Twisted Twenty-Six (Stephanie Plum 26) Page 17

  Georgio unslouched himself and stood.

  “This is ridiculous,” he said to Cross. “We’re already behind schedule. Carmine is going to be here any minute, and I’ve been notified that the plane is in place. Forget the packing. You can buy new. Everything in that suitcase is horribly wrinkled anyway. I mean honestly, you can’t just throw things in there.”

  Lula was still pawing through the junk in her bag. “I was almost sure I put it in here.”

  “As it turns out, I do have a gun,” Cross said, taking a Glock out of his suitcase. “And I don’t care if you’re armed or not, I’d shoot you without remorse, because that’s the kind of guy I am.”

  “David Niven didn’t go around shooting people,” Lula said.

  “I’m not David Niven.” He glanced at Georgio. “What should I do with them? Should I kill them? Cripple them? I could just shoot them in the knees.”

  “Only if they don’t cooperate,” Georgio said. “I hate to see this carpet ruined. It’s hand-knotted from Nepal, and you know how difficult it is to remove bloodstains.”

  A car horn honked outside.

  “That’s Carmine,” Georgio said. “We need to lock these two up somewhere.”

  Cross looked around. “Everything locks from the inside.”

  “The cellar door has a lock on it,” Georgio said. “We can put them in the cellar.”

  “I’m not going in no cellar,” Lula said. “There’s always spiders in cellars.”

  Cross fired off a shot that missed Lula’s little toe by an eighth of an inch.

  “Okay,” Lula said. “Maybe just this once.”

  Three minutes later we were standing in front of the cellar door.

  “No good,” Cross said. “The lock works both ways. Maybe I should just shoot them.”

  “How about the wine cellar?” Georgio said. “The new one you just put in the game room. It has a padlock.”

  We were marched into the game room. Cross unlocked the padlock and motioned us in.

  “Wow, this is amazing,” Lula said. “It’s a real wine cellar. There must be a thousand bottles of wine here. And there’s a little wine-tasting bistro table and everything.”

  There was also a glass door.

  “You’re looking at the glass door,” Cross said. “Don’t get your hopes up. It’s impact glass. Bulletproof. No good to you even if your friend ever finds her gun. You can make a phone call, but by the time someone crowbars you out of there we’ll be long gone.”

  Cross attached the padlock and waved goodbye.

  “Good thing he looks like David Niven,” I said, “because that’s all he’s got. He isn’t very smart. And the hairdresser isn’t a rocket scientist, either. The door might be impact glass, but it’s not thick enough to be completely bulletproof,” I said to Lula. “Empty a clip into it while I call Connie.”

  I went to the back of the wine cellar, dialed Connie, and told her to find Cross’s plane. “It sounds like he’s flying private,” I said. “Does he have his own plane? Does his credit show any action with a charter company? We need to get to him before he takes off.”

  “The closest airport would be Trenton-Mercer,” Connie said. “If he’s flying private, he’d be flying out of an FBO. I think Signature is there. I’ll see what I can do to stop him, and I’ll get back to you.”

  “How’s it going?” I asked Lula.

  “I’ve run out of bullets, and the glass got all these spiderwebs going through it, but it didn’t break.”

  I found a magnum of champagne and swung it at the door. The bottle broke, spraying champagne everywhere, and a small hole appeared in the door. I hit the door with another bottle and the door shattered. Lula and I cleared the door, bolted out of the house, and ran for the Porsche.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  WE CROSSED THE DELAWARE and were back in New Jersey. Lula had the map app programmed for Signature Flight Support at Trenton-Mercer Airport. I hadn’t heard from Connie, so I was going with my best guess.

  “He has a good head start on us,” Lula said.

  “I’m counting on him wanting to use the restroom and visit the popcorn machine before he gets on the plane.”

  I was also flying in the Porsche, getting it into the nineties when I had open road. I knew it had a radar detector and a laser scrambler, and I was counting on them working.

  I got a call from Connie just as I pulled into the Signature lot and screeched to a stop.

  “Sorry this took so long,” Connie said, “but I’m new at this airplane-tracking thing. I’m texting you his tail number. His plane is at Signature. Looks like he hasn’t left yet. I’m trying to get a delay put on his plane, but so far, I haven’t been able to get through to the right person. How close are you? I’m on hold with airport security.”

  “I’m on the ground and running,” I said.

  Lula was some distance behind me, trying to run in her stupid platform sandals. I pushed through the entrance door and stopped to look around. I didn’t see Cross or Georgio.

  “I’m looking for Steven Cross,” I said to the woman at the reception desk. “I have papers for him.”

  She motioned at the side door. “He just walked through. You should be able to catch him.”

  I looked through the glass and saw Cross and Georgio and a uniformed pilot heading for a plane with the boarding steps down. The receptionist buzzed me out and I ran toward Cross. He was talking to the pilot and holding a big box of popcorn from the lobby machine. I was wearing my messenger bag across my body, and I had my cuffs tucked into the back of my jeans. Cross turned when I was about fifteen feet away. He one-handed the popcorn and reached inside his jacket with the other. I closed the distance and tackled him. There was an explosion of popcorn, his gun discharged, and was knocked out of his hand when we hit the pavement. I got one bracelet on his wrist before the pilot and Georgio wrestled me away. Lula burst out of the FBO followed by a security guy. She was running full steam ahead in her green spandex tights, waving her arms in the air, yelling, “Stop! Police!”

  “She misspoke in her excitement,” I said to the security guard. “We aren’t police. We’re apprehension agents. This man is in violation of his bond agreement and is attempting to flee.”

  “We’re almost police,” Lula said.

  Georgio shook his head at Cross. “You just had to get popcorn. I told you there was food on the plane, but you insisted on using the restroom and getting popcorn. And then you had to pick out a magazine.”

  “I should have shot them when I had the chance,” Cross said.

  “You’re no David Niven,” Lula said. “You probably don’t even play tennis.”

  I’d torn the knee out of my jeans and scraped my elbow when I tackled Cross. By the time we got things sorted out and security released him into my custody, I was already scabbing over.

  “You’re a fast healer,” Lula said to me. “I don’t know why you’re so opposed to being a bounty hunter. You got all the qualifications for it. You don’t want to underestimate good clotting time.”

  We dropped Cross off at the police station, made a stop at Cluck-in-a-Bucket for a large bucket of fried chicken and a quart of macaroni salad, and went to the office to eat lunch.

  Connie was all smiles when we rolled in. “That was amazing,” she said. “Ranger couldn’t have done it better. If we’d lost that bond, we might have been looking at bankruptcy.”

  “You should have seen Stephanie doing a hundred miles an hour on the way to the airport,” Lula said. “And then she tackled Cross when he had a gun in his hand and took him down. It was like she was Bruce Willis in one of those Die Hard movies.” Lula set the chicken and macaroni on Connie’s desk and pulled a bottle of champagne out of her boho bag. “Compliments of Steven Cross, who, by the way, is a horrible human being.”

  I ate two pieces of chicken, had a mug of champagne, and called Grandma.

  “We got cookies all over the place,” Grandma said. “I’m all baked out. It’ll be nice to
get out of the house and go to bingo tonight.”

  Bingo. Groan.

  “I’ll pick you up at six forty-five,” I said.

  “Do you think I should give new cookies to the sisters?”

  “No. I think you should avoid the sisters.”

  “We haven’t heard anything about them dying, so that’s a good sign,” Grandma said.

  I hung up and thought about having another mug of champagne, but I had to drive home, so I passed.

  “Gotta go,” I said. “Big night at bingo. I need to patch myself up.” I looked down and saw a shiny blue extension lying on the floor. No problem. I still had lots left.

  My elbow was scraped, and my knee was scraped. Fortunately, I had some big Band-Aids left over from my gunshot wound. The jeans were unsalvageable.

  I went to my office, which was better known as the dining room table, and reread my information on the La-Z-Boys and Sylvester Lucca. I knew there had to be a connection. I knew I was missing something.

  I fell asleep facedown on the table halfway through the Miracle membership list, and I woke up a little before six o’clock. Another extension had fallen out and was lying on the table. I used it as a gossamer-thin bookmark, went to the kitchen, and looked in my freezer. I had all sorts of food, but it all involved defrosting and heating. As it turns out, defrosting and heating aren’t in my current skill set. My current skill set includes peanut butter spreading. I’m good at it. Practice, practice, practice. If I spent as much time on the rifle range as I spend with my knife in the peanut butter jar, I’d be a crack shot. So, I made a peanut butter sandwich and washed it down with chocolate milk . . . because I also know how to squeeze chocolate sauce into a glass of milk.

  I got dressed in boyfriend jeans that were comfortably loose over my newly bloodied knee. And I coupled them with a long-sleeved jersey that eliminated the need to explain the Band-Aid on my elbow.

  I drove to my parents’ house to get Grandma, and I could smell the cookies when I got out of the Macan. Chocolate chip. By the time I reached the porch the chocolate chip aroma was mingled with gingerbread. My father was asleep in his chair, in front of the television. No doubt in a post-cookie stupor. Grandma was in the kitchen packing a grocery bag with cookie tins.

  “These are for you,” Grandma said. “There’s some of each kind.”

  “Where’s Mom?”

  “Next door. She went over with cookies. I kind of got carried away with the baking. Now we gotta get rid of some before your father eats them all and explodes.”

  I helped myself to a sugar cookie from the glass cookie jar, and I took my grocery bag. Grandma shrugged into a sweater and hung her big patent leather purse in the crook of her arm.

  “I’m ready,” she said. “And I have an extra bingo dauber for you.”

  “I’m surprised you have room for daubers in your purse.”

  “I hear you,” Grandma said. “From time to time I think about getting something more compact. Maybe a semiautomatic. I like the idea of having more ammo available in case I’m in a shootout, but I’m used to this big boy.” She patted her purse. “It’s been with me for a long time.”

  I know I’m supposed to be protecting Grandma, but I’m not sure she needs me. I suspect she’s better equipped to do the job than I am.

  “I’ve been getting phone calls all day, between my cookie making, about Julius Roman,” Grandma said. “There’s a lot of finger-pointing going on. I guess things are pretty tense at the Mole Hole.”

  “I saw Jeanine in the supermarket, and she thinks it was an outside hit. Someone not related to the keys business.”

  “I guess Julius could have been involved in something we don’t know about,” Grandma said.

  I parked in the firehouse lot, and Barbara pulled in next to us.

  “Oh jeez,” Grandma said. “What are the chances? Maybe we should skip bingo and go to dinner.”

  Barbara got out of her car and walked over to us.

  “Edna! So good to see you again,” she said.

  Grandma unbuckled and got out. “It was only just yesterday.”

  “Did you like my cookies?” Barbara asked.

  “Yeah,” Grandma said. “They were delicious.”

  “I used real butter,” Barbara said.

  Grandma nodded. “Yup. I could tell.”

  “And they weren’t too spicy?”

  “I like a little spice,” Grandma said.

  “Well, I guess they agreed with you. You’re looking good. Healthy and all.”

  “Did you expect something else?” Grandma asked.

  “No, no,” Barbara said. “It’s just that you’re always so hearty for your age.”

  “I’m not so old,” Grandma said. “I think you’ve got a couple years on me, but you look like you’re doing okay, too. Mostly. I hope I look as good as you when I get to be that old.”

  “Time will tell,” Barbara said. “Here today and gone tomorrow.”

  “I gotta get in and get my seat,” Grandma said. “I’ll talk to you later.”

  We went into the firehouse and looked around. The sisters were across the room in their usual places.

  Grandma waved and they stared back.

  “They look okay,” Grandma said. “I bet they didn’t eat the cookies.”

  Miriam Flock was at the head table with the bingo balls. “I’ll be calling today,” she said. “Marvina is under the weather. She came down with something at lunch today. We all hope it isn’t anything serious.”

  “Marvina lives next door to Tootie,” Grandma said. “They haven’t gotten along in years. Dollars to donuts they gave the cookies to Marvina.”

  Tootie smiled at Grandma.

  “Pure evil.” Grandma said.

  “We’re sort of involved,” I told her.

  “I guess that’s true,” Grandma said. “I’ll go to Mass with your mother tomorrow.”

  Two hours later, we were leaving, and Barbara followed us to our car.

  “I heard more about Marvina,” she said. “A friend of mine works in the ER, and she said Marvina was admitted to St. Francis. Some kind of stomach thing.”

  “That’s terrible,” Grandma said.

  “Well, you know, stuff happens. I was wondering if you wanted to have coffee tomorrow. We could meet at the coffee shop on Hamilton.”

  “I’m pretty busy,” Grandma said. “I’ll have to get back to you on that.”

  “Sure,” Barbara said. “Give me a call.”

  Neither Grandma nor I said anything on the five-minute drive home. I parked in front of my parents’ house and gave up a sigh.

  “Yeah,” Grandma said. “Me too. I don’t know if she wants to pump me for information or just kill me.”

  “I feel really bad about Marvina.”

  “I’ll go in and make some phone calls and see if I can get more information. I don’t want to make a big deal about Barbara’s cookies if it turns out Marvina didn’t eat any.”

  I watched to make sure Grandma got into the house, and then I drove off with my bag of cookies. I pulled into my building lot and saw that the lights were on in my apartment. I looked around and spotted Ranger’s black Porsche 911 Turbo parked close to the rear lobby door.

  He was checking his texts when I walked in. I set the grocery bag on the counter and hung my messenger bag on the back of a dining room chair.

  “Have you been waiting long?” I asked.

  “Just got here. I know the bingo schedule.”

  I took all of the tins out of the grocery bag, set them on the counter, and opened them. Hungarian filled cookies, butter cookies, chocolate chip, gingerbread, oatmeal raisin, chocolate chocolate chip, peanut butter, and sugar cookies.

  Ranger put his phone down and grinned at the tins of cookies. “There’s a story here,” he said.

  “Grandma wanted to make the house smell happy, so she spent the day baking cookies.”

  He nodded. “She’s a smart woman.”

  I took a sugar cookie, and Rang
er took a chocolate chip.

  “Whoa,” I said. “I thought you didn’t eat cookies. I thought you only ate tree bark.”

  “You thought wrong.”

  “Chocolate chip, too. You went right for the money cookie.”

  “They’re my favorite,” he said.

  I chose a Hungarian filled as my second cookie. “You even have a favorite. You’ve been leading a secret life.”

  “In many ways,” Ranger said.

  I knew this to be true. “Is there a special reason for this visit, beyond cookies?”

  “I heard you were a hero today. I thought I’d come by and say congratulations. Usually when we see each other anymore it’s for something bad. I thought this was an opportunity to stop by for something good.”

  “Thanks. I appreciate the thought, but I don’t feel like a hero.”

  “Connie said you saved the bonds office from bankruptcy. I know that’s not entirely true because Vinnie is insured, but you still made a good capture.”

  “I don’t want to do this job anymore. I’m not good at it. I don’t like it. I don’t like being in the bad neighborhoods, looking for the bad people.”

  “What would you rather do?”

  “I don’t know,” I said.

  “Do you have a direction?”

  “No.”

  “Babe.”

  “Yeah, I’m a mess.”

  “You aren’t a mess,” he said. “You’re just a little burned out.”

  “It’s more than that. I’m stagnant. There’s no growth in my life.”

  “That’s okay as long as you like what you’re doing. Not everyone needs to keep moving up the ladder.”

  “You moved up the ladder.”

  “I discovered that I had certain talents, and I found a way to use them to my best advantage. There’s very little gray in my life. I see things as black or white, and sometimes the dividing line isn’t always the norm for other people. I can be ruthless and aggressive. I have qualities that allow me to take advantage of people and situations. You don’t have any of those qualities. You have the talent and intelligence to go wherever you want to go, but you aren’t driven. The truth is that you’re much too sane. You’ll probably never amount to anything.”