Plum Boxed Set 1, Books 1-3 Stephanie Plum Novels) (71 page)

“I didn’t do anything illegal, did I?”

Morelli headed off to the back of the house. “You don’t want to know the answer to that.”

I followed him down the hall to the kitchen, catching a glimpse of the living room, dining room. The rooms were small, but the ceilings were high with elaborate crown mold
ing. Boxes still sat in all the rooms, waiting to be unpacked. A rug was rolled to one side in the dining room.

Morelli retrieved cross trainers from under the kitchen table and sat down to lace them.

“Nice kitchen,” I said. “Reminds me a lot of my parents’ house.” What about shelf paper, I was thinking. I couldn’t imagine Morelli picking out shelf paper.

Morelli looked around like he was seeing the kitchen for the first time. “It needs some work.”

“Why did you decide to buy a house?”

“I didn’t buy it. I inherited it. My aunt Rose left it to me. She and my uncle Sallie bought this house when they were first married. Sallie died ten years ago, and Aunt Rose stayed on. She died in October. She was eighty-three. They didn’t have any kids, and I was a favorite nephew, so I got the house. My sister, Mary, got the furniture.” Morelli stood at the table and snagged a jacket that had been draped over a kitchen chair.

“You could sell it.”

He shrugged into the jacket. “I thought of that, but I decided to give this a try first. See how it felt.”

A horn beeped from outside.

“That’s Lula,” I said. “She’s got the runs.”

I directed Lula to the rear of the station so we could unload Elliot in as much privacy as possible. We pulled into the drop-off zone and cut the engine. Morelli parked to the side of the lot. The drop-off is covered by closed-circuit TV, so I knew it was only a matter of minutes before the curious spilled out of the back security door.

Lula and I stood to the front of the Firebird, not wanting to get any closer to Elliot than was absolutely necessary. I was soaked to the skin, and without the car’s heater blasting away at me I was cold clear to the bone.

“Funny how life works,” Lula said. “All this came about because I ate a bad burrito.
It’s like God knew what he was doing when he gave me the runs.”

I hugged my arms tight to my chest and clenched my teeth to keep them from chattering. “The Lord moves in mysterious ways.”

“Exactly my thoughts. Now we know Jackie was right about Old Penis Nose being on Montgomery Street. We even did something good for Elliot. Not that he deserves it, but if it wasn’t for us he’d be dumped in the river by now.”

The rear door to the building opened and two uniforms stepped out. I didn’t know their names, but I’d seen them around. Morelli told them he was going to tie up the drop zone for a few minutes. Told them he’d appreciate it if they kept the traffic down.

The Medical Examiner’s pickup arrived and backed in close to the Firebird. It was a dark blue Ford Ranger with a white cap divided into compartments that reminded me of kennels.

The ID detective said a few words to Morelli and then went to work.

Arnie Rupp, the supervisor of the violent crimes squad, came out and stood hands in pockets, watching the action. A man in jeans, black Trenton PD ball cap and red and black plaid wool jacket stood next to
him. Rupp asked the man if he’d completed the paperwork on the Runion job. The man said, not yet. He’d finish it up first thing in the morning.

I stared at the man and little alarms went off in my brain.

The man stared back at me. Noncommittal. Cop face. Unyielding.

Morelli moved into my line of vision. “I’m sending you and Lula home. You both look half drowned, and this will take some time.”

“I appreciate it,” Lula said, “because I’ve got an intestinal disturbance.”

Morelli lifted my chin a fraction of an inch with his index finger and studied my face. “Are you going to be okay?”

“Sure. I’m f-f-fine.”

“You don’t look fine. You look like you’re down a couple quarts.”

“Who’s the guy standing next to Arnie Rupp? The guy in the jeans and cop hat and red and black plaid jacket.”

“Mickey Maglio. Major Crimes. Robbery detective.”

“Remember when I was telling you about the men in the ski masks and coveralls? The leader, the one who burned my hand and offered me money, had a smoker’s voice. Jersey City accent. I know you don’t want to
hear this, but I swear, Maglio sounds just like him. And he’s the right height and the right build.”

“You never saw his face?”

I shook my head. “No.”

“Maglio’s a good cop,” Morelli said. “He’s got three kids and a pregnant wife.”

“I don’t know,” I said. “I could be wrong. I’m c-c-cold. Maybe I’m not thinking right.”

Morelli wrapped his arm around me and dragged me toward a waiting squad car. “I’ll look into it. In the meantime let’s keep it to ourselves.”

Lula got dropped off first due to her pressing needs. I rode in silence for the rest of the trip, shivering in the backseat, unable to sort through my thoughts, afraid I’d burst into tears and look like an idiot in front of my cop chauffeur.

I thanked the officer when he pulled up at my door. I scrambled out of the car, ran into the building and took the stairs. The second-floor hall was empty of people but filled with dinner smells. Fried fish from Mrs. Karwatt. Stew from Mr. Wolesky.

My teeth had stopped chattering, but my hands were still shaking, and I had to two-
fist the key to get it into the keyhole. I pushed the door open, switched the light on, closed and bolted my door and did a fast security check.

Rex backed out of his soup can and gave me the once-over. He looked startled at my appearance, so I explained my day. When I got to the part about driving Elliot around in Lula’s trunk, I burst out laughing. My God, what had I been thinking! It was an absurd thing to do. I laughed until I cried, and then I realized I was no longer laughing. Tears were streaming down my cheeks, and I was sobbing. After a while my nose was running, and my mouth was open but the sobs were soundless.

“Shit,” I said to Rex. “This is exhausting.”

I blew my nose, dragged myself into the bathroom, stripped and stood under the shower until my skin was scorched and my mind was empty. I got dressed in sweats and cotton socks and cooked my hair into ten inches of red frizz with the hair dryer. I looked like I’d taken a bath with the toaster, but I was way beyond caring. I collapsed onto the bed and instantly fell asleep.

I came awake slowly, my eyes swollen from crying, my mind gauzy and stupid.
The clock at bedside said nine-thirty. Someone was knocking. I shuffled into the hall and opened the door without ceremony.

It was Morelli, holding a pizza box and a six-pack.

“You should always look before you open the door,” he said.

“I did look.”

“You’re lying again.”

He was right. I hadn’t looked. And he was right about being careful.

My eyes locked on the pizza box. “You sure know how to get a person’s attention.”

Morelli smiled. “Hungry?”

“Are you coming in, or what?”

Morelli dumped the pizza and beer on the coffee table and shrugged out of his jacket. “I’d like to go over the day’s events.”

I brought plates and a roll of paper towels to the coffee table and sat beside Morelli on the couch. I wolfed down a piece of pizza and told him everything.

By the time I was done, Morelli was on his second beer. “You have any additional thoughts?”

“Only that Gail probably lied to us, so she wouldn’t get in trouble with her landlady. Elliot had full rigor when we found him, so he’d been dead awhile. My guess is either
Gail told Mo where to find Elliot, or else Elliot was in Gail’s room when Mo showed up.”

Morelli nodded affirmation. “You’re watching the right TV shows,” he said. “We ran the plates on the tan car. The car belonged to Elliot Harp.”

“Did you find Mo’s connection to Montgomery Street?”

“Not yet, but we have men in the neighborhood. The garage was used by a lot of people. It’s possible to buy a key card on a monthly basis. No ID necessary. Freedom Church members use the garage. Local merchants use it.”

I ate another slice of pizza. I wanted to bring up the topic of Mickey Maglio, but I didn’t feel secure about the accusation. Besides, I’d mentioned it once. Morelli was too good a cop to let it slide by and be forgotten.

“So now what?” I asked. “You want to watch some TV?”

Morelli looked at his watch. “Think I’ll pass. I should be getting home.” He stood and stretched. “Been a long day.”

I followed him to the door. “Thanks for helping me dispose of Elliot.”

“Hey,” Morelli said, punching me lightly on the arm. “What are friends for?”

I blinked. Friends? Morelli and me? “Okay, what’s going on?”

“Nothing’s going on.”

Boy, was that ever the truth. No flirting. No grabbing. Sexist remarks held to a minimum. I narrowed my eyes as I watched him walk to the elevator. There was only one possible explanation. Morelli had a girlfriend. Morelli was enamored with someone else, and I was off the hook.

He disappeared behind the elevator doors, and I retreated into my apartment.

Hooray, I told myself. But I didn’t actually feel like hooray. I felt like someone had thrown a party, and I hadn’t been included on the guest list. I puzzled on this, trying to determine the cause for my discomfort. The obvious reason, of course, was that I was jealous. I didn’t like the obvious reason, so I kept working for another. Finally I gave up in defeat. Truth is, there was unfinished business between Morelli and me. A couple months ago we’d had Buick interruptus, and as much as I hated to admit it, I’d been thinking of him in torrid terms ever since.

And then there was the house move, which seemed so out of character for Morelli the bachelor. But suppose Morelli was thinking of
cohabitating? My God, suppose Morelli was thinking of marriage?

I didn’t at all like the idea of Morelli getting married. It would wreck my fantasy life, and it would put added pressure on me. My mother would be saying to me…Look! Even Joe Morelli is married!

I dropped onto the couch and punched up the television, but there wasn’t anything worth seeing. I cleaned the beer cans and pizza off the coffee table. I plugged the telephone back into the wall and reset the answering machine. I tried the television again.

I had a third beer, and when that was done I felt slightly buzzed. Damn Morelli, I thought. He has a lot of nerve getting involved with some other woman.

The more I thought about it, the more annoyed I became. Who was this woman, anyway?

I called Sue Ann Grebek and discreetly asked who the hell Morelli was boffing, but Sue Ann didn’t know. I called Mary Lou and my cousin Jeanine, but they didn’t know either.

Well, that settles it, I decided. I’ll find out for myself. After all, I’m some sort of investigator. I’ll simply investigate.

Trouble was, the events of the last two days had me pretty much freaked out. I wasn’t afraid of the dark, but I wasn’t in love with it either. Well, okay, I was afraid of the dark. So I called Mary Lou back and asked her if she wanted to spy on Morelli with me.

“Sure,” Mary Lou said. “Last time we spied on Morelli we were twelve years old. We’re due.”

I laced up my running shoes, pulled a hooded sweatshirt over the sweatshirt I was wearing and shoved my hair under a black knit cap. I trucked down the hall, down the stairs, and ran into Dillon Ruddick in the lobby. Dillon was the building super and an all-around nice guy.

“I’ll give you five dollars if you’ll walk me to my car,” I said to Dillon.

“I’ll walk you for free,” Dillon said. “I was just taking the garbage out.”

Another advantage to parking by the Dumpster.

Dillon paused at the Buick. “This is a humdinger of a car,” he said.

I couldn’t argue with that.

Mary Lou was waiting at the curb when I pulled up to her house. She was wearing tight black jeans, a black leather motorcycle jacket, black high-heeled ankle boots and
big gold hoop earrings. Evening wear for the well-dressed burg peeper.

“You ever tell anybody I did this, and I’ll deny it. And then I’ll hire Manny Russo to shoot you in the knee,” Mary Lou said.

“I just want to see if he has a woman with him.”

“Why?”

I looked over at her.

“Okay,” she said. “I know why.”

Morelli’s car was parked in front. The living room lights were out in his house, but the kitchen light was on, just as it had been earlier in the evening.

A figure moved through the house, up the stairs. A light blinked on in one of the upstairs rooms. The figure returned to the kitchen.

Mary Lou giggled. And then I giggled. Then we slapped ourselves so we’d stop giggling.

“I’m a mother,” Mary Lou said. “I’m not supposed to be doing stuff like this. I’m too old.”

“A woman’s never too old to make an idiot of herself. It goes along with equality of the sexes and potty parity.”

“Suppose we find him in the kitchen with a sock on his dick?”

“In your dreams.”

This drew more giggles.

I drove around the corner to the paved alley road that intersected the block. I slowly rolled down the single lane, cut my lights and paused at Morelli’s backyard. Morelli moved into view through a rear window. At least he was home. He hadn’t gone from my house to some hot babe. I continued to the end of the lane and parked the Buick around the corner, on Arlington Avenue.

“Come on,” I said to Mary Lou. “Let’s take a closer look.”

We crept back to Morelli’s yard and stood outside the weathered picket fence, hidden in shadow.

After a few moments Morelli once again crossed in front of the window. This time he had the phone to his ear, and he was smiling.

“Look at that!” Mary Lou said. “He’s smiling. I bet he’s talking to
her
!”

We slipped inside the gate and tippytoed to the house. I flattened myself against the siding and held my breath. I inched closer to the window. I could hear him talking, but I couldn’t make out the words. Blah, blah, blah, blah, blah.

A door opened two houses down, and a big black dog bounded into the small yard. He stopped and stood with ears pricked in our direction.

“WOOF!” the dog said.

“Omigod,” Mary Lou whispered. “Jesus fucking Christ.”

Mary Lou wasn’t an animal person.

“WOOF!”

Suddenly this didn’t seem like such a good idea. I didn’t like the prospect of getting torn to shreds by the hound from hell. And even worse, I didn’t want to get caught by Morelli. Mary Lou and I executed a panic-inspired crab scuttle to the back gate and held up just outside Morelli’s broken-down fence. We watched the neighbor’s dog slowly move to the edge of his yard. He didn’t stop. His yard wasn’t fenced. He was on the road now, and he was looking directly at us.

Nice dog, I thought. Probably wanted to play. But just in case…it might be smart to head for the car. I backed up a few paces, and the dog charged. “YIPES!”

We had two house widths on Rover, and we ran flat out for all we were worth. We were twenty feet from Arlington when I felt paws impact on my back, knocking me off my feet. My hands hit first, then my knees. I belly-whopped onto the blacktop and felt the air whoosh from my lungs.

I braced for the kill, but the dog just stood over me, tongue lolling, tail wagging.

“Good dog,” I said.

He licked my face.

I rolled onto my back and assessed the damage. Torn sweats, scraped hands and knees. Large loss of self-esteem. I got to my feet, shooed the dog back home and limped to the car where Mary Lou was waiting.

“You deserted me,” I said to Mary Lou.