Four to Score (Stephanie Plum 4)

“Your friend's with you, right?”

I disconnected and jumped into the car. “We just got a break!” I said, buckling myself in, plugging the key into the ignition. “Mama Nowicki's shopping for fruit.”

“Far out,” Sally said. “Fruit is cosmic.”

I didn't want to tell him what sort of fruit Bernie was selling. I was afraid he'd clean Bernie out and there wouldn't be any left for Maxine's mother.

I took off from the curb with my foot to the floor.

“Wow! Warp speed, Mr. Sulu,” Sally said. “Excellent.”

Ten minutes later, give or take a few seconds, I cruised into the supermarket lot and parked. I wrote a note to Bernie telling him to give Francine Nowicki enough “produce” for only one day, and instructed him to tell her she'd have to come back tomorrow for the rest. Just in case I lost her today. I signed it “Love and kisses, your new friend, Stephanie.” And then I added that Lula sent her love, too.

“There's a little guy in the produce department who looks like R2D2,” I told Sally. “Give him this note and take off. If you see Maxine's mother, don't go near her. Just give Bernie the note and come back here, so we can follow her when she leaves.”

Sally loped across the lot on his long legs, earring glittering in the sunlight, rat's nest hair bobbing as, he walked. He swung through the big glass doors and turned toward Produce. I lost sight of him for a moment and then he was back in my line of vision, heading out.

“She was there,” he said, folding himself into the little car. “I saw her standing by the apples. You can't miss her with that big bandage on her head. She's got it covered with a scarf, but you can still see it's a bandage underneath.”

I'd chosen a spot off to the side, next to a van so we'd be less visible. We fell into silence, watching the door.

“There!” Sally yelped. “She's coming!”

We scrunched down in our seats, but it wasn't necessary. Mrs. Nowicki was parked in the front on the other side of the lot. And she wasn't being careful. Just another day in the life of a housewife. Out to do the marketing, scoring some dope from Businessman Bernie.

She was driving an old, beat-?up Escort. If she was flush with funny money, she sure wasn't spending it on transportation. I let her get some space on me, and then I crept out of the lot after her. After a half mile I had a depressing feeling about her destination. After another half mile I was sure. She was going home. Maxine wasn't Albert Einstein, but I also didn't think she was dumb enough to hide out at her mother's house.

Mrs. Nowicki parked in front of her house and shuffled inside. If I thought Maxine was on the premises I had the right as a bounty hunter to break down the door and go in guns drawn. I wasn't going to do this because, first off, I didn't have a gun with me. And secondly, I'd feel like an idiot.

“Guess it wouldn't hurt to talk to her,” I said.

Sally and I knocked on the door and Mrs. Nowicki stepped into view. “Look what the cat drug in,” she said.

“How's your head?” This was my friendly approach, designed to throw drunken, pothead Mrs. Nowicki off guard.

She drew on her cigarette. “My head's peachy. How's your car?”

So much for friendly. “The insurance company felt sorry for me, so they gave me this Porsche.”

“Yeah, up your ass,” she said. “The Porsche belongs to the freak.”

“Seen Maxine lately?”

“Not since she took off at the beach.”

“You left the house early.”

“Got tired of sand,” Maxine said. “What's it to you?”

I moved past her, into her living room. “You don't mind if I look around?”

“You got a search warrant?”

“Don't need one.”

Her eyes followed me as I moved through the house. “This is harassment.”

It was a small bungalow. All on one floor. Easy to see Maxine wasn't there. “Looks like you're packing.”