
An upstairs curtain was pulled aside.
“I'll be right down,” Joe said. “Don't get out of your car until I open my door.”
Stephanie Plum 4 - Four To Score
Stephanie Plum 4 - Four To Score
Stephanie Plum 4 - Four To Score
8
I HAULED Rex's cage off the front seat. “Now remember,” I said, “no sniveling over the fact that our life is sucky. And no getting all mushy because Morelli is so hot. And no crying. We don't want Morelli thinking we're losers.”
Morelli was on his small cement front porch. The door was open behind him, and I could see light from the upstairs hall. He was barefoot, dressed in cut-offs that rode his hips. His hair was tousled from sleep, and he had a gun in his hand, hanging loose at his side. “You talking to someone?”
“Rex. He's a little nervous about all this.”
Morelli took the cage from me, kicked his door shut and carried Rex into the kitchen. He put the cage on the counter and flipped the overhead light on. It was an old-fashioned kitchen with dated appliances and Formica counters. Cupboards had been recently painted with cream enamel, and there was new linoleum on the floor. A pot sat soaking in the sink. Looked like Morelli'd had spaghetti for supper.
Morelli put a quart of cold milk and a bag of Oreos on the small wood table that pressed against one kitchen wall. He took two glasses from the dish drain, sat down at the table and poured out two glasses of milk.
“So,” he said, “you want to talk about it?”
“I was in Atlantic City looking for Maxine tonight, and while I was gone someone pitched a firebomb through my bedroom window. The whole apartment went up. Fortunately, Mrs. Karwatt had a key and managed to rescue Rex.”
Morelli stared at me for a beat with his unreadable cop face. “Remember those purple shoes you bought last year?”
“Reduced to ashes.”
“Damn. I had plans for those shoes. I've spent a few sleepless nights thinking about you wearing those shoes and nothing else.”
I helped myself to a cookie. “You need a life.”
“Tell me about it. I spent last weekend laying linoleum.” He took a second cookie. “I notice you're driving the Buick. What happened to the CRX?”
“Remember I told you about how someone soaked it with gasoline? Well, it sort of exploded.”
“It exploded?”
“Actually, it caught fire first. Then it exploded.”
“Hmm,” Morelli said, eating the top half of the Oreo.
A tear slid down my cheek.
Morelli stopped eating. “Wait a minute. Is this for real? You aren't making this up?”
“Of course this is for real. Why else do you think I'm here?”
“Well, I thought . . .”
I jumped up, and my chair crashed to the floor. “You thought I made this up so I could come over here in the middle of the night and crawl into your bed!”
The line to Morelli's mouth tightened. “Let me get this straight. Yesterday, someone actually blew up your car and your apartment. And now you want to move in with me? What, do you hate me? You're a walking disaster! You're Calamity Jane in fucking spandex!”
“I am not a walking disaster!” But he was right. I was a walking disaster. I was an accident waiting to happen. And I was going to cry. My chest ached and my throat felt like I'd swallowed a baseball and tears gushed out of my eyes. “Shit,” I said, swiping the tears away.
Morelli grimaced and reached out to me. “Listen, I'm sorry. I didn't mean—”
“Don't touch me!” I shrieked. “You're right. I'm a disaster. Look at me. I'm homeless. I'm carless. And I'm hysterical. What kind of a bounty hunter gets hysterical? A loser bounty hunter, that's what kind. A l-l-loser.”
“Maybe milk wasn't the right choice here,” Morelli said. “Maybe you could use some brandy.”
“And there's more,” I sobbed. “I lost forty bucks on craps, and I was the only one who didn't have a gun tonight!”
Morelli pulled me into his arms and held me close to him.
“That's okay, Steph. Forty dollars isn't so much. And lots of people don't have guns.”
“Not in New Jersey. Not bounty hunters.”
“There are some people in Jersey who don't have a gun.”
“Oh yeah? Name one.”
He held me at arm's length and grinned. “I think we should get you up to bed. You'll feel better in the morning.”
“About the bed . . .”
He pushed me toward the stairs. “I have a spare bedroom made up.”
“Thanks.”
“And I'll leave my door open in case you get lonely.”
And I'd lock my door in case I got weak.
* * * * *
I AWOKE DISORIENTED, staring at a ceiling that wasn't mine. The walls were covered with faded green paper patterned with barely discernible viney flowers. Comforting in an old-fashioned way. Morelli had inherited this house from his Aunt Rose and hadn't changed much. My guess was the simple white curtains that hung on the windows had been chosen by Rose. It was a small room with a queen-size bed and a single chest of drawers. The floors were wood, and Morelli had placed a rag throw rug beside the bed. It was a sunny room and much quieter than my own bedroom, which faced out to the parking lot. I was sleeping in one of Morelli's T-shirts, and I was now faced with grim reality. I had no clothes. No clean underwear, no shorts, no shoes, no nothing. First thing would be a trip to Macy's for an emergency wardrobe.
There was a clock radio on the chest of drawers. It was nine o'clock. The day had started without me. I opened my door and peeked into the hall. All was silent. No sign of Morelli. A piece of paper had been taped to my door. It said Morelli had gone off to work and I should make myself at home. It said there was an extra key for me on the kitchen table and towels laid out in the bathroom.
I showered and dressed and went downstairs in search of breakfast. I poured myself a glass of orange juice and looked in at Rex.
“No doubt about it, I made an idiot out of myself last night,” I said.
Rex was sleeping in his soup can and didn't show a lot of concern. Rex had seen me in my idiot state before.
I ate a bowl of cereal and took a look at the house. It was clean and orderly. The food in the cupboard was basic, the pots were second generation. Six glasses. Six dishes. Six bowls. Shelf paper left from Aunt Rose. He had a coffeemaker, but he hadn't made coffee, nor had he made breakfast. No dirty dishes. No new dishes in the dish drain. Morelli would stop on the way to work for coffee and whatever. Cops weren't known for their excellent diets.
I remembered Morelli's living room furniture from his apartment. Utilitarian. Comfort without style. It seemed off in the row house. The row house needed overstuffed with magazines on the coffee table and pictures on the walls.
Rooms were shotgunned. Living room, dining room, kitchen. Because Morelli lived in the middle of the block, there were no windows in the dining room. Not that it mattered. I couldn't see Morelli using the dining room. In the beginning, when Morelli had first moved here, I couldn't see him in the house at all. Now it suited him. Not that Morelli had turned domestic. It was more that the house had assumed independence. As if Morelli and the house had reached an agreement to coexist and leave it at that.
I called my mother and told her there'd been a fire and I was staying with Morelli.
“What do you mean, you're staying with Morelli? Ommigod, you're married!”
“It's not like that. Morelli has an extra bedroom. I'm going to pay him rent.”
“We have an extra bedroom. You could stay here.”
“I've tried that before, and it doesn't work. Too
many people using one bathroom.” Too many homicidal maniacs wanting to kill me.
“Angie Morelli is gonna have a fit.”
Angie Morelli is Joe's mother. A woman both revered and feared in the burg.
“Angie Morelli's a good Catholic woman, and she's not as open-minded as I am,” my mother said.
The Morelli women were good Catholics. The men broke every commandment. The men played Monday night poker with the Antichrist.
“I have to go,” I said. “I just wanted you to know I was okay.”
“Why don't you and Joe come over for dinner tonight? I'm making meat loaf.”
“We're not a couple! And I have things to do.”
“What things?”
“Things.”
My next phone call was to the office. “My apartment got firebombed,” I told Connie. “I'm staying with Morelli for a while.”
“Good move,” Connie said. “You on the pill?”
I straightened the kitchen, pocketed the key and took off for the mall. Two hours later I had a week's worth of clothes and a maxed-out charge card.
It was noon when I got to the office. Connie and Lula were at Connie's desk eating Chinese.
“Help yourself,” Lula said, nudging a cardboard carton. “We got lots. We got fried rice, shrimp clumps and Kung Fu something.”
I picked at a shrimp clump. “Heard from Vinnie yet?”
“Not a word,” Connie said.
“How about Joyce? Heard from her?”
“Nope. And she hasn't brought Maxine in, either.”
“I been thinking about Maxine,” Lula said. “I think she's in Point Pleasant. And I wouldn't be surprised if her mama was there, too. That Atlantic City thing was a big phony wild-goose chase to keep us away from Point Pleasant. Her getaway don't feel right. That car was sitting there waiting for her to come out and take off. I think her mama set us up.”
I tried some of the Kung Fu stuff. “I've been thinking the same thing.”
* * * * *
LULA AND I stood in the middle of the boardwalk, across from the Parrot Bar, and clipped our pagers onto our shorts. I was wearing Day-Glo orange running shorts that had been on sale at Foot Locker, and Lula was wearing yellow-and-black tiger-striped spandex. She'd had her yellow ringlets beaded so that all over her head were four-inch strands of fluorescent pink, poison-green and bright yellow beads. It was ninety-six in the shade, the ocean was millpond calm, the sky was a cloudless azure, and you could fry an egg on the sand. We were here to find Maxine, but already I could see Lula getting distracted by the frozen custard stand.
“This is the plan,” I said to Lula. “You're going to hang out here and keep your eye on the Parrot Bar, and I'm going to canvass the beach and the boardwalk. Page me if you see Maxine or anyone associated with her.”
“Don't worry, nobody'll get by me. I'd just like to see that bony-ass mother. I'll grab her by what little hair she's got left, and I'll—”
“No! No grabbing, no shooting, no gassing, no stun-gunning If you spot someone just stick with them until I get to you.”
“Suppose it's self-defense?”
“There will be no self-defense. Don't let anyone see you. Try to blend in.”
“I need an ice cream to blend in,” Lula said, her hair beads jumping around, clacking every time she moved her head. “You give me an ice cream and I'll look like everybody else here.”
Well hell, Tallulah, then go get an ice cream.
I walked north first. I'd brought a pair of mini-binoculars that I trained on the beach since Maxine seemed like the sunbather type. I went slowly and methodically, wandering through the arcades and bars. I walked beyond the amusement area to where the boardwalk was plain old boardwalk. After an hour of this I turned and headed back to Lula.
“Haven't seen anybody I know,” Lula said when I reached her. “No Maxine. No Maxine's mama. No Joyce. No Travolta.”
I stared into the bar across the way, and I didn't see any of those people, either. I took a brush and an elastic scrunchy out of my bag and pulled my hair back, off my neck, into a ponytail. I had a real desire to jump in the ocean, but I decided to settle for a lemonade. I was down to the wire with Maxine. I didn't have time to waste on such frivolity as lowering my body temperature.
I left Lula on the bench, got a lemonade and continued to walk and to scan the south end of the beach. I walked past a series of spin-the-wheel games and came to an arcade. I stepped into the cool shade and moseyed past the claw machines and the skillo ramps. I looked over at the wall where the prizes were displayed and stopped in my tracks. A woman stood at the wall, surveying the prizes. Five pieces of Farberware for 40,000 points. Wooden lighthouse for 9,450. Looney Tunes watch, 8,450. Dirt Devil, 40,100. Boom box, 98,450 points. The woman seemed to be counting the tickets she held in her hand. One hand held the tickets. And the other hand was heavily bandaged. She had brown hair, slim body.
I stepped farther back in the room and waited to see her face. She stood there for a moment longer, turned and walked to the redemption desk. It was Margie. I scooted past the desk, behind Margie's back, out to the boardwalk and paged Lula. She was just a short distance away. She looked up when the pager went off. I caught her eye and gave her a “come here” wave.
Margie was still at the desk when Lula trotted up.
“What's going on?” Lula asked.
“You remember I told you about Maxine's friend, Margie?”
“The one had her finger chopped off.”
“Yes. That's her at the redemption desk.”
“Point Pleasant sure is a popular place.”
Margie took a large box from an arcade employee and moved to the side door that opened to the street. She passed through the door and turned right, away from the boardwalk. Lula and I watched her walk to the end of the block and cross the street. We followed after her, Lula a little less than a block away and me behind Lula. Margie crossed another street, continued on and went into a house in the middle of the next block.
We held our positions and watched for a while, but Margie didn't come out. The house was a single-story bungalow with a small front porch. Surrounding houses were similar. Lots were small. Cars were parked on both sides of the street.
We weren't in a good position to conduct any kind of surveillance. We'd driven to Point Pleasant in a car that drew attention. My only consolation was that even if we had a more generic car, there were no parking places open.
“So I take it you think this Margie is with Maxine. And maybe Maxine's mama is there, too,” Lula said.
“Yeah. Problem is, I don't know if Maxine's in the house right now.”
“I could be the Avon lady,” Lula said. “Ding dong, Avon calling.”
“If Maxine's mother is in there she'll recognize you.”
“Think maybe we be recognized standing on the street like this, too,” Lula said.
Very true. “Okay, this is what we'll do. We'll go see if Maxine's in the house. If she isn't at home, we'll sit down with Margie and watch some TV until Maxine shows up.”
“Sounds like a plan to me. You want the back door or the front door?”
“Front door.”
“And you probably don't want me to shoot anybody.”
“Shooting isn't my favorite thing.”
Lula walked along the side of the house to the back, and I went to the front door. I knocked twice and Margie answered.
Her eyes opened wide in surprise. “Oh!”
“Hi,” I said. “I'm looking for Maxine.”
“Maxine isn't here.”
“You wouldn't mind if I came in and looked for myself?”
Maxine's mother swayed into view. “Who is it?” She took a long drag on her cigarette and let the smoke curl from her nose, dragon style. “Christ, it's you. You know, you're getting to be a real pain in the ass.”
Lula came in from the kitchen. “Hope nobody minds my coming in. The back door wasn't lock
ed.”
“Oh God,” Mrs. Nowicki said. “Tweedledum.”
There was an empty box in the middle of the floor with a lamp sitting beside it.
“You win this lamp at the arcade?” Lula asked Margie.
“It's for my bedroom,” Margie said. “Twenty-seven thousand points. Yesterday, Maxine won a deep fat fryer.”
“Hell, we won just about everything in this house,” Mrs. Nowicki said.
Four to Score Page 14