11 Eleven On Top by Janet Evanovich

me you got rid of that gun.”
    “I meant I'd give her my gun if I had one,” Grandma said.
    “Great,” Valerie said, flapping her arms, her voice up an octave. “Now I'm dopey. I'm fat, and I'm dopey. I'm a big fat dope.”
    “I didn't say you were fat,” Kloughn said. “You're not fat. You're just... chubby, like me.”
    Valerie went wild-eyed. “Chubby? Chubby is awful! I used to be perfect. I used to be serene. And now look at me! I'm a wreck. I'm a big, fat, dopey, chubby wreck. And I look like a white whale in my stupid wedding gown. A big, huge white whale!” She narrowed her eyes and leaned across the table at Kloughn.
    “You think I'm dopey and lazy and chubby, and that I got what I deserved from my philandering husband!”
    “No. I swear. I was under stress,” Kloughn said. “It was the meatball. I never think. You know I never think.”
    “I never want to see you again,” Valerie said. “The wedding is off.” And Valerie gathered up her three kids, her diaper bag, her sling thing, her kids' backpacks, and the collapsible stroller. She went to the kitchen and took the chocolate cake. And she left.
    “Dudes,” Sally said. “I did the best I could with the dress.”
    “We're not blaming you,” Grandma said. “But she does look like a white whale.”
    Kloughn turned to me. “What happened?”
    I looked over at him. “She took the cake.”
    I CAUGHT A ride home with Sally, and I was parked in front of my television when my doorbell rang at nine I o'clock. It was Lula, and she was dressed in black from head to toe, including a black ski mask.
    “Are you ready?” Lula wanted to know.
    “Ready for what?”
    “To get my cleaning. What do you think?”
    “I think we should give up on the cleaning and send out for a pizza. Aren't you hot in that ski mask?”
    “That Mama Macaroni got my favorite sweater. I need that sweater. And on top of that it's the principle of the thing. It's just not right. I was a hundred percent in the right. I'm surprised at you wanting to let this go. Where's your crusading spirit? I bet Ranger wouldn't let it go. And you got to get your car, anyway. How're you gonna get over there to get your car if you don't go with me?”
    My car. Mental head slap. I'd forgotten about the car.
    Ten minutes later, we were idling across the street from Kan Klean. “It's nice and dark tonight,” Lula said. “We got some cloud cover. Not a star in the sky and it looks like someone already took out the streetlight.”
    I looked at Lula and grimaced.
    “Hey, don't give me that grimace. I expected you'd compliment me on my shooting. I actually hit that freaking lightbulb!”
    “How many shots did it take?”
    “I emptied a whole clip at it.” Lula cut the engine and pulled her ski mask back over her head. “Come on. Time to rock and roll.”
    Oh boy.
    We got out of the Firebird and waited for an SUV to pass before crossing the street. The SUV driver caught a glance at Lula in the ski mask and almost jumped the curb.
    “If you can't drive, you shouldn't be on the road,” Lula yelled after him.
    “It was the mask,” I said. “You scared the crap out of him.”
    “Hunh,” Lula said.
    We got to the store and Lula tried the front door. Locked. “How many other doors are there?” she asked.
    “Just one. It's in back. But it's a fire door. You'll never get through it. There aren't any windows back there either. Just a couple big exhaust fans.”
    “Then we got to go in through the front,” Lula said. “And I don't mind doing it because I'm justified. This here's a righteous cause. It's not every day I can find a sweater like that.” She turned to me. “You go ahead and pick the lock.”
    “I don't know how to pick a lock.”
    “Hell, you were the big bounty hunter. How could you be the big bounty hunter without knowing how to pick a lock? How'd you ever get in anywhere?” She stood back and looked at the store. "Ordinarily I'd just break a window, but they got one