Finger Lickin' Fifteen by Janet Evanovich

“You’re going to roll over my mums.” And she turned the hose on us.
    A black boot came into my line of vision, the water stopped, and Ranger lifted Turley off me and held him out at arm’s length, Turley’s feet not touching the ground, his pride and joy hanging limp against his drenched pants like a giant slug.
    “I’m guessing this is the flasher,” Ranger said.
    I got to my feet and pushed my wet hair back from my face. “Yep. Junior Turley. And he owes me cuffs.”
    “I left them with your granny,” Junior said.
    I was soaked to the skin and getting cold. “I need to get out of these wet clothes,” I said to Ranger.
    “Go home and change. I’ll have one of my men drop Mr. Turley at the police station.”
    “Thanks. I’ll start riding around, checking things out for you, as soon as I get dry clothes.”

    I TOOK A shower, put on clean jeans and my last clean sweater, and carted my overflowing laundry basket out to my car. The plan was to ride around and do a fast look at the Rangeman accounts that were between my house and my parents’ house. This included Hamilton Avenue. Then I would mooch dinner from my mom and do my laundry at her house. There were machines in the basement laundry room of my apartment building, but I was pretty sure the place was inhabited by trolls, and I’d eat dirt before I’d go down there.
    I drove by two houses and three businesses. The third business was the insurance company that had already been robbed. I didn’t see anything suspicious at any of the locations. No one skulking in the shadows, casing the joint. No one throwing Snickers wrappers on the ground. The two houses were large, set in the middle of large landscaped lots. Easy to burgle if you didn’t have to worry about the alarm system. The two remaining businesses were on Hamilton and would be more difficult to break into. They were both in high-visibility areas with poor back access. In both cases, the rear entrance opened to a chain-link-fenced lot that was gated at night.
    I motored over to my parents’ house and was surprised not to find Lula’s car parked at the curb. I thought for sure this would be another barbecue night.
    My mom and dad and Grandma Mazur were already seated when I walked in. I told them not to get up, but my mother and grandmother jumped to their feet and set a place for me. My father kept eating.
    “Leave the laundry,” my mother said. “I’ll do the laundry later.”
    I sat at the table and filled my plate with pot roast, potatoes, gravy, and green beans.
    “Where’s Lula?” I asked Grandma Mazur. “I’m surprised you aren’t barbecuing again tonight.”
    “She had a date with some hot fireman,” Grandma said. “She said she was gonna give him brown sugar, and I said that was okay so long as she had some left for the barbecue sauce.”
    The phone rang and my mother and grandmother looked at each other and sat firm.
    “Aren’t you going to answer the phone?” I asked.
    “It’s been ringing off the hook,” Grandma said. “I don’t want to talk to any more grumpy women. Who’d think this would make such a stink? I help my granddaughter do her job, and next thing, we’re all in the doghouse.”
    “It’s about Junior Turley,” my mother said to me. “Some of the women in the neighborhood are upset because you put him in jail.”
    “He exposed himself,” I said. “Men aren’t supposed to go around exposing themselves at unsuspecting women.”
    “Well, technically none of us was unsuspecting,” Grandma said. “We wait for him to show up. I guess it’s one of them generation things. You get to an age and you look forward to seeing a winkie at four in the afternoon when you’re peeling potatoes for supper. The thing about Junior and his winkie is, you don’t have to do anything about it. You just take a look and he moves on.”
    I poured more gravy over my potatoes. “Mrs. Zajak filed a complaint against him.”
    “She was in a snit because he skipped