Fearless Fourteen: A Stephanie Plum Novel

by Janet Evanovich

  He gave me a credit card. “Take the corporate card. Get whatever you need.”

  My eyes went wide. “It’s not that easy! Do you have any idea how hard it is to find the right gown? And then I have to accessorize. Shoes and a purse and jewelry.”

  “Babe,” Ranger said.

  ZOOK WAS WAITING when I rolled to a stop in front of his school. He was with the same odd assortment of friends, and they all applauded when they saw my car.

  He slid onto the passenger seat, dropped his backpack between his legs, and buckled up. “I guess my mom’s still in the slammer,” he said on a sigh.

  “I’m sorry.”

  “I feel sort of stupid that I can’t help her.”

  “Yeah,” I said. “Me, too.”

  My cell phone rang with a number I didn’t recognize on the display.

  “It’s your new best friend, Dom,” he said. “I’m watching you, but you’ll never find me, so don’t bother to look around. Just act like everything is normal. I don’t want to freak the kid.”

  “Okay, what’s up?”

  “Just making sure you’re not taking him back to Morelli’s house. You take him back to Morelli’s house, and I’m gonna have to kill you along with Morelli.”

  “Have you thought about getting help? Maybe seeing a doctor?”

  “I don’t need help. I know what I’m doing. You’re the one who’s gonna need help if you don’t take good care of the kid.”

  And he disconnected.

  This was a family beyond dysfunction. Dom’s mother was probably the sanest of them all, and she was being fed pureed peas.

  I pulled away from the school and hooked a left. Zook turned in his seat and looked out the back window.

  “Who’s the guy following you?” he asked.

  I looked in my rearview mirror. White car right on my bumper. Might be a Taurus. That probably meant it was a rental, since no one actually buys a white Taurus. My first thought was Dom. I stopped for a light and got a glimpse of the driver. White hair. Pasty complexion. Large, framed, black plastic Buddy Holly glasses. Definitely not Dom. It was the stalker. Must have followed me from the hotel garage. Just what I needed, one more nut to add to my collection.

  “Hang on,” I said to Zook. “I’m going to get rid of him.”

  I have a routine that I do in the Burg when I want to lose a tail. It involves a lot of cornering and rocketing down alleys, and it always works. It was especially easy this time, because the stalker was clearly an amateur. I lost him halfway through my drill.

  “Cool,” Zook said. “That was excellent. Do you know that guy?”

  “He’s a Brenda stalker. I don’t know why he attached himself to me.”

  I rolled through the Burg and parked in front of my parents’ house.

  “I have to work tonight, so I’m leaving you with my parents,” I told Zook.

  “What about Morelli?”

  “I thought we’d test-drive this arrangement. Variety can be good, right?”

  My Grandma Mazur had the door open before we even got to the front porch. Grandma was dressed in her favorite lavender slacks, white tennis shoes, and flowered shirt. Her gray hair was freshly set in rows of curls, her nails were painted to match her slacks. She’d been a beauty in her time, but a lot of her had shrunk and sagged. This went unnoticed by Grandma, who seemed to get younger in spirit as her body aged.

  “Who do we have here?” she wanted to know.

  “This is Mario Rizzi, Loretta’s son. Everyone calls him Zook.”

  “Zook,” Grandma said. “That’s a pip of a name. I wish I had a name like that.” She took a closer look at him. “You got a awful lot of holes in you. How do you sleep with all those rings attached to your head? Don’t it bother you when you roll over?”

  “You get used to it,” Zook said.

  “You remind me of someone,” Grandma said. “Stephanie, who does he look like?”

  I gnawed on my lower lip. “Gee, I don’t know.”

  Grandma snapped her fingers. “I know who it is. It’s Morelli! He’s the spitting image of Joseph when he was Zook’s age.”

  “They’re very, very distant cousins,” I said.

  Zook peeked into the living room. “This house has high speed Internet, right?”

  “Sure, we got cable,” Grandma said. “We’re not in the Stone Age here. I blog and everything.”

  “I have to go,” I said to Zook. “Don’t paint anything. Moondog doesn’t stand a chance against Grandma.”

  I left my parents’ house and drove the short distance to Morelli’s house to let Bob out to tinkle. I parked and let myself in through the front door. The house was quiet. No Bob feet galloping to greet me.

  “Bob!” I yelled. “Yoohoo! Want to go out?”

  Nothing. I walked through the dining room to the kitchen. Still no sign of Bob. I looked out the window over the sink and saw Bob sitting in the sun in Morelli’s little backyard. Bob was wearing his collar but no leash. Morelli wasn’t around. I opened the back door, and Bob rushed in, tail wagging, all smiley face.

  I wasn’t nearly so happy as Bob. I had creepy crawlies, plus the willies. I took Bob’s leash off the kitchen counter, snapped it onto Bob’s collar, and walked him straight through the house to the front door, out the door to my car.

  I loaded Bob into the back of the Sentra and I called Morelli.

  “I stopped by to let Bob out to tinkle, and he was sitting in your backyard,” I said. “Did you let him out?”

  “No. You were the last one out of the house.”

  “Bob was sleeping in your bed when I left. And I know your kitchen door was locked, because I remember checking it, but it was unlocked when I got here just now.”

  “Does it look like anything is missing? Any sign of forced entry?”

  “I didn’t hang around long enough to find out. I’ve got Bob in my car, and I’m dropping him at my mom’s. You need to go home and walk through the house, and please don’t do it alone, like a big, stupid, macho cop. Two breakins in a row is too much of a coincidence. Something is going on here.”

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  SIX

  IT HAD TAKEN me longer than I would have thought to get clothes for the dinner. I had Ranger’s credit card, with a limit high enough to buy a house, but I couldn’t spend beyond my own comfort zone. And then there were Ranger’s rules, which he hadn’t articulated but I knew existed. He’d want me in black, and he’d want me to wear something that would allow me to move about unnoticed.

  I’d done a decent job, with the possible exception of the skirt. And lucky for Ranger, I’d run out of time before I got around to accessorizing at Tiffany’s.

  I hiked my skirt up over my knees so I wouldn’t catch my heel in my hem, and I ran through the parking lot to the hotel. I was ten minutes late. I was wearing a white silk camisole under a short black satin jacket and a simple floor-length black skirt with a slit up the front that stopped a couple inches short of slut.

  I barreled through the lobby and was sideswiped by the stalker. He reached out for me, and I slapped his hand away.

  “I have to talk to you,” he said.

  “Go away,” I told him, on the run for the elevator. “I’m late.”

  “It’s important. It’s about Brenda. I had another vision. There was a big pizza . . .”

  I rushed into an open elevator, he tried to follow me, and I gave him a two-handed shove that sent him out of the elevator and onto his ass. The elevator doors closed and I checked my hair and makeup in the shiny gold door trim.

  Ranger and Hal were in the hall when I stepped out. The shift had changed, and Tank was either getting ready to face Lula, or else he was at the airport, heading for South America and points unknown.

  Ranger was wearing a perfectly fitted black tux, black shirt, black-on-black striped silk tie. I’ve seen him in SWAT black fatigues, black T-shirt and jeans, black slacks and jacket, and I’ve seen him naked. He always looks great, but Ranger in a t
ux was a heart-stopper. Almost as good as Ranger naked. Almost, because nothing was better than Ranger naked.

  I returned the credit card, and he pocketed it with a smile. “Nice,” he said, eyes fixed on the slit in the front of my skirt.

  It was one of those moments that if Hal hadn’t been present, we might have torn each other’s clothes off right there in the hall.

  Ranger knocked on the door, and Nancy answered.

  “How long?” Ranger asked.

  “Hard to say. She’s undecided on gowns.”

  “I’m going to knock again in ten minutes, and she’ll go to the dinner in whatever she’s got on.”

  “Jeez,” Nancy said. And she closed the door.

  “Boy, you’re tough,” I told Ranger.

  “It was a desperate, hollow threat.”

  Ten minutes to the second, the door opened, and Brenda flounced out in a very low-cut, skintight, iridescent white gown trimmed in long, fluffy white feathers. The feathers fluttered from her shoulders and the lower half of her skirt. I couldn’t imagine what sort of bird had grown the fabulous feathers, but I suspected there were a lot of them running around bare-skinned.

  “Wow,” I said.

  Brenda wiggled so the feathers would swirl around her. “It’s from the Ginger Rogers collection.”

  No shit.

  She sidled up to Ranger. “I’m not wearing panties. The dress is too tight. I thought you’d want to know.”

  “Eeuw,” I said.

  Brenda looked at me. “You have a problem with that?”

  “Too much information.”

  Hal looked like he’d swallowed his tongue. Nancy took a large bottle of Advil from her purse, tapped out two pills, and popped them into her mouth. Ranger picked feathers off his black tux. The Ginger collection was molting.

  We marched the bird-woman through the lobby to the waiting motorcade. Downy feather remnants drifted like dust motes on air currents in our wake, and a blizzard of feathers whirled across the floor. A handful of fans and a few members of the press took pictures, and Brenda posed and smiled and flapped around.

  I felt heavy breathing on the back of my neck and turned to see the stalker hovering in my personal space.

  “You’re breathing on me,” I said to him.

  “I thought if I got close enough I might be able to send you a mental message. It was an experiment.”

  “It failed. Go away.”

  “You don’t understand. It’s critical that I talk to you.”

  “No, you don’t understand. It’s critical that you go away, because if you keep bothering me, that Latino guy in the tux is going to throw you out a third-story window.”

  Ranger looked over at me, and the stalker backed up into a luggage cart.

  Brenda moved toward the limo, and we all climbed in after her. Nancy and I sat in the seat facing backwards, and that left the seat next to Brenda for Ranger. He picked a feather out of his mouth and looked across at me and smiled. I pressed my knees together, but no matter what I did with my legs, from where he sat there was a direct line of sight up my skirt.

  RANGER WALKED ME to my car in the parking lot. It was a little after midnight and Brenda was in her room, with Hal standing guard.

  “That had to be the longest night in the history of the world,” Ranger said. “I was captured by Colombian rebels and tortured for three days, and it was better than that dinner.” He brushed feathers off his sleeve. “I don’t know whether to have this cleaned or just throw it away.”

  “You look like you wrestled a big chicken.”

  He looked at my jacket and skirt. “Why aren’t you covered with feathers?”

  “I stayed away from Brenda.”

  “I didn’t have that luxury,” Ranger said.

  “Yeah, I noticed. She was all over you.”

  He took his jacket off in an effort to distance himself from the feathers, but he had feathers stuck to his shirt. “I don’t usually have that problem. Most women are afraid of me.”

  “Maybe she’s not smart enough to be afraid of you.”

  “More likely, she knows I’m no match for her,” Ranger said.

  RANGER HAD OFFERED the use of his bed, but I didn’t think that was a good idea. I’d checked on Zook, and he was with my parents, sleeping in my old bedroom. I had my own apartment, but that held little appeal tonight. Truth is, I missed Morelli. I cruised by his house and the porch light was on, so I parked and went to the door. Locked. I tried my key. Wouldn’t work. He’d changed the locks. That was a relief. I rang the bell and waited. I heard the dog feet first, clattering down the wood stairs. Moments later, Morelli opened the door. He was in socks and jeans and a T-shirt. His eyes were soft and sleepy and his hair was more unruly than usual.

  “I was hoping you’d come back tonight,” he said. “I tried to wait up, but I fell asleep halfway through Letterman.”

  He pulled me into the foyer and kissed me. “Did they feed you at the dinner? Do you need something to eat?”

  “I’m starving.”

  “Me, too. I want French toast.”

  Morelli got the fry pan out and started it heating while I whipped eggs and soaked the bread. We sat at his kitchen table, and between the three of us, we went through almost a loaf of bread and a bottle of fake maple syrup.

  I pushed back in my chair. “I see you’ve had your locks changed.”

  “Probably I should have done it sooner. I never bothered when I moved into the house. For all I know, Rose could have given keys out to half the Burg.”

  “So what was the deal with Bob in the backyard today?”

  “I don’t know,” Morelli said, “but I’m not happy. I don’t like people breaking into my house, and I especially don’t like them messing with my dog. I went all through the house, and I couldn’t see where anything was taken. It occurred to me that someone might have been dropping off rather than picking up, so I had a crew go through looking for bombs, drugs, and bugs. Nothing was found.”

  “I wish I could tell you more about the guy last night, but he caught me by surprise, and he was moving fast.”

  “Do you remember hearing a car take off?”

  “No. My heart was beating so hard all I could hear was my own blood pressure. What’s happening with Loretta and Zook?”

  “I thought it was best to leave Zook with your parents. Loretta is still in jail.”

  “Have you had a chance to talk to her about the garage event?”

  “No. Too many people listening. No privacy in jail. I’ll wait until she’s out.”

  Okay, I knew I shouldn’t be concerned. To begin with, Morelli had way too much testosterone as a kid, but he wasn’t really a bad person. And besides that, he’s an amazing guy now. He’s smart and responsible and honorable and loving. And it wouldn’t matter if he had a son. It would feel weird, but it wouldn’t matter. Having thought through all this, I was still a little freaked out.

  “So what’s your take on it?” I asked him, morbid curiosity winning out over trust and sensitivity. “Do you think it’s possible that you’re Zook’s father?”

  “I guess anything is possible, considering my hit-and-run lifestyle back then,” Morelli said, “but I can’t see me doing it with Loretta. And I think Loretta would have come to me for help by now. Besides, I always used condoms. Even in high school.”

  “You didn’t with me.”

  Morelli grinned. “You were different.”

  “We were lucky I didn’t get pregnant.”

  “Maybe,” Morelli said. “Maybe not. If you’d gotten pregnant, we’d be married now. It would all have been much more simple.”

  MORELLI WAS GONE when I woke up. Bob was in bed with me, and a note was attached to his collar.

  FEED BOB AND WALK HIM AND REMEMBER TO TAKE A

  BLUE PLASTIC BAG. MR. GORVICH (THE GROUCH

  NEXT DOOR) IS COMPLAINING. LOVE YOU, JOE.

  PS—MAKE SURE ZOOK GETS TO SCHOOL.

  PPS—THERE’S A NEW HOUSE KEY FOR Y
OU ON THE KITCHEN TABLE.

  I stumbled into the bathroom, took a shower, and dressed for the day as a Rangeman employee. I dragged Bob out of bed, down to the kitchen, and fed him. Then I dragged him outside to go for a walk. I ignored Morelli’s instructions and let Bob poop to his heart’s content on everyone’s lawns. I know it was irresponsible of me, but I wasn’t up to bagging poop first thing in the morning.

  I dropped my new house key into my purse and drove the short distance to my parents’ house.

  My mother’s house always smells wonderful. Apple pie, roast turkey with stuffing, chocolate chip cookies, marinara sauce. Never air freshener. Air freshener was for sissies and slackards. My mother’s house announced the day’s menu. This morning, it was bacon and coffee and home fries with onion and green pepper.

  Everyone was at the kitchen table when I walked in. My mother was manning the stove, frying the potatoes. My grandmother was at the table with Zook. Zook was dressed for school in his usual Gothic black getup. Grandma was a carbon copy, except for the piercings. Black jeans, black boots, black T-shirt with warrior written in gold-and-red flames across her chest. Big chunky chain belt and a wooden cross on a chain around her neck. She looked like the Grandma from Hell.

  “Nice outfit,” I said to her. “What’s the occasion?”

  “I’m going online as soon as I’m done with breakfast,” she said. “I’m gonna lay waste to the griefer.”

  I looked over at my mother and she made a gesture like she was going to hang herself.

  “What’s a griefer?” I asked. I’d heard Zook use the term, but I didn’t actually know what it meant. I also knew Moondog was a griefer, but I didn’t know what a Moondog was, either.

  “A griefer’s a snert,” Grandma said. “A cheese player. A twink.”

  I nodded. “That makes it all clear.”

  “A cyberbully,” Zook said. “I got your grandmother playing Minionfire last night, and Moondog terminated your grandma’s PC. That’s a player character. Had him take a dirt nap. Man, your grandma was really pissed.”

  My mother clanked the fry pan against the burner, and we all jumped.