Fearless Fourteen Page 18

  SO YOU KNOW I'M SERIOUS I'M ENCLOSING A PRESENT. EVERY DAY I DON'T GET THE

  MONEY YOU'LL GET ANOTHER PRESENT. Hang a red scarf in the upstairs window WHEN YOU WANT TO MAKE A DEAL.

  “I like getting presents,” Lula said, “but this one don't smell too good.”

  I had a bad feeling about this present. I carefully peeled away the tissue paper, and we stared at a pinkie toe with red toenail polish.

  “Good pedicure,” Lula said.

  I clapped a hand over my mouth and told myself I wasn't going to throw up. I was sweating at my hairline and little black dots were floating in front of my eyes. They'd chopped off one of Lorettas toes, and they were going to keep chopping until they got their money.

  “Maybe we should give them the money,” Lula said.

  “We don't have the money,” I whispered.

  “Oh yeah. I forgot.”

  “I don't want Zook to see this,” I told her. “He's just a kid. He doesn't need this. And I can't stand around and let them chop off Lorettas body parts. We have to find either Loretta or the money.”

  “And we're gonna do this how?”

  “I have a lead.”

  “Okay,” Lula said. “But what about the pinkie toe?”

  “It's evidence. I'll put it in the freezer for now.”

  I'd seen army barracks that were more attractive than Stanley Zero's apartment complex. Hummingbird Hollow consisted of six cement-block, three-story buildings clustered around a large macadam parking lot. As far as I could see, there were no trees, no flowers, no hummingbirds. And the only hollow was an empty, sick feeling in the pit of my stomach. The mailboxes would lead me to believe that there were twenty-four units to each building. Zero lived on the second floor, in unit 2D, with his windows facing the lot. According to my report, he lived alone. I found his truck in the lot, and I checked the plate to make sure.

  “He's home,” I said to Lula.

  We were in Lula's Firebird. It wasn't the best surveillance vehicle, but it was better than my Zook car. Lula slid into a space behind and to the left of the F150.

  “Now what?” Lula asked.

  “Now we wait.”

  “I hate to wait. He don't know me. How about if I go up and ring his bell and ask if he wants some Lula? Then I could look around and see if he got Loretta tied up without her toe in his closet.”

  “They don't have Loretta here,” I said. “It's not private enough. You can probably hear everything through these walls. I'm hoping he'll go out and lead us to his partner.”

  We sat for an hour, looking up into his windows, watching the building's back door. Nothing.

  “He might not even be in there,” Lula said. “Maybe someone came and picked him up, and we'll sit here 'til the cows come home.”

  “Then we'll check out the car that drops him off, and maybe that car will belong to the partner.”

  “You sure you don't want me to go up there and poke around?” Lula asked.

  I cut my eyes to her. “You're not going to give up, are you?”

  “I should have brought my bride magazines to read. I got nothing to do here. I sit here much longer, I'm gonna get that thing they were talking about on the morning show... restless leg syndrome.”

  “Okay already, go see if he's home.”

  Lula marched across the lot and into the building. Five minutes later, she was back at the car.

  “Nobody home,” Lula said. “I tried the door, but it was locked.”

  “That doesn't usually stop you.”

  “I fiddled with the lock a little, but I couldn't get anything to work. Too bad, because this here's a good opportunity to snoop.”

  I called Ranger. “I'm watching an apartment off Route 1, and I'd like to get in but it's locked up tight.”

  “I'll send Slick.”

  I gave Ranger the address, and Lula and I waited with slightly elevated heart rates. Breaking and entering was always tense. Especially since it was a crapshoot if Lula could squeeze under a bed. A shiny black Rangeman SUV

  pulled into the lot and Slick got out and went into the building. He was out of uniform, dressed in jeans and a baggy shirt. Wouldn't be good if he was seen picking a lock in Rangeman black. Five minutes later, he walked through the door, looked my way, and nodded. He got into the Rangeman SUV, and drove away.

  “Rock and roll,” Lula said.

  We took the stairs to the second floor and went directly to Zero's apartment.

  I turned the knob, and the door opened. We stepped inside and closed the door.

  “Hello,” I called out.

  No one answered.

  We were standing in an area that was living room, dining room. Beyond was the kitchen and a hall that would lead to the bedrooms. The furniture was old and collected for comfort with no thought to design. Empty beer cans and Styrofoam coffee cups with days-old coffee still in the bottom were left on end tables.

  A couple newspapers had been tossed to the floor. Mud had been tracked onto the rug. Not that it mattered. The rug looked like it hadn't been vacuumed in a long, long time. Maybe never.

  We glanced at the kitchen and moved into the hall. It was a one-bedroom, one-bath apartment, and the bedroom door was open. Lula and I looked through the open door and froze. There was a man on the floor, toes up, eyes open, bullet hole in the middle of his head. Dead.

  “I hate when we find dead people,” Lula said. “Dead people give me the heebie-jeebies. I'm not doing this no more if we keep finding dead people. And I'm getting out of here. I'm not staying in no room with a guy with a hole in his head.”

  Don't panic, I told myself. Take it one step at a time. I followed Lula back to the living room, did some deep breathing, and punched Morelli's number into my cell phone.

  “Talk,” Morelli said.

  “I found another dead guy.”

  “You want to run that by me again?”

  “Lula and I decided we'd talk to Stanley Zero, so we knocked on his door, and the door swung open, and we found a dead guy in the bedroom.”

  There was a moment of silence, and I knew Morelli was either popping Rolaids or counting to ten. Probably both. “The door swung open when you touched it,” he finally said.

  “Yeah.” No need to go into details on how the door got unlocked, right? I mean, he didn't ask how it got unlocked.

  “Where are you now?”

  “In the living room,” I told him.

  “Anything else I need to know before I call this in?”

  “Nope. That's the whole enchilada.”

  I disconnected and noticed Lula had her keys in her hand.

  “Are you going somewhere?” I asked Lula.

  “I figure you don't need me anymore, so I thought I'd go home. I got things to do. I gotta think about a honeymoon. And this place is gonna be swarming with cops, and I hate cops. Except for Morelli. Morelli is fine.”

  “If you leave, I have no way to get home.”

  “What about Morelli? What about Ranger? What about calling a cab?”

  “What about waiting in your car in the parking lot?” I said to her.

  “I guess I could do that.”

  She hotfooted it out of the apartment, and I thought there was a twenty percent chance she'd be in the lot when I was ready to go home. Not that Lula was unreliable, more that her cop phobia overrode her best intentions.

  I figured I had five to ten minutes before the first cop showed up, so I told myself to get over the dead guy and think about rescuing Loretta. I did a quick run through the kitchen, being careful not to leave prints. I found leftover fast-food chicken and expired milk in the refrigerator, and dots of blue mold on the bread that was sitting on the counter. Not enough mold to slow down a big, tough construction guy from Trenton. No scraps of paper lying around with a phone number or address.

  I walked back into the bedroom, and as best I could, I avoided looking at the body. A pair of beat-up CAT boots had been kicked off beside the bed, and a framed photograph of a large
powerboat was propped on the dresser. I'd found the third partner's apartment. And probably the guy on the floor was the third partner, since he was in socks. I guess I could have seen if the boots fit, but I didn't want to know who he was that bad. Let the police figure it out.

  There were clothes all over the place. Hard to tell if the apartment had been tossed, since Zero wasn't the world's best housekeeper. I went through all pockets, omitting the ones attached to the dead guy, and I looked through drawers. I did a fast bathroom check.

  I looked out the bedroom window and saw the first police car angle to a stop in the lot. He'd come in without a siren, probably at Morelli's suggestion. A second squad car followed. Eddie Gazarra got out of the second squad car. That was a relief. We'd grown up together and he'd married my cousin, Shirley the Whiner. Eddie wouldn't come at me with a suspicious, hostile attitude, and that would make my life much more pleasant.

  I stepped out of the apartment and waited in the hall. I got an eye roll from Gazarra when he walked out of the elevator, and then concern.

  “Are you okay?” he asked.

  “Yes. The door was open when I got here. He was dead on the floor in the bedroom. No one else was here. I assume it's Stanley Zero, but I don't know for sure.”

  Gazarra went about securing the crime scene, and a couple minutes later, Rich Spanner showed up.

  “We have to stop meeting like this,” Spanner said to me. “People are gonna talk.” He entered the apartment, checked out the body, and returned to the hall. “What do you think?”

  “I think he's got one too many holes in his forehead.”

  “Yeah,” Spanner said. “I noticed that. I also noticed he reminds me a lot of the dead guy in Morelli's basement.”

  “Because of the hole in his head?”

  “Mmm. And because you found him.”

  “It's getting old.”

  “I bet,” Spanner said.

  I repeated my mostly true story for Spanner. The ME slipped past us, followed by two paramedics and a forensic photographer.

  “Do you have anything else you want to share?” Spanner asked.

  I shook my head. “No. Do you think that's Stanley Zero on the floor?”

  Spanner moved into the doorway. “Hey, Gazarra, you have a tentative ID?”

  “Looks like Stanley Zero. We got a driver's license here. He matches the photo, except for the hole in his head.”

  Stephanie Plum 14 - Fearless Forteen

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  I WAS shocked to find Lula still in the lot.

  “What are you doing here?” I asked her.

  “Waiting for you.”

  “It's been over an hour and you're still here.”

  “I have stuff to ask you. I want to know about the honeymoon. I'm thinking Paris or Tahiti.”

  “Can you afford that?”

  “Don't the groom pay?”

  “Can Tank afford that?”

  “He better,” Lula said. “I don't come cheap.”

  “I thought the groom planned the honeymoon.”

  “That was in the Dark Ages. And besides, Tank's busy. He don't got a lot of time for that stuff. He's gotta watch Ranger's ass.”

  “If it was me, I'd go to Paris,” I told her. “Better shopping, and it's a shorter plane ride. Italy would be good, too, if you're interested in handbags and shoes.”

  “I never thought of Italy, but that's a good idea. I could always use a new handbag.”

  “Why do you want to get married?” I asked Lula.

  “I don't know. It just sort of popped into my head. And then one thing led to another, and before I knew it, I was at the lawyer drawing up my prenup. I guess it was one of those snowball things. You don't think I'm rushing into it, do you? I could postpone it to July, but I got a good deal on the hall for the reception. I'd have to give the hall up. And the fireworks wouldn't be the same. This way, I get the jump on July Fourth.” Lula cranked her car over.

  “Where we going now?”

  “Back to Morelli's house. I should make sure Zook is okay.”

  Everything looked status quo at Morelli's. It was early afternoon, but there was no activity. The crime scene tape was in place. No gawkers present. Lula pulled to the curb, took the key out of the ignition, and there was a sound like a grenade getting launched, and then thud, something hit the passenger-side door.

  “What the bejeezus was that?” Lula yelled. “Incoming! We're under attack. Call SWAT. No, wait a minute. I hate those SWAT guys.”

  Mooner waved at me from Morelli's small front porch. “Sorry,” he said. “My bad.”

  I got out and examined the car door. There was a dent in it, and something was splattered from one end to the other. I cautiously touched it with my finger.

  “Potato?” I asked Mooner.

  “Yep. Yukon Gold.”

  Lula was around the car and next to me, and there was a frightening amount of white showing in her eyes. The whole eyeball was about the size of a tennis ball. “My baby!” she yelled. “My Firebird! Who did this? Who made this mess on my Firebird?” The big eyes narrowed, her face scrunched up, and she took a closer look, her nose just about touching the potato splatter. “Is this a dent? This better not be a dent I'm seeing.”

  “I didn't recognize you,” Mooner said. “Good thing I was all out of Russet. Russet is, like, atomic.”

  Zook and Gary were standing behind Mooner.

  “We've been guarding the house,” Zook said. “Mooner is so cool. He knows all about homegrown security. He knows how to make potato cannons.”

  Mooner tapped the top of his head. “No grass growing here.”

  “What's a potato cannon?” Lula wanted to know.

  “All you need is PVC pipe and hairspray and a lighter,” Zook said. “And you can shoot anything out of it. You can shoot eggs and apples and tomatoes.”

  “See, that's the thing about a potato cannon,” Mooner said. “You can stuff anything into it. You could shoot monkey shit out of a potato cannon. All you gotta do is find a monkey.”

  “I know where there's a monkey,” Lula said.

  “Whoa,” Mooner said. “Far out. You want to go get some shit?”

  Great. Just what I need. Mooner shooting monkey shit at passing motorists.

  “Its illegal to shoot monkey shit on a Sunday,” I told him. “Have you had lunch?”

  Zook was grinning. “We didn't eat lunch. We launched lunch.”

  “I got a deductable, and I don't know if I'm covered for potatoes,” Lula said, her eyes still narrowed.

  I was having a hard time getting worked up over the dent in Lulas Firebird. I had bigger fish to fry. I had a pinky toe in Morelli's freezer. And tomorrow I'd have two toes if I didn't hang a scarf in the upstairs window.

  “Everyone inside,” I said. “You stay out here too long, and some new griefer will take over.”

  “We're not playing Minionfire anymore,” Zook said. “We're in charge of homegrown security now. We got weapons to make and posts to man. We're keeping the integrity of the crime scene. We're protecting the house.”

  “Yeah, but what about the back?” Lula asked. “You can't see the back from here.”

  “Dude, she's right,” Mooner said. “Man your potato cannon. Secure the yard!”

  Mooner, Zook, and Gary ran inside. Lula and I followed at a slightly slower pace.

  “You got a loony bin,” Lula said to me.

  Mooner was already at the living room window when we walked into the room. He was holding a two-foot section of white PVC pipe that had a smaller pipe glued toward the base.

  “Lieutenant Zook,” he said into a two-way attached to his shirt. “Are you in position?”

  “Yessir, Captain,” Zook answered from the kitchen.

  “Munitions Expert Gary, are you ready?”

  “Yessir,” Gary said.

  Gary was in the dining room, halfway between Mooner and Zook. He was wearing a utility belt that carried a can of hairspray and a grill lighter. And he
was holding a basket of potatoes. Tucked into the potato basket was a large bag of M&Ms and a large order of fast-food fries still in the cardboard container.

  “What's with the M&Ms and the fries?” Lula wanted to know.

  “It's in case we need a shotgun.”

  “Makes sense,” Lula said. And she turned and looked at me and made the crazy signal with her finger going around alongside her head.