should always take the key and lock the door.”
I gave Kloughn my bitch look.
“Of course, these were special circumstances,” he added.
Kloughn huddled under the small overhang that protected the front stoop to Bender’s apartment. I was at curbside, in the rain, sopping wet, waiting for the blue-and-white.You reach a point with rain where it just doesn’t matter anymore.
I’d hoped to get Costanza or my pal Eddie Gazarra when I’d put the call in for a stolen vehicle. The car that responded wasn’t either.
“So you’re the famous Stephanie Plum?” the cop said.
“I almost never shoot people,” I said, sliding onto the backseat of the cruiser. “And the fire in the funeral parlor wasn’t my fault.” I leaned forward and water dripped from the tip of my nose onto the floor of the car. “Usually Costanza answers my calls,” I said.
“He didn’t win the pool.”
“There’s a pool?”
“Yeah. Participation really dropped after that thing with the snakes.”
Fifteen minutes later the blue-and-white left, and Morelli showed up.
“Listening to your radio again?” I asked.
“I don’t have to listen to my radio anymore. As soon as your name pops up somewhere in the system, I get forty-five phone calls.”
I did a small grimace, which I hoped was endearing. “Sorry.”
“Let me get this straight,” Morelli said. “Bender drove away chained to the car.”
“It seemed like a good idea at the time.”
“And your handbag was in the car?”
“Yep.”
Morelli looked over at Kloughn. “Who’s the little guy in the tassel loafers and black eyes?”
“Albert Kloughn.”
“And you brought him along because . . . ?”
“He had the handcuffs.”
Morelli struggled not to smile and lost. “Get in the truck. I’ll take you home.”
We dropped Kloughn off first.
“Hey, you know what?” Kloughn said. “We never had lunch. Do you think we should all go to lunch? There’s Mexican just down the street. Or we could catch a burger, or an egg roll. I know a place that makes good egg rolls.”
“I’ll call you,” I said.
He waved us out of sight. “That’ll be great. Call me. Do you have my number? You can call anytime. I hardly ever sleep, even.”
Morelli stopped for a light, looked at me, and shook his head.
“Okay, so I’m wet,” I said.
“Albert thinks you’re cute.”
“He just wants to be part of the gang.” I brushed a clump of hair from my face. “How about you? Do you think I’m cute?”
“I think you’re crazy.”
“Yes. But besides that, you think I’m cute, right?” I gave him my Miss America smile and fluttered my lashes.
He glanced over at me, stone-faced.
I was feeling a little like Scarlett O’Hara at the end of
Gone with the Wind
when she’s determined to get Rhett Butler back. Problem was, if I got Morelli back, I wasn’t sure what I’d do with him.
“Life is complicated,” I said to Morelli.
“No shit, cupcake.”
_______
I waved good-bye to Morelli and dripped through the lobby to my building. I dripped in the elevator, and I dripped down the hall to my next-door neighbor, Mrs. Karwatt. I got my spare key from Mrs. Karwatt and then I dripped into my apartment. I stood in the middle of my kitchen floor and peeled my clothes off. I toweled my hair until it stopped dripping. I checked my messages. None. Rex popped out of his soup can, gave me a startled look, and rushed back into the can. Not the sort of reaction that makes a naked woman feel great . . . even from a hamster.
An hour later I was dressed in dry clothes, and I was downstairs waiting for Lula.
“Okay, let me get this straight,” Lula said when I settled into her Trans Am. “You need to do surveillance and you don’t got a car.”
I held my hand up to ward off the next question. “Don’t ask.”
“I’m hearing ‘don’t ask’ a lot lately.”
“It was stolen. My car was stolen.”
“Get out!”
“I’m sure the police will find it. In
I gave Kloughn my bitch look.
“Of course, these were special circumstances,” he added.
Kloughn huddled under the small overhang that protected the front stoop to Bender’s apartment. I was at curbside, in the rain, sopping wet, waiting for the blue-and-white.You reach a point with rain where it just doesn’t matter anymore.
I’d hoped to get Costanza or my pal Eddie Gazarra when I’d put the call in for a stolen vehicle. The car that responded wasn’t either.
“So you’re the famous Stephanie Plum?” the cop said.
“I almost never shoot people,” I said, sliding onto the backseat of the cruiser. “And the fire in the funeral parlor wasn’t my fault.” I leaned forward and water dripped from the tip of my nose onto the floor of the car. “Usually Costanza answers my calls,” I said.
“He didn’t win the pool.”
“There’s a pool?”
“Yeah. Participation really dropped after that thing with the snakes.”
Fifteen minutes later the blue-and-white left, and Morelli showed up.
“Listening to your radio again?” I asked.
“I don’t have to listen to my radio anymore. As soon as your name pops up somewhere in the system, I get forty-five phone calls.”
I did a small grimace, which I hoped was endearing. “Sorry.”
“Let me get this straight,” Morelli said. “Bender drove away chained to the car.”
“It seemed like a good idea at the time.”
“And your handbag was in the car?”
“Yep.”
Morelli looked over at Kloughn. “Who’s the little guy in the tassel loafers and black eyes?”
“Albert Kloughn.”
“And you brought him along because . . . ?”
“He had the handcuffs.”
Morelli struggled not to smile and lost. “Get in the truck. I’ll take you home.”
We dropped Kloughn off first.
“Hey, you know what?” Kloughn said. “We never had lunch. Do you think we should all go to lunch? There’s Mexican just down the street. Or we could catch a burger, or an egg roll. I know a place that makes good egg rolls.”
“I’ll call you,” I said.
He waved us out of sight. “That’ll be great. Call me. Do you have my number? You can call anytime. I hardly ever sleep, even.”
Morelli stopped for a light, looked at me, and shook his head.
“Okay, so I’m wet,” I said.
“Albert thinks you’re cute.”
“He just wants to be part of the gang.” I brushed a clump of hair from my face. “How about you? Do you think I’m cute?”
“I think you’re crazy.”
“Yes. But besides that, you think I’m cute, right?” I gave him my Miss America smile and fluttered my lashes.
He glanced over at me, stone-faced.
I was feeling a little like Scarlett O’Hara at the end of
Gone with the Wind
when she’s determined to get Rhett Butler back. Problem was, if I got Morelli back, I wasn’t sure what I’d do with him.
“Life is complicated,” I said to Morelli.
“No shit, cupcake.”
_______
I waved good-bye to Morelli and dripped through the lobby to my building. I dripped in the elevator, and I dripped down the hall to my next-door neighbor, Mrs. Karwatt. I got my spare key from Mrs. Karwatt and then I dripped into my apartment. I stood in the middle of my kitchen floor and peeled my clothes off. I toweled my hair until it stopped dripping. I checked my messages. None. Rex popped out of his soup can, gave me a startled look, and rushed back into the can. Not the sort of reaction that makes a naked woman feel great . . . even from a hamster.
An hour later I was dressed in dry clothes, and I was downstairs waiting for Lula.
“Okay, let me get this straight,” Lula said when I settled into her Trans Am. “You need to do surveillance and you don’t got a car.”
I held my hand up to ward off the next question. “Don’t ask.”
“I’m hearing ‘don’t ask’ a lot lately.”
“It was stolen. My car was stolen.”
“Get out!”
“I’m sure the police will find it. In
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