Hard Eight (Stephanie Plum 8)

I let myself into her kitchen and closed the door. “Listen,” I said, “don't worry about Jeanne Ellen. She's

not dangerous. You just don't want to lead her to Evelyn.”

“You mean if I knew where Evelyn was then I should be careful about going there.”

“Careful isn't good enough. Jeanne Ellen will follow you, and you'll never see her. Don't go anywhere near Evelyn. Stay away from her.”

Dotty wasn't liking this advice. “Hmmm,” she said.

“Maybe we should talk about Evelyn.”

She shook her head. “I can't talk about Evelyn.”

I gave her my card. “Call me if you change your mind. If Evelyn gets in touch with you, and you need to go see her, please consider letting me help you. You can call Mabel and check me out.”

Dotty looked at the card and nodded. “Okay.”

I let myself out the back door and slipped through the yards to the street. I walked the half block back to my car and took off for home.

I STEPPED OUT of the elevator and felt my heart sink at the sight of Kloughn camping in my hall. He was sitting with his back to the wall, legs outstretched, arms crossed over his chest. His face brightened when he saw me, and he scrambled to his feet.

“Boy,” he said, “you've been gone all afternoon. Where were you? You didn't catch Bender, did you? You wouldn't catch him without me, would you? I mean, we're a team, right?”

“Right,” I said. “We're a team.” A team without handcuffs.

I let us into my apartment, and we both migrated to the kitchen. I slid a look at the answering machine. Nothing was blinking. No message from Morelli, pleading for a date. Not that Morelli ever pleaded for anything. Still, a girl could hope. Large mental sigh. I was going to spend Saturday night with Albert Kloughn. It felt like doomsday.

Kloughn was looking at me expectantly. He was like a puppy, eyes bright, tail wagging, waiting to be taken for a walk. Endearing . . . in an incredibly annoying sort of way.

“Now what?” he asked. “What do we do now?”

I needed to think about this. Usually the problem is finding the FTA. I never had a problem finding Bender. I had a problem hanging on to him.

I opened the refrigerator and stared inside. My motto has always been, When all else fails, eat something. “Let's make dinner,” I said.

“Oh boy, a home-cooked meal. That would really hit the spot. I haven't eaten in hours. Okay, I had a candy bar just before you got here, but that doesn't count, does it? I mean, it's not like real food. And I'm still hungry. It's not like it's a meal, right?”

“Right.”

“What should we cook? Pasta? You got some fish? We could have fish. Or a nice steak. I still eat meat. Lots of people don't eat meat anymore, but I still eat it. I eat everything.”

“Do you eat peanut butter?”

“Sure. I love peanut butter. Peanut butter is a staple, right?”

“Right.” I ate a lot of peanut butter. You don't have to cook it. You only dirty one knife in the preparation. And you can count on it. It's always the same. As opposed to picking out a piece of fish, which in my experience is risky.

I made us peanut butter and bread-and-butter pickle sandwiches. And because I had company, I added a layer of potato chips.

“This is very creative,” Kloughn said. “You get a lot of textures this way. And you don't get your fingers greasy by eating the potato chips separately. I'll have to remember this. I'm always looking for new recipes.”

Alright, I was going to take another shot at capturing Bender. I was going to break into his house, one more time. As soon as I located a pair of handcuffs.

I dialed Lula's number.

“So,” I said to Lula, “what's going on tonight?”

“I'm just trying to figure out what to wear, on account of it's Saturday. And it's not like I'm some loser who can't get a date. I'd be out of the house by now, but I can't make up my mind between two dresses.”