Between the Plums

by Janet Evanovich

  “You’ve got a beginner’s-guide-to-sex book. And a video that I’ve never actually seen but Diesel thought looked hot. And then there are some oils. Directions are included. Assorted condoms. And the salesclerk threw in a vibrating penis as a bonus.”

  Jeanine pulled the penis out of the bag. “Eeeuuw.”

  I agreed. It wasn’t the most attractive penis I’d ever seen. But then maybe it wasn’t a fair comparison because lately I’d seen some top-of-the-line equipment.

  “It was free,” I said by way of apology.

  Jeanine paged through the book. “This looks helpful. I always wanted to buy a book like this but could never get up the nerve.”

  “I thought you could read the book, and then if you have questions you can call me, and I’ll try to answer them.”

  “Maybe I should start with the movie,” she said. “Do you want to watch it with me?”

  “Think I’ll pass. My experience with these movies is that they’re made for men and mostly show a lot of boob.”

  “That would be disappointing,” Jeanine said. “I can see that in the locker room at the gym.” She peeled a sticky strip off the front cover and gasped. “Holy cow.”

  I looked over her shoulder. “Double holy cow.”

  “It’s a man,” Jeanine said. “And he’s naked. I haven’t seen a lot of men, so I’m no expert, but I didn’t think they came this big.”

  I took a closer look. “They must have used Photoshop. This is a horse wanger.”

  “It says on the cover that it’s all real and nothing’s been retouched.”

  I took my jacket off. “I guess I could spare a few minutes to make sure everything’s authentic. Wouldn’t want you getting wrong information. Go ahead and pop that bad boy into the DVD player.”

  “It’s eleven o’clock,” Jeanine said. “Almost lunchtime. Maybe we need a glass of wine to get through this.”

  I agreed. This had all the earmarks of a movie that required booze.

  Twenty minutes later, we were sipping wine and leaning forward, eyes glued to the screen.

  “This is a car crash,” I said. “One of the worst movies ever made. And I can’t tear myself away from it.”

  “Yeah,” Jeanine said. “I might have to watch it again just to make sure I’ve got it all straight.”

  The doorbell rang, and we both jumped.

  Jeanine squeezed her eyes shut. “Please God, don’t let it be my mother.”

  “Does your mother live in the Burg?”

  Jeanine hit the pause button. “She lives in Milwaukee.”

  “So chances are good it’s not your mother.”

  “It was a gut reaction.”

  Jeanine opened the door, and Grandma leaned to the side to see around Jeanine. She spotted me on the couch and gave a little finger wave.

  “I knew that was your car out front,” Grandma said. “I’m on my way to the funeral home now that my lips have deflated enough so I can talk. Elaine Gracey is being laid out for a special noon viewing. Your father’s off to the lodge with the car, so I had to walk and I’m about froze.” She gaped at the television screen where Big Chief and Vanessa Dickbender were frozen in full rut. “I bet you’re watching cable,” Grandma said. “These reality shows just keep getting better and better. I wouldn’t mind sitting down to watch some. Just until I get warmed up. Are you drinking wine? A glass of wine would be real nice.”

  I heard a car door slam outside, and moments later Jeanine’s bell rang again. Jeanine opened the door, and Lula looked in at us.

  “I was driving by on my way back from church, and I saw the car and I thought I saw Grandma come in here,” Lula said. “Are you guys having a party? Dang, whose hairy ass is that on your television screen?”

  “Big Chief,” Jeanine said.

  “He’s the best,” Lula said, taking her coat off, pushing in next to Grandma on the couch. “Are we having wine?”

  Jeanine brought two more glasses and the bottle, and I hit the PLAY button.

  “Now see this here,” Lula said, watching Dickbender work over Big Chief. “I’ve done this lots of times, and she’s doing it all wrong.”

  “Lula was a professional,” Grandma told Jeanine. “She was the best on her corner.”

  “Darn right,” Lula said. “I knew what I was doing.”

  Jeanine filled Lula’s glass with wine. “Maybe you could give me some pointers.”

  “Sure,” Lula said. “I’m retired now, so I can share my secrets to being a successful ’ho. The thing is, you gotta get a good rhythm going. My signature move was to do it to ‘Jingle Bells.’ Everybody loves ‘Jingle Bells.’ ” Lula beat out the rhythm on the coffee table. “Jingle bells. Jingle bells. Jingle all the way . . . unh!”

  “Boy,” Jeanine said, “this is just what I need to know.”

  “Yep,” Lula said, “you just keep singing ‘Jingle Bells,’ and before you know it you can collect your fifteen dollars and leave.”

  “I could do that,” Grandma said. “I can sing ‘Jingle Bells,’ and I could use an extra fifteen dollars.”

  Vanessa Dickbender let out a shriek, and we all sucked in some air.

  “What was that?” Jeanine wanted to know. “What happened?”

  “That might have been a orgasm,” Lula said.

  “Yikes,” Jeanine said. “It sounded painful.”

  Lula sat back. “Yeah, it was probably fake, but I guess it was supposed to be a big one.”

  Jeanine poured herself another glass of wine.

  “I think he’s getting to the end,” Lula said. “I can tell on account of all the veins have popped out in Big Chief’s face, and he looks like he’s gonna have a heart attack. How long’s he been doing this anyway?”

  “It’s been going on for about forty minutes now,” I told her.

  “Nobody got staying power like Big Chief,” Lula said. “He did it in the back of a car one time for ninety minutes. The film is a classic. And I hear they had to hook him up to one of them IV fluid bags when he was done.”

  “This is kind of scary,” Jeanine said. “Maybe I should learn CPR.”

  “It won’t be scary,” I said to Jeanine. “You’ll be fine. Just keep singing ‘Jingle Bells.’ ”

  It was early afternoon when I dropped Grandma off at my parents’ house.

  “Sorry you missed the viewing,” I told her.

  “That’s okay,” she said. “It’s not every day I get to see a real good educational film. And I’ll get another crack at Elaine tonight.”

  I watched to make sure Grandma got inside, and then I took off. I drove two blocks, and my cell phone rang.

  “I’m right behind you,” Diesel said. “Pull over and park. I want to talk to you.”

  I parked at the curb and got out of my car. Diesel did the same. He was driving a shiny black Corvette that was in direct contrast to all the other salt-and-grime-encrusted cars on the road.

  “Nice car,” I said. “Clean.”

  “How’d it go with Betty Beaner?”

  “Turns out Bernie snores.”

  “And?”

  “Betty can’t sleep. She wants her own room, so she can sleep.”

  “That’s it?”

  “She wants a television in the room. And she wants better sex.”

  “Honey, we all want better sex.”

  I raised an eyebrow.

  “What?” Diesel said.

  “Someone needs to talk to Bernie.”

  “Not me.”

  “I thought you were the big sex hotshot.”

  “I do okay, but I’m not giving Bernie a birds and bees talk. Guys don’t do that. It’s . . . weird.”

  “Yes, but you’re an Unmentionable guy.”

  Diesel had his thumbs hooked into his jeans pockets, and his face set on don’t mess with me.

  “Fine,” I said to him. “Have it your way. Don’t talk to poor Bernie. Go shut him down.”

  “I don’t believe this,” Diesel said. “It just gets worse and worse. B
ad enough I have to play cupid to a butcher, button maker, and veterinarian . . . now I have to be sex therapist for a guy who gives people a rash.”

  “It could be fun. Male bonding and all that. And while we’re on the subject of sex instruction, I delivered the bag to Jeanine and watched the movie with her.”

  This got a grin out of Diesel. “Did you like it?”

  “It was horrible, but we watched it twice.”

  Diesel laughed out loud.

  “It’s the ultimate chick flick. When Dickbender screamed at the end Jeanine turned white and had a third glass of wine. How’s the Bernie hunt going?”

  “It’s not. I can’t find him,” Diesel said. “I’m getting no vibes at all. Does his wife know how to get in touch with him?”

  “No. I left her my card, and she said she’d call if he made contact. How about Annie? Anything on her?”

  “Can’t find her either,” Diesel said. “It’s like the two of them have gone to the moon.”

  “They can’t actually do that, can they?”

  “Honey, we’re a little freaky . . . we’re not NASA.”

  I was hit by a gust of wind, and I hunkered down into my jacket, my breath making frost clouds in front of me. Diesel pulled me close and snuggled me into him, and I instantly felt warm. The heat burned in my chest, curled through my stomach, and headed south.

  My voice rose an octave. “What are you doing?”

  “I’m warming you,” Diesel said.

  “I don’t need to be that warm.”

  “Hey, I’m just sharing body heat. I can’t help it if it gets you all bothered.”

  “I’m not all bothered.”

  Diesel smiled down at me.

  “Oh crap!” I said, looking up at him. “You’ve got dimples.”

  “That isn’t all I’ve got.”

  I jumped away. “I’m leaving. I’m going to check on Charlene Klinger.”

  9

  Charlene was in her little front yard, walking Blackie around in circles, trying to get him to tinkle.

  “Maybe he needs a fire hydrant or a tree,” I said.

  “That’s the problem,” Charlene said. “He can’t put any weight on his front leg, so he falls over if he lifts his back leg.”

  “How did dinner go last night?”

  “Hard to tell. Junior spilled his milk as soon as we sat down to the table, and it made a flood, and we all got dripped on. And when we were trying to mop up the milk, Blackie got the pot roast and ran away with it. So we had peanut butter and jelly for dinner. And while we were eating our sandwiches, Fluffy got loose and ate Gary’s shoelaces and left jelly beans under the table.

  “I had gotten a movie for when the kids went to bed, but Gary was sort of soaked with milk, so he left early. He looked like he was thinking about kissing me good night at the door, but the kids were all standing there watching, so he shook my hand and left.”

  “Wow.”

  “Yeah, it was a night to remember. Maybe we should go to plan B and find me a housewife.”

  “But he must like you if he was thinking about kissing you when he left.”

  “I guess.”

  “Do you like him?”

  “Sure. What’s not to like? He’s nice to the kids and the animals. And he’s even nice to me. And he’s cute and cuddly. And he seems very stable. I just can’t imagine anyone wanting to take on the chaos.”

  I was used to having dinner with a kid who thought she was a horse, a grandmother who set the tablecloth on fire on a regular basis, and a future brother-in-law who fainted and farted at the mention of marriage. I didn’t see where Charlene had more than the normal amount of chaos.

  Ralph had been standing in the doorway, taking it all in. “Maybe we should set the cat on fire again,” he said. “Just a little.”

  I told Charlene to hold off on the cat, and I got back into my car and searched through Gary Martin’s file for his phone number. I called his home phone and got his machine. I tried his cell and got his message service. The message service said he was in emergency surgery, so I headed for his clinic. Twenty minutes later, I pulled into his lot, looked in my rearview mirror, and saw Diesel pull in behind me.

  I got out of the Escape and went back to Diesel. “How do you always know where to find me?”

  Diesel shrugged. “I can tune in to you.”

  “You have my car bugged, don’t you?”

  Again, the smile with the dimples. Most guys look cute with dimples. Diesel got dimples, and the temperature went up ten degrees.

  “Don’t you dare dimple me,” I said to him.

  “Can’t help it. It just happens. Do you have Annie’s file with you? I need to see it.”

  I got the file from my car and slid onto the passenger seat, next to Diesel. “Not a lot in this. Just the usual bond agreement and personal information.”

  Diesel scanned the paperwork. “Annie’s lawyer secured her bond from Vinnie. Standard procedure. The lawyer is one of us. She went back to her house in Hamilton Township, and two days later Bernie started harassing her. I was called in, and we moved her out to the safe house. I find it hard to believe someone discovered the safe house. I think Annie must have left voluntarily.”

  “Have you been back to her house? Maybe she just wanted to go home.”

  “I sent Flash. He said the house was locked and dark, but I think we should see for ourselves.”

  I shelved Gary Martin, rammed myself back into the Escape, and followed Diesel across town to Annie’s house. It was exactly what I would have expected. A tidy cape with two front dormers. White siding and black shutters. Very traditional. White picket fence around the small yard. A red heart on the mailbox. We parked in the driveway and walked to the front door.

  “There’s bad energy here,” Diesel said.

  I took a step back. I didn’t want to walk in and find Annie dead on her living room floor. “How bad are we talking about? Do I want to wait out here?”

  “Not that bad. Disrupted would be a better word.”

  Diesel opened the door, and we walked into the dark, silent foyer. He flipped a light on, we worked our way through the house, and it was clear that the house had been tossed. Couch cushions were scattered, drawers were left open, beds were torn apart, toilet-tank tops were on the floor. No stone unturned. We checked all the closets, the basement, and the crawl spaces. No bodies found.

  We left Annie’s house exactly as we found it, Diesel locked the door behind us, and we angled ourselves into his ’vette to talk.

  “Someone was looking for something,” I said to Diesel.

  “Yeah, and there might have been a struggle in the foyer. The vase was knocked off the sideboard onto the floor.”

  “The obvious person is Bernie, but I don’t know why he’d have reason to search the house. Do you suppose the police did this, searching for the supposedly stolen property?”

  “No,” Diesel said. “This doesn’t feel like a police search. And I doubt the police would go to this trouble for a charge I can almost guarantee will be dismissed. Annie’s wanted for armed robbery and assault with a deadly weapon. A guy named Stanley Cramp claims Annie walked into his pawnshop, robbed him, and shot him in the foot. No weapon was found, but two witnesses can place Annie at the scene. Neither of them saw the robbery or assault happen.”

  Diesel was turned toward me in the small car. His arm was resting on my seat back, and he was absentmindedly stroking my neck with his fingertip while he was talking. It was soothing and disturbingly erotic, all at the same time, and I was working hard to pay attention to the conversation and not to the warm fingertip.

  “Why was Annie in a pawnshop?” I asked Diesel.

  “Annie said she went into the pawnshop on a whim. She said she saw a necklace in the window that intrigued her. The two witnesses were in the shop when she went in. The witnesses left. Annie left shortly after that without the necklace. And minutes later the call went in to 911.”

  “How was she identified?”<
br />
  “She’d parked in front of the shop, and Stanley Cramp took her plate down.”

  “What is she accused of taking?” I asked Diesel.

  “The necklace. Nothing else.”

  “Have you talked to Stanley Cramp?”

  “Not yet, but I think it’s time. I’d like you to do it. See if you can charm something out of him. If that doesn’t work, feel free to shoot him in the other foot.”

  “That would be tough,” I told him, “since I haven’t got a gun.”

  Diesel reached under his seat and pulled out a Glock.

  “I’m not going to take that!” I said.

  “Why not?”

  “I hate guns.”

  “You can’t hate guns. You’re a bounty hunter.”

  “Yes, but I almost never shoot people. Bounty hunters only shoot people on television.”

  Diesel raised an eyebrow.

  “Okay, so maybe I shot a couple guys, but it wasn’t my fault.”

  “Just take the friggin’ gun,” Diesel said. “Stanley Cramp isn’t a nice person.”

  “Where am I going to find this guy?”

  “He lives in an apartment over the pawnshop, but at this time of day he’ll be working. The pawnshop is a one-man operation, open seven days a week.”

  I got out of Diesel’s ’vette and into my Escape. I drove into the center of the city and took the side street that led to the pawnshop. I parked two doors down on the opposite side of the street. I left my car, crossed the street, and glanced at Diesel parked one store down. I rang the bell next to the front door and got buzzed in. High security.

  Stanley Cramp looked like life had pretty much been sucked out of him. He was about five foot nine and scrawny. Mid-fifties with thinning oily black hair that was badly in need of a cut. His clothes were a size too large. His teeth were tobacco-stained. He had bloodhound bags under his eyes and skin the color and texture of wet cement. He looked like he’d be better placed in a body bag than standing behind the counter in a pawnshop.

  I approached the counter and sent Cramp a flirty smile, and Cramp turned to see if someone was standing behind him.

  “I hope you don’t mind,” I said to him. “I was freezing out there, and your shop looked cozy and warm. And I saw you in here all by yourself.”