Plum Lovin' Page 7

  “We're oud a nakins,” she said. “There's no ore in da china canet.”

  “Omigod,” I said. “What happened to your mouth?”

  “Sexy, hunh?” Grandma said.

  “She had her lips plumped up,” my mother said. “She went to some idiot doctor and had herself injected.”

  “An nex eek I'n gettin' ass inlans,” Grandma said. “No ore saggy ass for ee.”

  “Ass implants are serious,” I told her. “You might not want to do that.”

  “Ere's a sale on inlans nex eek,” Grandma said. “I hade ta niss a sale.”

  "Yes, but implants have to be incredibly painful. You won't be able to sit. Why don't we just find a sale on shoes?

  We can go to Macy's and then have lunch in the food court."

  “Okay,” Grandma said. “At sounds like un.”

  My mother took the lasagna and I took the red sauce and Grandma took a basket of bread to the table. Everyone seated themselves and dug in.

  Grandma Mazur took some lasagna and poured herself a glass of red wine. She forked some lasagna into her mouth and took a sip of wine and everything fell out of her mouth, onto her lap.

  Bob rushed over and ate the food off Grandmas lap, and then settled himself back under the table, ever alert.

  “Ny lith are oo ig,” she said. “Dey don ork.”

  My mother jumped up and returned with a straw for Grandma and a tumbler of booze for herself.

  My father had his head bent over his lasagna. “Just shoot me,” he said.

  “I like lasagna,” Albert Kloughn said. “It stays on your plate. And if you don't use too much red sauce, hardly any gets on your shirt.”

  Kloughn was a struggling lawyer who got his degree from the Acme School of Law in Barbados. He was a nice guy, but he was as soft as a fresh nuked dinner roll, and his upper lip broke out into a sweat when he got nervous… which was a lot.

  “How's the law business?” I asked him.

  “It's good. I even have a couple clients. Okay, one eventually died, but that happens sometimes, right?”

  “And hows the new house?”

  “It's working out real good. It's a lot better than living with my mother.”

  “And what about getting married?”

  Kloughn turned white, farted, and fell off his chair in a faint.

  Diesel got up and dragged Kloughn to his feet and sat him back in his chair. “Take a deep breath,” Diesel said to Kloughn.

  “How embarrassing,” Kloughn said.

  “Dude,” Diesel said, “everyone feels like that about marriage. Get over it.”

  “Poor snuggle uggums,” Valerie said, spoon-feeding Kloughn some noodles. “Did him hurt himself?”

  Diesel draped an arm across my shoulders and put his mouth to my ear. “We definitely want to go with the stun gun. In fact, I think we should stun-gun both of them.”

  “Maybe you can get Albert to take a walk with you after dinner, and you can talk to him. He got in touch with Annie and asked for help, so he's obviously motivated.”

  “That would be high on the list of things I don't want to do. Second only to getting zapped by Beaner.”

  “About Beaner… just exactly what is it that happens when he zaps someone?”

  “You don't want to know. And I don't want to tell you. Let's just leave it alone for now.”

  “I've been thinking about Beaner. Maybe we should talk to Mrs. Beaner. Does she live in the Trenton area?”

  “She lives in Hamilton Township.”

  “Is she Unmentionable? Does she have scary, evil skills?”

  “She's mildly Unmentionable. Doesn't do much with it. Mostly parlor tricks. Bending spoons and winning at rummy. I interviewed her when I got the Beaner assignment.”

  “And?”

  “You know everything I know. She said she was tired of marriage. Wanted to try something else. She told me Beaner blamed it all on Annie Hart, but Annie didn't have anything to do with it. Annie was just a friend. She didn't know where Beaner was staying, but clearly it was in the Trenton area because he was determined to get even with Annie.”

  “That's it? Why didn't you ask her to lure Beaner over to discuss things, and then you could jump out of the closet and do your bounty hunter thing and capture Beaner?”

  “She knows better than to be around when Beaner goes down. There'll be fallout, and she wants no part of it.”

  “What about you? Aren't you afraid of Beaner?”

  “It takes a lot to damage me, and Beaner doesn't have that kind of power. The best he could do is make me mildly uncomfortable.”

  “Okay, how about this? We get Mrs. Beaner to lie to her husband. Set up a bogus meeting.”

  “Tried that. She wouldn't do it.”

  I mushed a piece of bread around in my leftover sauce. “You know what that means.”

  Diesel did a palms-up. He didn't know what it meant.

  “She still cares about him,” I said. “She doesn't want to betray him. She doesn't want him captured and neutralized or whatever it is that you do.”

  Diesel helped himself to a second chunk of lasagna. “Maybe. Or maybe she just doesn't want to get involved.”

  “I could talk to her.”

  “Probably not a bad idea,” Diesel said. He looked at his watch. “Here's the plan. I get Albert out into the air and walk him around the block and try to figure out what the heck he wants to do about getting married. You talk to your sister and see if she's on board. And at eight, we try our luck at Ernie's Bar. If thing's don't work out, tomorrow you visit Mrs. Beaner.”

  Stephanie Plum 12.5 - Plum Lovin

  Chapter 7

  We were in my car, on our way to Ernie's. It had stopped snowing, but the sky was moonless black, and the air had a bite to it.

  “How'd it go with Albert?” I asked Diesel.

  “He didn't faint, but he wasn't real coherent. From what I can tell, he wants to get married, but the thought of the ceremony freaks him out. Apparently the poor guy's even tried getting hypnotized, but he still can't get down the aisle.”

  “How about tranquilizers?”

  “He said he tried them and had an allergic reaction and went gonzo.”

  “I talked to Valerie, and she pretty much told me the same thing. Not that I didn't know it already. He's really a sweet guy. He loves the kids, and he loves Valerie, and I know he would love being married. It's getting married that's the problem.”

  Diesel cruised down the street and pulled to the curb across from Ernie's.

  “Is he in there?” I asked Diesel.

  “I don't think so,” Diesel said after a couple beats, “but it wouldn't hurt for you to take a look anyway.”

  I crossed the street, pushed through the big oak door into the warm pub, and hiked myself up onto a barstool. No trouble claiming a seat. Ernie's was an after-work place, not a Saturday night date destination, and it was eerily empty. A few regulars nursed drinks at the bar and numbly watched the overhead television. The tables were empty. The lone bartender ambled over to me.

  “What'U it be?” he asked.

  “I'm looking for a friend. He was here last night. Has a birthmark on his face. His name's Bernie.”

  “Yeah, I know the guy. Didn't know his name was Bernie. Not real talky. Pays in cash. He hasn't been in today. We get a different crowd during the week. Saturday and Sunday it's real slow. Were you supposed to meet him?”

  “No. Just thought I might run into him.”

  I left the bar and returned to the car. “He's not there,” I told Diesel. “The bartender said he hasn't seen him. Maybe we spooked him off this afternoon. Maybe he saw us walking around looking for him.”

  Diesel was behind the wheel with his phone in his hand. “I have a problem,” he said. “Annie isn't answering. I check on her four times a day. This is the first time she hasn't answered.”

  “Maybe she's in the shower.”

  “She knows I call at this time. She's supposed to be there. I'm having a
guy I know drop in on her. He lives in her building.”

  “Why aren't you staying with him?”

  “He has a girl living with him. And he'd drive me nuts. You drive me nuts, too, but in a more interesting way.”

  Oh boy. “Do you think Beaner found Annie?”

  Diesel did a palms-up. “Don't know.”

  Diesel's phone rang, and he looked at the readout. “It's Flash,” he said to me.

  “The guy in Annie's building?”

  “Yeah.”

  A minute later, Diesel disconnected, put the car in gear, and pulled into the stream of traffic. “She isn't in the apartment. The door was locked. Nothing seemed to be disturbed.”

  “Did she take her purse?” I asked him.

  Diesel looked at me blank-faced. “Don't know.”

  “Boots? Coat?”

  “Don't know.”

  “Were the lights left on?”

  “Don't know.” He hung a U-turn and headed for the center of the city. “Let's go take a look.”

  Twenty minutes later, we were on a side street in downtown Trenton. Diesel used a passkey to get into an underground garage, parked the car, and we took the elevator to the seventh floor, leaving Bob in the car. There were four apartments on the floor. Diesel knocked on 704 and unlocked the door. We stepped inside and looked around.

  Lights were on. There was a purse on the kitchen counter. Wallet and assorted junk inside the purse. No keys. I checked closets. No winter coat or jacket. No boots.

  “Here's what I think,” I said to Diesel. “She took her keys and winter coat, but she left her purse behind. So I think she stepped out for a moment and didn't intend to go far. Maybe she just needed air or wanted to walk a little. And then maybe something unexpected happened to her.”

  It was a nice apartment. Not fancy, but tastefully decorated and comfortable. Small kitchen, living room, dining alcove, single bedroom, and bath.

  “It's a pleasant apartment,” I said to Diesel, “but I can see where Annie would get squirrelly after being cooped up here for a few days. Her phone wasn't in her purse. Why don't you try calling her phone again?”

  Diesel dialed Annie on his cell. After a couple beats, we heard the phone ringing. We followed the sound to the bedroom and found her cell phone on the floor by the bed.

  “I don't know what to think,” I said to Diesel. “I take my phone everywhere with me. I don't know why she'd leave her phone here, except that it's on the floor so maybe it fell out of her pocket.”

  Diesel wrote a note on a sticky pad in the kitchen and pasted the note to the refrigerator. The message was

  Simple. CALL ME IMMEDIATELY.

  We locked up behind ourselves and took the elevator to the garage. We drove out to the street, and I had a genius idea. We were only two blocks away from the Pleasure Treasure. It was open until ten on Saturdays, and it probably had a book Jeanine-the-Virgin would find helpful.

  “Turn right at the next corner,” I told Diesel. “There's a sex-toys store two blocks from here, and we might be able to find a book for Jeanine.”

  I could see Diesel smile in the dark car. “Just when I think my day's in the toilet you suggest a sex-toys store. Honey, you're a ray of sunshine.”

  “I hate to rain on your parade, but I know about this place because I made a bust here in the fall.”

  “Then let's hope this trip is more fun, because I could really use some fun.”

  Diesel parked in the small lot next to the store. I promised Bob a bedtime snack if he'd be a good dog just a little longer, and Diesel and I went inside. We were the only shoppers. A solitary clerk was behind the counter reading a movie star magazine. She looked up when we entered and sucked in some air when she saw Diesel. She was in her twenties and completely punked-out with black-rimmed eyes and multiple piercings.

  “Just browsing,” I told her.

  “Sure,” she said. “Let me know if I can help.”

  Diesel followed me to the book section, selected a book, and thumbed through.

  “Is it good?” I asked.

  “Yeah, look at this,” Diesel said. “Have you ever tried this?”

  I looked at the picture. “That's got to be uncomfortable, if not impossible.”

  “Hey, pictures don't lie. They're doing it.” He draped an arm around me and put his mouth to my ear. “I bet I could do it.”

  “You're a sick man. Maybe we should ask Raccoon Woman if she has a starter book. If we show this to Jeanine, she's liable to check herself into a nunnery.”

  Diesel pulled another book off the shelf. “This looks more basic. It starts off with anatomy. And there are photographs… of everything. We should buy two of these.”

  It was sort of embarrassing to be looking at crotch shots with Diesel. “Sure,” I said, “buy two.” I glanced at my watch. “Jeez, look at the time. If we hurry we can catch the end of the game.”

  “What game is that?” Diesel wanted to know.

  “I don't know. Any game.”

  Diesel moved to the video section. “We should get Jeanine a movie. They've got some good ones.”

  “No. No movies for Jeanine. Jeanine isn't into moaning, and they always do a lot of moaning in the movies.”

  “Moaning is fun,” Diesel said.

  I cut my eyes to him. “Do you moan?”

  “Not usually.”

  “Why not?”

  “I'd feel stupid.”

  “Exactly. Just pay for the books with your phony credit card and lets go home.”

  “Bet I could make you moan,” Diesel said, smiling.

  “I feel like moaning now,” I told him. “And it has nothing to do with sex.”

  I unwrapped my scarf and hung it on a hook on the wall next to my front door. I draped my heavy winter jacket over the scarf and exchanged my snow boots for shearling slippers.

  “I can't believe you bought all that stuff,” I said to Diesel.

  “It's for Jeanine… unless you want to take something for a test drive.”

  “No.”

  “Are you sure? We've got a bag full of fun here. I bet we've got samples of every condom ever invented.”

  “No!”

  Diesel set the bag on the kitchen counter and went to the refrigerator. He backed out with a couple beers. “You know what your problem is? You're too uptight.”

  “I'm not uptight. I've got a boyfriend, and I don't mess around.”