Twelve Sharp

by Janet Evanovich

'We got choices to make,' Lula said when I put my phone away. 'We could cruise for shoes, or we could embarrass ourselves some more by pretending to be bounty hunters.'

  'I think we're on a roll. I say we keep pretending to be bounty hunters.'

  'I want to see the woman who stabbed her husband in the ass,' Lula said. 'Let's do her next.'

  'She's in the Burg,' I said to Lula, pulling the file on Mary Lee Truk. 'I'll call my mom and see if she knows her.'

  The Burg is a small chunk of Trenton just outside the center of the city. It's a working-class neighborhood that can't keep a secret and takes care of its own. My parents live in the Burg. My best friend Mary Lou Molnar lives in the Burg. Morelli's family is in the Burg. Morelli and I have moved out… but we haven't moved far.

  Grandma Mazur answered the phone. 'Of course I know Mary Lee Truk,' Grandma said. 'I play bingo with her mother.'

  'Does Mary Lee get along with her husband?'

  'Not since she stabbed him in the behind. I understand he got real cranky about that and packed up and left.'

  'Why did she stab him?'

  'The story is that she asked him if he thought she was putting on weight, and he said yes, and then she stabbed him. It was one of them spontaneous acts. Mary Lee's going through the change, and everyone knows you don't just up and tell a menopausal woman she's getting fat. I swear some men have no brains at all.

  'And by the way, I forgot to tell you before, but some woman came to the house this afternoon, looking for you. I said I didn't know exactly where you were, and she said that was okay, that she'd find you with or without anyone's help. And she was dressed like that hottie you work with, Ranger.'

  Lula pulled the Firebird into the curb, and we sat looking at the Truk house.

  'I don't have a good feeling about this,' Lula said.

  'You were the one who wanted to do the butt stabber.'

  'That was before I knew the menopause story. What if she has a hot flash while we're there and goes loony tunes?'

  'Just don't turn your back on her. And don't comment on her weight.'

  I got out of the car and walked to the door, and Lula followed. I was about to knock when the door was wrenched open, and Mary Lee glared out at me. She had short brown hair that looked like it had been styled with an electric mixer. She was fifty-two according to her bond papers. She was a couple inches shorter than me and a couple pounds heavier.

  'What?' she asked.

  'Yow!' Lula whispered to me.

  I introduced myself and gave Mary Lee the routine about getting rebonded.

  'I can't go with you,' she wailed. 'Look at my hair! I used to be so good with hair, but lately I can't do anything with this mess.'

  'I use conditioner on mine,' Lula said. 'Have you tried that?'

  We both looked at Lula's hair. It was orangutan orange and the texture of boar bristles.

  'How about a hat?' I said.

  'A hat,' Mary Lee sobbed. 'My hair's so bad I need a hat!' Mary Lee's face got red, and she stripped her T-shirt off. 'God, it's hot in here.' She was in her bra, sweating, and fanning herself with her shirt.

  Lula put her finger to the side of her head and made circles. The international sign for hats in her belfry.

  'I saw that!' Mary Lee said, eyes narrowed. 'You think I'm nuts. You think the big fatso is nuts!'

  'Lady, you just took your shirt off,' Lula said. 'I used to do that but I made money on it.'

  Mary Lee looked at the shirt in her hand. 'I don't remember taking it off.'

  Mary Lee's face wasn't red anymore, and she'd stopped sweating, so I took the shirt and tugged it over her head. 'I can help you,' I said. 'I know just what you need.' I rummaged through my shoulder bag, found my baseball cap, and clapped it onto her head and tucked most of her hair in. I did a fast walk through the house to make sure it was locked up and Mary Lee hadn't accidentally put the cat in the oven, and then Lula and I steered Mary Lee out of the house and into the car.

  Five minutes later I had Mary Lee standing in front of the doughnut case at the bakery.

  'Okay, take a deep breath and look over all the doughnuts,' I told her. 'Look at the strawberry doughnut with the rainbow sprinkles. Doesn't it make you happy?'

  Mary Lee smiled at the doughnut. 'Pretty.'

  'And the meringue that looks like a fluffy cloud. And the birthday cakes with the pink and yellow roses. And the chocolate cream pie.'

  'This is very relaxing,' Mary Lee said.

  I called Connie's cell phone. 'Are you still at the courthouse?' I asked her. 'I'm bringing Mary Lee Truk in and we're going to want to bond her out right away before she gets another hot flash.'

  'I hate to break into the moment,' Marjorie Lando said. 'But what'll it be?'

  'A dozen assorted doughnuts to go,' I told her.

  Lula dropped me off in front of the bonds office. 'That wasn't so bad,' she said. 'We helped two lost souls today. That's real good for my horizon expanding and positive karma stockpile. Usually we just piss people off, and that don't do me any good in the karma department. And it's only five o'clock. I got plenty of time to get to rehearsal. See you tomorrow.'

  'See you tomorrow,' I said, and I waved Lula away and beeped my car open. I was driving a black and white Mini Cooper that I'd gotten from Honest Dan the Used Car Man. The interior space was a little cozy for carting bad guys off to jail, but the car had been the right price, and it was fun to drive. I slid behind the wheel and jumped when someone knocked on the driver's side window.

  It was the woman dressed in black. She was young, maybe early twenties. And she was pretty in a normal kind of way. She had thick wavy brown hair that fell to her shoulders, blue eyes under long lashes, and full lips that looked like they could easily go pouty. She was maybe five feet five inches and had a nice shape with round breasts stretching the fabric of her black T-shirt.

  I started the car and rolled the window down. 'You wanted to speak to me?' I asked the woman.

  The woman looked in the window. 'You're Stephanie Plum?'

  'Yes. And you would be…'

  'My name is Carmen Manoso,' she said. 'I'm Ranger's wife.'

  My stomach went into a free fall. If I'd been hit in the head with a baseball bat, I wouldn't have been more stunned. I suppose I had to assume there were women in Ranger's life, but I'd never seen any women. There'd never been mention of any women. And there had never been evidence of any women. Much less a wife! Ranger was a very sexy guy, but he was also a lone wolf.

  'I understand you're sleeping with my husband,' the woman said.

  'You're misinformed,' I told her. Okay, once! But it was a while ago, and she'd put the accusation into present tense.

  'You were living with him.'

  'I used his apartment as a safe house.'

  'I don't believe you,' the woman said. 'Where is he now? Is he in your apartment? I've been to his office, and he isn't there.'

  Keep calm I told myself. This doesn't feel right. This woman could be anyone.

  'I'm going to need some identification,' I said to the woman.

  She reached into a pocket on her black cargo pants and pulled out a slim credit card holder. It contained a Virginia driver's license issued to Carmen Manoso, plus two credit cards also issued to Carmen Manoso.

  So this told me she was Carmen Manoso. It still didn't confirm that she was Ranger's wife.

  'How long have you been married to Ranger?' I asked her.

  'Almost six months. I knew he had an office here, and that he spent a lot of time here. I never had reason to think he was cheating. I trusted him. Until now.'

  'And you don't trust him now, why?'

  'He moved out. Like a thief in the night. Cleaned out our bank account and stripped the office of all the files and computer equipment.'

  'When did this happen?'

  'Last week. One minute he was in bed with me, telling me he was returning to Trenton in the morning. And then poof! Gone. His cell phone is no longer in service.'

  I
punched Ranger's number into my cell phone and got his message service. 'Call me,' I said.

  Carmen's eyes narrowed. 'I knew you'd have a number for him. Bitch!' And she reached behind her and drew a gun.

  I stomped on the gas and the Mini sprang off the curb and jumped forward. Carmen fired off two shots. One pinged off my rear fender.

  Connie was right. Carmen Manoso was crazy. And maybe I was crazy too, because I was lost in a rush of insane emotions. Not the least of which was jealousy. Yikes, who would have thought that was hiding in the closet? Stephanie Plum, jealous of a woman claiming to be Ranger's wife. And the jealousy was mixed with anger and hurt feelings that this was kept from me. That Ranger had misrepresented himself. That this man I respected for his integrity and strength of character might be not at all what he'd seemed.

  Okay, take a deep breath, I told myself. Don't go all hormonal. Get the facts straight. Have a mental doughnut.

  I live in a no-frills, three-story apartment building that is for the most part inhabited by the newly wed and the nearly dead… except for me. I live on the second floor with my apartment windows looking out on the parking lot. Handy for those times when I need to keep watch over my car because some pissed-off woman might be inclined to take an axe to it. The building is in a convenient location, a couple miles from the bond office and more important, just a couple miles from my mom's washer and dryer.

  I rolled into the lot, parked, and got out to look at the damage. It wasn't bad, all things considered. A line slicing through the paint. A ding on point of impact. Considering that I once had a car smashed by a garbage truck, this hardly counted. I locked up and went into the building.

  Mrs Bestler was in the elevator. She was in her eighties, and her own personal elevator didn't quite go all the way to the top anymore. 'Going up!' she sang out to me.

  'Second floor,' I said.

  She pushed the button and smiled at me. 'Second floor, ladies lingerie and better dresses. Watch your step, dear.'

  I thanked Mrs Bestler for the ride and got out of the elevator. I walked the length of my hall and let myself into my apartment. One bedroom, one bath, kitchen, dining room, and living room. All beige, none of my choosing, redecorated by the building owner after an apartment fire. Beige walls, beige carpet, beige curtains. Total seventies orange and brown bathroom. My luck the fire didn't destroy the bathroom.

  My hamster Rex lives in a glass cage on my beige kitchen counter. He poked his head out of his soup can when I came in. His whiskers twitched and his black button eyes were wide in expectation. I said hello and dropped a couple Cheerios into his food dish. He rushed out, shoved the Cheerios into his mouth and disappeared into his soup can. My kind of roommate.

  I called Morelli and told him I'd be over in an hour. I took a shower, did the hair and makeup thing, put on some pretty undies, clean jeans, and a sexy little knit shirt and checked my messages. No Ranger.

  This was a dilemma. I didn't know what to do about Carmen. My instincts told me she wasn't what she said. My curiosity had me in a state. And my hormones still had me a teensy bit jealous. Probably I wouldn't be bothered so much if she wasn't so pretty. Truth is, she looked like a woman Ranger might find attractive, except for the crazy part. I couldn't see Ranger with an irrational woman. Ranger was organized. Ranger didn't act on impulse.

  Anyway, here she was, and I seemed to be in the middle of something. Whether or not she was Ranger's wife wasn't my most pressing problem. The fact that Carmen felt comfortable shooting at me put her beyond the nuisance category and into the yikes category. I was supposed to call Tank if I needed help, but I wasn't ready to push that button just yet. If Tank thought I was in danger he'd assign someone to follow me around whether I wanted it or not. My experience with Ranger's men is that this isn't desirable. They're big and hard to hide. And they're overly protective, since the fear is that Ranger might shoot them in the foot should they let anything bad happen to me.

  I stuffed a change of clothes into my shoulder bag and locked my apartment up behind me. I headed out and did a fast check on my car before getting in. No spray-painted slogans suggesting I was a slut. Windows hadn't been broken by a sledgehammer. No ticking noises coming from the undercarriage. Looked to me like Carmen hadn't yet discovered my address.

  I drove the short distance to Morelli's house and parked at the curb. Morelli lived in a pleasant neighborhood with narrow streets, small attached houses, and hard-working people. I spent enough time here that knocking wasn't a required formality. I let myself in and heard Bob galloping at me from the kitchen. He hurled himself against me, tail wagging, eyes bright. Bob was in theory a golden retriever, but his gene pool was questionable. He was big and orange and fluffy. He loved everybody, and he ate everything… including table legs and upholstered chairs. I gave him a hug, he realized I didn't have any bakery bags, and he trotted away.

  Morelli didn't gallop at me, but he didn't drag his feet either. He met me halfway to the kitchen, pressed me into the wall, plastered himself against me and kissed me. Morelli was off-duty in jeans and a T-shirt and bare feet. And the only weapon Morelli was currently carrying was pressed into my stomach.

  'Bob really missed you,' he said, his mouth moving down my neck.

  'Bob?'

  'Yeah.' He hooked a finger into my shirt and slid it off my shoulder so his mouth could kiss more of me. 'Bob's been nuts without you.'

  'Sounds serious.'

  'Fucking pathetic.'

  His hands slid down to my waist, under my shirt, and in an instant the shirt was off.

  'You aren't hungry, are you?' he asked.

  'Not for what's in the kitchen.'

  I was dressed in one of Morelli's shirts and a pair of his sweatpants. I was beside Morelli, on his couch, and we were eating cold pizza and watching a ball game.

  'I had an interesting experience today,' I told him. 'A woman introduced herself to me as Ranger's wife. And then she pulled a gun on me and got two rounds off at my car.'

  'Am I supposed to be surprised at this?'

  There's a certain amount of professional respect between Morelli and Ranger. And from time to time they've worked together for the common good. Beyond that, Morelli thinks Ranger's a head case.

  'Do you know anything about this woman?' I asked Morelli.

  'No.'

  'Ranger left for Miami today. Do you know anything about that?'

  'No.'

  'Do you know anything about anything?'

  'I know a few things,' Morelli said. Tell me more about Ranger's wife.'

  'Her name is Carmen. I saw a Virginia driver's license issued to Carmen Manoso. And two credit cards. She's pretty. Sort of curly brown hair, blue eyes, about five-foot-five, Caucasian, nice shape. Fake boobs.'

  'How do you know the boobs are fake?'

  'Actually, I'm just hoping they're fake. And she was dressed in black SWAT clothes.'

  'That's cute,' Morelli said. 'Mr and Mrs Ranger clothes.'

  'She said one minute they were in bed and then poof, he was gone. Cleaned out the bank account and emptied the office. And the cell number she has for him is out of service.'

  'And your cell number for him?'

  'It's in service, but he's not answering.'

  'It doesn't work for me,' Morelli said. 'I can't see Ranger tying himself up in a marriage.'

  I happened to know that Ranger had been married for about twenty minutes when he was in the military. He has a ten-year-old daughter from that marriage, and the daughter lives in Miami with her mother and stepfather. So far as I know, he's been careful to avoid entanglements since. At least, that's what I believed, until a couple hours ago.

  'Who is this woman if she's not his wife?' I asked.

  'Wacked-out bimbo? Paid assassin? Demented relative?'

  'Get serious.'

  'I am serious.'

  'Okay, different subject. Did you do the report on Melvin Pickle? Do you know his status?'

  'Oswald did the report. Pickle shoul
dn't have any problem getting rebonded. Probably have to go through some kind of mental health screening.' Morelli eyed the last piece of pizza. 'Do you want it?' he asked.

  'You can have it,' I told him, 'but it'll cost you.'

  'What's the price?'

  'How about running Carmen Manoso through the system?'

  'I'd need more than a piece of pizza for that,' Morelli said. 'I'd need a night of balls-to-the-wall sex.'

  'You're going to get that anyway,' I told him.