High Five by Janet Evanovich

behind, and I had no idea who he was, but I thought he might be good to have around if Ramirez attacked me. Better Bunchy than Ramirez. I don’t know why I felt like that. For all I knew, Bunchy was the butcher.
    I chugged out of the lot and drove on autopilot to Mabel’s house, trying to prioritize projects. I had to neutralize Ramirez, get to the bottom of the Fred thing, chauffeur some sheik . . . And I felt uncomfortable about the dead garbage lady. Not to mention, I needed shoes for Saturday night. I lined everything up in my mind. The shoes were, hands down, top priority. Okay, so sometimes I wasn’t the world’s greatest bounty hunter. I wasn’t a fabulous cook. I didn’t have a boyfriend, much less a husband. And I wasn’t a big financial success. I could live with all those failings as long as I knew that once in a while I looked really hot. And Saturday night I was going to look hot. So I needed shoes and a new dress.
    Mabel was standing at the door when I drove up. Still on the lookout for Fred, I guess.
    â€œI’m so glad you’re here,” she said, ushering me into the house. “I don’t know what to think.”
    As if I could help her in that department.
    â€œSometimes I expect Fred to walk in the door, just like always. And then other times I know he’ll never be back. And the thing is . . . I really need a new washer and dryer. In fact, I’ve needed them for years, but Fred was so cautious about spending money. Maybe I’ll just go down to Sears and take a look. It doesn’t hurt to look, does it?”
    â€œLooking sounds good to me.”
    â€œI knew I could count on you,” Mabel said. “Would you like some tea?”
    â€œNo thanks on the tea, but I have some more questions. I want you to think about places Fred might go that would have four or five garbage bags sitting outside on garbage day. The bags would be sitting on asphalt. And there might be a light-colored stucco wall behind them.”
    â€œThis is about those photographs, isn’t it? Let me think. Fred had a routine, you know. When he retired two years ago, he took over the errands. In the beginning we did the marketing together, but it was too stressful. So I started staying home and watching my television shows in the afternoon, and Fred took over the errands. He went to the Grand Union every day. And sometimes he’d go to Giovichinni’s Meat Market. He didn’t go there too often because he thought Giovichinni gypped him on the meat scale. He only went there if he wanted kielbasa. Once in a while he’d splurge on Giovichinni’s olive loaf.”
    â€œDid he go to Giovichinni’s last week?”
    â€œNot that I know of. The only thing different about last week was that he went out in the morning to the garbage company. He didn’t usually go out in the morning, but he was really in a state over that missed day.”
    â€œDid he ever go out at night?”
    â€œWe went to the seniors’ club on Thursdays to play cards. And we went to special events sometimes. Like the Christmas party.”
    We were standing in front of the living room window, talking, when the RGC garbage truck rumbled up the street, bypassed Mabel’s house, and stopped next door.
    Mabel blinked in disbelief. “They didn’t take my garbage,” she said. “It’s right out there on the curb, and they didn’t take it.” She threw the door open and trotted out to the sidewalk, but the truck was gone. “How could they do this?” she wailed. “What am I going to do with my garbage?”
    I went to the Yellow Pages, found the number for RGC, and dialed the number. Larry Lipinski answered the phone.
    â€œLarry,” I said, “this is Stephanie Plum, remember me?”
    â€œSure,” Larry said, “but I’m a little busy right now.”
    â€œI read about Martha—”
    â€œYeah, Martha. What’s