Four to Score

by Janet Evanovich

  Ranger had none. A small stain on one arm where he'd gotten hit by the egg.

  “So why is it you're so clean and I'm such a mess?”

  “For one thing, I didn't stand in the middle of the room, making a target of myself. For another thing, I didn't fall on the floor and roll in flour.” He reached a hand out to me and helped me up. “First rule of combat. If someone throws something at you, step out of the way.”

  “Devil whore,” Norvil shouted at me.

  “Listen,” I shouted back, “I was due. And it's none of your business anyway.”

  “He calls everyone a devil whore,” Ranger said.

  “Oh.”

  Norvil planted his feet wide. “I'm not going anywhere.”

  I looked at the stun gun on Ranger's utility belt. “How about we zap him?”

  “You can't zap me,” Norvil said. “I'm an old man. I got a pacemaker. You screw up my pacemaker and you'll be in big trouble. It could even kill me.”

  “Boy,” I said, “that's tempting.”

  Ranger took a roll of duct tape off his gun belt and taped Norvil's legs together at the ankles.

  “I'm gonna fall over,” Norvil said. “I can't stand like this. I got a drinking problem, you know. I fall over sometimes.”

  Ranger got Norvil by the armpits and tipped him backward. “Grab his feet,” he said. “Let's get him to the car.”

  “Help!” Norvil yelled. “I'm being kidnapped! Call the police. Call the Muslims!”

  We got him to the second-​floor landing, and he was still yelling and wriggling. I was working hard to hold him. Egg and flour were caked in my hair, I smelled like pickle brine, and I was sweating like a pig. We started down the second flight; I missed a step and slid the rest of the way on my back.

  “No problem,” I said, hoisting myself up, wondering how many vertebrae I'd cracked. “You can't keep Wonder Woman down.”

  “Wonder Woman looks a little beat,” Ranger said.

  Regina and Deborah were sitting on their stoop when we hauled Norvil out.

  “Lord, girl,” Regina said. “What happened to you? You look like a big corn dog. You've been all breaded up.”

  Ranger opened the Range Rover's rear door, and we tossed Norvil inside. I limped around to the passenger side and stared at the pristine leather seat.

  “Don't worry about it,” Ranger said. “You get it dirty I'll just get a new car.”

  I was pretty sure he was kidding.

  * * * * *

  I WAS on the small front porch, rooting around in my bag, looking for the key to Morelli's house when the door opened.

  “I'm not even going to make a guess on this one,” Morelli said.

  I pushed past him. “You know Norvil Thompson?”

  “Old guy. Robs stores. Goes nuts when he drinks . . . which is always.”

  “Yep. That's Norvil. I helped Ranger bring him in.”

  “I take it Norvil wasn't ready to go.”

  “Threw everything he had at us.” I looked down at myself. “I need a shower.”

  “Poor baby. I could help.”

  “No! Don't come near me!”

  “This isn't about the cookie jar, is it?”

  I dragged myself up the stairs and into the bathroom. I stripped and stepped under the steaming water. I washed my hair twice and used a cream rinse, but my hair wouldn't come clean. I got out of the shower and took a look at my hair. It was the egg. It had hardened like cement, and little pieces of eggshell were stuck in the cement.

  “Why me?” I said.

  Morelli was on the other side of the bathroom door. “Are you all right? Are you talking to yourself?”

  I wrenched the door open. “Look at this!” I said, pointing to my hair.

  “Looks like eggshell.”

  “It won't come out.”

  Morelli leaned closer under the guise of examining my hair, but he was actually looking down my towel. “Hmm,” he said.

  “Listen, Morelli, I need help here.”

  “We haven't got much time.”

  “Help with my hair!”

  “Honey, I don't know how to tell you this, but I think your hair is beyond my help. The best I could do is take your mind off it.”

  I searched through the medicine chest and came up with some scissors. “Cut the egg out.”

  “Oh boy.”

  Five minutes later Morelli looked up from his job and met my eyes in the mirror. “That's all of it.”

  “How bad is it?”

  “You remember when Mary Jo Krazinski had ringworm?”

  My mouth dropped open.

  “It's not that bad,” Morelli said. “Mostly it's just shorter . . . in spots.” His finger traced a line along my bare shoulder. “We could be a few minutes late.”

  “No! I'm not going to be late for your mother. Your mother scares the hell out of me.” His mother scared the hell out of everyone but Joe. Morelli's mother could see around corners. His father had been a drunk and a philanderer. His mother was beyond reproach. She was a housewife of heroic proportions. She never missed mass. She sold Amway in her spare time. And she didn't take crap from anyone.

  Morelli slid his hand under my towel and kissed the back of my neck. “This'll only take a minute, babe.”

  A burning sensation skittered through my stomach and my toes curled. “I have to get dressed,” I said. But I was thinking, Ohhhh, this feels good. And I was remembering what he'd done the night before, and that had felt even better. His hands found my breasts, and his thumb rubbed across my nipple. He whispered a few things he wanted to do to me, and I felt a little dribble of drool escape from the corner of my mouth.

  Half an hour later, I was rushing around my room, searching for clothes to wear. “I can't believe I let you talk me into that!” I said. “Look how late we are!”

  Morelli was fully clothed and smiling. “This cohabiting thing isn't so bad,” he said. “I don't know why I didn't try it out sooner.”

  I stepped into my underpants. “You didn't try it out sooner because you were afraid to make a commitment. And in fact, you still haven't made a commitment.”

  “I bought an entire carton of condoms.”

  “That's a commitment to sex, not to a relationship.”

  “It's a start,” Morelli said.

  I glanced over at him. “Maybe.” I pulled a little cotton sundress out of the closet. It was the color of sun-​bleached straw and buttoned in the front like a shirt. I dropped the dress over my head and smoothed over a few wrinkles with my hand.

  “Shit,” Morelli said. “You look great in that dress.”

  I checked out his Levi's. He was hard again. “How did that happen?”

  “You want to learn a new game?” Morelli asked. “It's called Mr. and Mrs. Rover.”

  “News flash,” I said. “I don't iron. I don't eat raw fish. And I don't do dog stuff. You lay a hand on me, and I swear, I'm going for my gun.”

  * * * * *

  MRS. MORELLI opened the door to us and smacked Joe on the side of the head. “Sex fiend. Just like your father, God rest his rotten soul.”

  Morelli grinned down at his mother. “It's a curse.”

  “It wasn't my fault,” I said. “Honestly.”

  “Your Grandma Bella and your Aunt Mary Elizabeth are here,” Mrs. Morelli said. “Watch your language.”

  Grandma Bella! My mouth went dry and black dots danced in front of my eyes. Grandma Bella put the curse on Diane Fripp, and Diane had her period nonstop for three months! I rechecked the buttons on the front of my dress and subtly felt to make sure I'd gotten my underwear back on.

  Grandma Bella and Aunt Mary Elizabeth were in the living room, sitting side by side on the couch. Grandma Bella is a small white-​haired lady dressed in traditional Italian black. She'd come to this country as a young woman, but back then the burg was more Italian than Sicily, so she'd kept her old-​country ways. Mary Elizabeth is Bella's younger sister and is a retired nun. They both had highball glasses in t
heir hands and cigarettes hanging out of their mouths.

  “So,” Grandma Bella said, “the bounty hunter.”

  I sat on the edge of the seat of a wing-​back chair and pressed my knees together. “Nice to see you, Grandma Bella.”

  “I hear you're living with my grandson.”

  “I'm . . . renting a room in his house.”

  “Hah!” she shouted. “Don't make up fibs to me or I'll put the eye on you.”

  I was doomed. I was fucking doomed. Even as I sat there I could feel my period coming on.

  Stephanie Plum 4 - Four To Score

  Stephanie Plum 4 - Four To Score

  Stephanie Plum 4 - Four To Score

  10

  “THERE'S NO SUCH THING as the eye,” Joe said. “Don't try to scare Stephanie.”

  “You don't believe in anything,” Bella said. “And I never see you in church.” She shook her finger at him. “Good thing I pray for you.”

  “Dinner's ready,” Mrs. Morelli said. “Joseph, help your Grandma Bella into the dining room.”

  This was the first time I'd been in Mrs. Morelli's house. I'd been in the garage and the backyard. And of course I'd passed by countless times, always speaking in hushed whispers and never dillydallying for fear Mrs. Morelli would come get me by the ear and accuse me of wearing day-​old underwear or not brushing my teeth. Her husband was known for not sparing the belt on his sons. Mrs. Morelli needed none of that. Mrs. Morelli could nail you to the wall with a single word. “Well,” she would say, and the hapless victim would confess to anything. Everyone but Joe. As a kid Joe had run wild and unchecked.

  The house was more comfortable than I'd expected. It felt like a family house, used to the noise and confusion of children. First Joe and his siblings, and now there were grandchildren. The furniture was slipcovered and clean. The carpet freshly vacuumed. The tabletops polished. There was a small wooden toy chest under one of the front windows and a child's rocker beside the chest.

  The dining room was more formal. The table was set with a lace cloth. The hutch displayed worn heirloom china. Two bottles of wine sat uncorked and breathing at the head of the table. There were white lace curtains on the windows and a traditional, burgundy Oriental rug under the table.

  We all took our seats; and Mary Elizabeth said grace while I eyed the antipasto.

  After grace, Grandma Bella raised her wineglass. “To Stephanie and Joseph. Long life and many bambinos.”

  I glanced over at Joe. “You want to field this one?”

  Joe took some ravioli and sprinkled them with grated cheese. “Only two bambinos. I can't afford a big family on a cop's salary.”

  I cleared my throat and glared at Morelli.

  “Okay, okay,” Morelli said. “No bambinos. Stephanie moved in with me because she needs a place to live while her apartment gets repaired. That's all there is to it.”

  “What do you think, I'm a fool?” Grandma Bella said. “I see what goes on. I know what you do.”

  Morelli helped himself to chicken. “Stephanie and I are just good friends.”

  I went rigid with my fork halfway to my mouth. He'd used those words to describe his relationship with Terry Gilman. Wonderful. Now what was I supposed to believe? That I was on equal footing with Terry? Well, you pushed him into it, stupid. You forced him to tell Bella this wasn't a serious relationship. Well, yeah, I thought, but he could have made me sound a little more important than Terry Gilman!

  Bella's head rolled back, and she put her hands palms down on the table. “Silence!”

  Mary Elizabeth made the sign of the cross.

  Mrs. Morelli and Joe exchanged long-​suffering glances.

  “Now what?” I whispered.

  “Grandma Bella's having a vision,” Joe said. “It goes with having the eye.”

  Bella's head snapped up, and she pointed two fingers at Joe and me. “I see your wedding. I see you dancing. And I see after that you will have three sons, and the line will continue.”

  I leaned toward Joe. “Those things you bought . . . they were good quality, right?”

  “The best money can buy.”

  “I gotta go lay down now,” Bella said. “I always gotta rest after I have a vision.”

  We waited while she left the table and climbed the stairs. The bedroom door clicked closed, and Joe's mother gave an audible sigh of relief.

  “Sometimes she gives me the willies,” Mary Elizabeth said.

  And then we all dug into the meal, avoiding talk about marriage and babies and crazy old Italian women.

  I sipped my coffee and scarfed down a plateful of homemade cookies, keeping one eye on the time. Eddie Kuntz wouldn't show at the bar until nine, but I wanted to be in place earlier than that. My plan was to plant Lula and Sally inside the bar while I did surveillance on the street.

  “It was very nice of you to invite me for dinner,” I told Mrs. Morelli. “Unfortunately, I have to leave early. I have to go to work tonight.”

  “Is this bounty hunter work?” Mary Elizabeth wanted to know. “Are you hunting down a fugitive?”

  “Sort of.”

  “It sounds exciting.”

  “It sounds like a sin against nature,” Grandma Bella said from the hallway, freshly risen from the guest bed. “No kind of work for someone expecting.”

  “Grandma Bella,” I said. “I'm really not expecting.”

  “A lot you know,” she said. “I've been to the other side. I see these things. I got the eye.”

  * * * * *

  “OKAY,” I said to Morelli when we were half a block from the house, “just how accurate is this eye thing?”

  “I don't know. I never paid much attention to it.” He turned onto Roebling and pulled over to the curb. “Where are we going?”

  “I'm going to the Blue Moon Bar. It's the next point of pickup in Maxine's treasure hunt. Take me back to the house, and I'll get my car.”

  Morelli swung out into traffic. “I'll go with you. Wouldn't want anything to happen to my unborn child.”

  “That's not funny!”

  “All right. The truth is there's only crap on television tonight, so I might as well come along.”

  The Blue Moon Bar was down by the State Complex. There was a public parking lot on the next block, and there was on-​street parking in front of the bar. There were small businesses on either side of the bar, but the businesses were closed at this time of the night. The bar had been a disco in the seventies, a sports bar in the eighties, and a year before it had been transformed into a fake micro-​brewery. It was basically one large room with a copper vat in the corner, a bar running the entire length of one side and tables in the middle of the room. Besides serving booze, the Blue Moon Bar sold snack food. French fries, onion rings, nachos and fried mozzarella. On Saturday nights it was packed.

  It was still early for the bar crowd, and Morelli was able to get a spot on the street, two cars down from the door. “Now what?” Morelli asked.

  “Kuntz's supposed to show up at nine. Then we see what happens.”

  “What usually happens?”

  “Nothing.”

  “Gosh, I can't wait.”

  By eight-​thirty Lula and Sally were in the building. Kuntz arrived fifteen minutes later. I left Morelli in the truck with a photo of Maxine, and I went in to be with Kuntz.

  “You look different,” Kuntz said.

  “I had some hair problems.”

  “No, that's not it.”

  “New dress.”

  “No. It's something else. I can't put my finger on it.”

  Thank goodness for that.

  Lula and Sally came over and stood with us at the bar.

  “What's doin',” Sally said.

  “We're wasting more time, that's what's doin',” Kuntz said. “I hate these dumb treasure hunt things.” His eyes held mine for a moment and then fixed on a point over my shoulder. I turned to see what had caught his attention.

  It was Joyce Barnhardt in a very short, very tig
ht black leather skirt and an orange knit tank top.

  “Hello, Stephanie,” Joyce said.

  “Hello, Joyce.”