Twisted Twenty-Six (Stephanie Plum 26)

by Janet Evanovich

  “You!” she said to Grandma. “You have a lot of nerve showing your face with all these decent people.”

  “They aren’t all decent,” Grandma said.

  “You should get out of this community. We don’t want your kind here.”

  “I’m not so bad,” Grandma said. “I’m going to take some of your brother’s money and give it to the orphaned cats and dogs. I’m thinking there’ll be a lot left over after my trip to the Galapagos Islands.”

  “I thought you were going to Antarctica,” I said to Grandma.

  “I’m stopping at the Galapagos on the way home,” Grandma said.

  “You should burn in hell,” Rose said. “And your hair is a disgrace. You look ridiculous.”

  “I’m real sorry you feel that way,” Grandma said. “I was hoping we could be civil. I even brought these cookies for you.” Grandma handed Rose the tin with the black bow. “I baked them myself.”

  “Oh,” Rose said, looking at the tin. “That was nice of you. Thank you.”

  “It’s a pretty tin,” Tootie said.

  “We still don’t like you,” Rose said.

  “We gotta go now,” Grandma said. “You girls have a good night.”

  Grandma and I hurried to the car and locked the doors.

  “I’m a terrible person,” Grandma said. “She’s probably right about me burning in hell.”

  “Those cookies could be perfectly okay. I’m sure Barbara wouldn’t give you poison cookies.”

  “Would you have eaten them?” Grandma asked.

  “No way.”

  I drove Grandma home and waited until she was in the house and waved to me that all was good. Fifteen minutes later I cruised into my apartment building parking lot and spotted Morelli’s SUV. I parked next to it and went upstairs. Morelli was in the kitchen, watching Rex run on his wheel.

  “Not watching television?” I asked.

  “There’s nothing on. I got bored at home, so I thought I’d stop in and see if you wanted to have some wild sex. I was going to make a sandwich while I waited, but you have no food.”

  “I have peanut butter and cereal. That covers every meal.”

  “Did you ever hear of a vegetable?”

  “Pickles. I have two different kinds. Bread and butter and dill.”

  “I stand corrected.”

  “I might have hot dogs in the freezer.”

  Morelli opened the freezer, and his phone dinged with a text message. He checked the message and closed the freezer.

  “I have to make a call,” he said. “And I’m going to pass on the hot dogs.”

  He placed the call and rummaged through my junk drawer, coming up with a pen and a small sticky notepad. He took a bunch of notes from the person on the other line and hung up.

  “That was Fitzgerald,” he said. “He got called out to a shooting, and he thought I’d want to take a look. It’s a couple blocks from here.”

  “Anyone I know?”

  “Julius Roman. Shot execution style in front of his house. Close range. Single bullet to the head. He was found slumped over the steering wheel of his car.”

  My heart skipped a bunch of beats and I was breathless for a moment. “I just saw him. He was at the viewing.”

  “Obviously he didn’t stay long. The ME hasn’t gotten there yet, so time of death hasn’t been determined, but it had to be around eight o’clock. Fitzgerald said a neighbor was out walking his dog and noticed Roman. I don’t have a time on that, but the first responders rolled in at eight-thirty. Fitzgerald just got there and realized it was one of the La-Z-Boys.”

  “I feel sort of sick.”

  “Yeah, you’re a little pale.” Morelli got a cold bottle of beer from the fridge and put it to the back of my neck. “Breathe.”

  “This leaves Benny the Skootch, Charlie Shine, and Lou Salgusta,” I said. “I don’t like any of those men. I almost liked Julius Roman. He seemed more conservative than the rest. I thought he might be the voice of reason in the group. And he had an idea who hired Lucca to kidnap Grandma, but he wouldn’t give me a name. He said it was just a suspicion.”

  Morelli stopped holding the beer against my neck. He cracked it open and handed it to me. “I have to go. I’ll call when I know more.”

  I locked my door after him and chugged half the bottle.

  “I hate this,” I said to Rex. “I’m always nauseous. I keep thinking about Lou Salgusta burning his initials into women. It’s so disgusting. And people getting killed over stupid keys. What the heck is that about?”

  I drank the rest of the beer and ate some Froot Loops out of the box. I ran a hand through my hair and felt the extensions. I’d forgotten about them. I went into the bathroom and checked them out in the mirror. I flipped my head around to make them move. They were pretty. Something was right in the world. It was a small something, but it was something all the same.

  I found a Fred Astaire movie on the old movie channel and watched him dance with Ginger Rogers. Ginger was slim and Fred was slim and instead of talking all the time, sometimes they would sing. And then they would dance for no special reason and they’d be in perfect step without practicing. How cool is this? This is the planet I want to live on.

  Morelli called at ten-thirty. He had nothing new to tell me, and he was going home to let Bob out and go to bed. He said all this to me in his flat cop voice. This meant that either he was exhausted, or he was putting a lid on unwanted emotion. I honestly don’t know how he does it day after day, slogging through the horror. My job isn’t nearly as demanding as his, and I’m burned out.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  GRANDMA CALLED ME at seven o’clock in the morning. I was half asleep when the phone rang, and my first thought was that something horrible had happened. As it turned out I was partly right.

  “Did you hear about Julius Roman?” she said.

  “Yes. Morelli told me about the shooting last night.”

  “It’s because of the keys, isn’t it?”

  “Probably, but I don’t think anyone knows for sure. I’m sure Julius had enemies.”

  “When you live here in the Burg, you know you have neighbors who are in the mob, but you don’t think about it a lot. I mean, people in the mob have to live somewhere. So why not in the Burg? And they look just like everyone else. Their kids go to school. The wives shop at Dittman’s and Macy’s. The men belong to the K of C. I guess that’s why I could marry Jimmy. I saw the normal part of him. I wasn’t thinking about the bad part. The crazy thinking that he had some sort of permission to do terrible things. People shouldn’t think like that. You don’t do bad things just because you want something . . . like the keys, or money, or to make someone think like you do. Nobody has the right.”

  “Are you wearing your necklace?”

  “Yep. I got it on.”

  “There are a lot of people working to sort this out. In the meantime, you have to be careful.”

  “I’m staying home and making cookies all day. Fresh-baked cookies go a long way to filling a house with goodness and happiness. And I’m going to give some of the cookies to the sisters to make up for Barbara’s. I hope they didn’t get too sick from them.”

  “Maybe she wasn’t trying to poison you,” I said. “Maybe she was trying to butter you up, so you’d tell her about the keys.”

  “Well, she’s in for a disappointment then, because I haven’t got anything to tell anybody.”

  I dragged myself out of bed and stood in the shower until the water started running cold and my brain started functioning. I got out and towel dried and noticed one of my extensions was lying on the tile floor. Beauty doesn’t last forever. Fortunately, in this case, I can buy replenishment. Just one of the many good things that can be said for extensions.

  I made my way to the kitchen and surveyed my breakfast options. Coffee and cereal. I was out of milk. I had the fixings for a peanut butter sandwich, but probably I should save that for dinner. I looked in the freezer. Package of hot dogs covered in fre
ezer frost.

  I had my rent covered for the month. My credit card bill was minimal. I had a paycheck for the three FTAs I brought in. I could afford to make a quick trip to the supermarket.

  Twenty minutes later I was in the cereal aisle trying to decide between one that was sugar and gluten free and one I actually wanted to eat. I looked up from reading the ingredients and saw Jeanine Stupe coming my way.

  “I tried that healthy cereal,” she said when she reached me. “I didn’t think it was so bad, but no one else in my family would eat it. Now that it’s just Bernie and me, we settle for toast and coffee.”

  “I haven’t got a toaster,” I said. “I’ve been thinking about buying one.”

  “Get a toaster oven,” Jeanine said. “They’re more versatile. I think they’re better at heating breakfast pastries.” She leaned in a little and lowered her voice. “Did you hear about Julius Roman?”

  “Yes. I heard the news last night.”

  “He was such a sweet man. I know in his day he might have done some questionable things, but to me he’s always been Uncle Julius.”

  “I just recently got to know him,” I said.

  Jeanine gave her head a small shake. “I’m sorry you and Edna had to get drawn into this over such a silly matter. I always thought the keys were ceremonial. Like they opened the liquor cabinet or something.”

  “Have you heard any talk about who killed Julius? I thought it might have been tied to the keys.”

  “Everyone has a theory. You know the Burg. We love a murder and a scandal.”

  “Who do you think did it?”

  “I’m leaning toward someone on the outside. He had his share of enemies. I think it didn’t have anything to do with the keys. I think the timing was coincidental.”

  I nodded. “That makes sense.”

  “I have to keep moving,” Jeanine said. “I’m meeting my mom for coffee at nine o’clock, and she hates when I’m late. She’s become so rigid with age.”

  “She gave Grandma a tin of homemade cookies last night. Please thank her again for us.”

  “Oh jeez,” Jeanine said. “I hope you didn’t eat any. She makes the world’s worst cookies.”

  Besides getting staples like strawberry Pop-Tarts and coffee ice cream, I also got a bunch of frozen vegetables, frozen chicken nuggets, frozen enchiladas, and frozen turkey burgers. Next time Morelli looked in my freezer I’d have food in it. Whether I would actually get around to eating any of it, other than the ice cream, was something else.

  Connie stood at her desk and waved a file at me when I came through the door.

  “I have a priority job for you,” she said. “This just came in. Steven Cross. Didn’t show up for court yesterday. His judge set bail at six figures. High risk of flight. Vinnie should never have posted a bond for him.”

  “I remember when he was arrested. It made national news. Good-looking older guy. Worth tons of money. Hung out with movie stars and European royalty. Thought he was the Pink Panther. Robbed jewelry stores for kicks. Over a five-year period stole a couple hundred million dollars’ worth of stuff. Got carried away at Stiffow Jewelers in Trenton and beat the seventy-year-old security guard senseless.”

  “Yep, that’s him,” Connie said. “He lives in a mansion-type house across the river. Also has houses in Monte Carlo, Palm Beach, Carmel, and Washington, D.C. If you’re lucky he’s still in Pennsylvania. He has a boyfriend here.”

  Lula was on the couch, taking it all in. “What’s the boyfriend do?” Lula asked.

  “He’s a hairdresser,” Connie said. “Has a salon in downtown Trenton. Sort of a local celebrity.”

  “I like it,” Lula said. “This is right up my wheelhouse. I love those Pink Panther movies with David Niven and what’s his name.”

  “Peter Sellers,” I said.

  “Yeah, Peter Sellers,” Lula said. “And now you add a hairdresser into it. It couldn’t hardly get any better.”

  I took the file from Connie and paged through it. Lula was looking over my shoulder.

  “He even looks like David Niven,” Lula said. “He’s got the mustache.”

  “He might not have it anymore,” Connie said. “I think it was a paste-on that he used when he was doing a heist.”

  I pulled his address up on Google Maps and went to bird’s-eye view. “This is impressive. It looks out over the river, and it has its own tennis court.”

  “He’s going to have a hard time adapting to prison life,” Lula said. “Most prisons don’t have tennis courts.”

  I shoved the file into my messenger bag. “Let’s roll.”

  Thirty-five minutes later we pulled into the driveway and stopped.

  “It’s gated,” I said.

  “Maybe there’s a button you push.”

  I looked at the keypad, pushed the red button, and smiled into the camera.

  “Yes?” someone asked.

  “I’m here to see Steven Cross.”

  “Steven isn’t here.”

  “I spoke to him earlier this morning, and he said I should come over.”

  “One moment.”

  A couple minutes of silence passed, and the voice returned.

  “Who’s calling, please?”

  “Stephanie Plum.”

  More silence.

  “I’m sorry, Miss Plum. Steven isn’t here.”

  “Do you know when he’ll return?”

  “I couldn’t say.”

  I backed out of the driveway and pulled to the side of the road.

  “He’s there,” I said to Lula.

  “Probably out playing tennis.”

  I brought the area back up on Google Maps. Cross’s house was squashed between two other large houses. A thick fifteen-foot-high ficus hedge ran between the houses. A wooded area bordered the back of the property. There was a generous front lawn, cut by a driveway that became a circular drive court when it reached the house. Garages were attached and to the side.

  I was able to see part of the house when I was at the gate. White with black trim. Two stories. Big. I could bushwhack my way through the hedge and walk to the house, but I’d be visible, and he could send a pack of vicious dogs out to maul and eat me. I could sit on the side of the road and wait for him to leave for the airport. This could take a long time.

  “We should launch a drone,” Lula said. “We could use it to look in his windows and see what he’s doing.”

  “I don’t have a drone. Do you have a drone?”

  “Not on me.”

  “Do you have one at home?”

  “No. I don’t have one there either.”

  There was big money involved in this capture. If I didn’t bring him in, Vinnie would be out a small fortune. If I did bring him in, I’d make enough money to buy a car. It wouldn’t be a new car. And it wouldn’t be as good as the car I was currently driving. Still, it would be mine.

  I looked at Google Maps again. If I went along the edge of the neighbor’s yard and bludgeoned my way through the hedge by the garage I might not be seen. Probably there were security cameras everywhere, but they might not be manned. Especially if Cross was getting ready to leave the country for an extended period of time and was cutting his staff.

  “I’m going to try to cut through his side yard,” I said to Lula. “Are you in?”

  “Hell, yeah. I’m not going to miss seeing David Niven.”

  The neighbor’s property was heavily shrubbed but wasn’t gated. I left the Macan on the side of the road, and Lula and I hugged the ficus hedge as best we could, scrambling around plantings. We broke through the hedge in the middle of the yard and looked around. Quiet. No dogs. Four garage bays with doors closed. A small porch with a single door to the side of the garage.

  Lula and I sauntered across the yard, looking very casual and David Nivenish in case someone was watching. I went to the side door and tried the doorknob. Unlocked. I held my breath and cracked the door. No alarm. I let my breath out in a whoosh.

  Lula and I stepped into
a hallway that led to the kitchen on the ground floor and service stairs to the second floor. No one was in the kitchen. I could hear someone moving around above us. I motioned to Lula that I was taking the stairs, and she gave me a thumbs-up. I reached the second floor and stared down a long, wide hallway. A door was open toward the end of the hall. We tiptoed down and stopped just short of the open door.

  As a designated representative of a licensed bondsman I can legally enter a home if I believe my man is inside. It’s considered polite to announce yourself.

  “Knock, knock,” I said, and I stuck my head around the doorjamb.

  Steven Cross was in his gargantuan master bedroom suite. He was packing, throwing things into a large suitcase that was open on his bed. Another man slouched in a club chair nearby.

  “Oh, dear God,” the second man said. “Now what?”

  “I bet you’re the hairdresser,” Lula said. “I could tell by your complexion that you have an excellent skin care regimen.”

  “Steven Cross?” I asked.

  “Better known as David Niven,” Lula said.

  Cross stopped packing. “Yes?”

  I held my fake badge out, so he could see I was official. “I represent your bail bondsman. You missed your court date and you need to reschedule.”

  “Sure. Reschedule me,” he said. “Now go away. I’m busy.”

  “Looks like you’re going on a trip,” Lula said.

  “Brilliant,” Cross said. “What gave me away? The suitcase?”

  “No need for sarcasm,” Lula said. “I was just making conversation. Although the clever sarcasm is very David Niven.”

  “You need to reschedule in person,” I said.

  “Not gonna happen, cutie pie.”

  Lula was in Bohemian dress today with platform sandals, skintight poison-green tights, and a tie-dye tank top that was three sizes too small. The outfit was completed with a large faux-leather-fringed boho bag.

  “We’re official bond enforcement people,” Lula said, rooting around in her bag. “We’re almost like police, and I got a gun in here somewhere.”

  “I’m unarmed,” Cross said. “And I have Georgio as a witness. You can’t shoot me.”

  “How about if I knock you down and sit on you until you turn blue?” Lula said.