Hard Eight (Stephanie Plum 8)

“I'm not sure. Sixteen, maybe.” I hauled my cell phone out of my bag and called Kloughn.

“Wow, that would be great if your sister would work for me,” Kloughn said. “She could have all the time she wants for lunch. And she could do her laundry while she works.”

I severed the connection and turned to Valerie. “You have a job.”

“Bummer,” Valerie said. “I was just starting to get the hang of this depression thing. Do you think this guy will marry me?”

I did some internal eye rolling, wrote Kloughn's name and address on a piece of paper, and gave it to Valerie. “You can start tomorrow at nine. If he's late, you can wait for him in the Laundromat. You won't have any trouble recognizing him. He's the guy with the two black eyes.”

My mother did another sign of the cross.

I swiped a couple slices of baloney and a slice of cheese from the fridge and headed for the door. I wanted to get out of the house before I had to answer any more questions about Albert Kloughn.

The phone rang as I was leaving.

“Hold up,” Grandma said to me. “This here's Florence Szuch, and she says she's at the mall, and she says Evelyn Soder is eating lunch in the food court.”

I took off running, and Grandma was right behind me.

“I'm going, too,” Grandma said. “I got a right, on account of how it was my snitch that called.”

We jumped into the car, and I rocketed away. The mall was twenty minutes on a good day. I hoped Evelyn was a slow eater.

“Was she sure it was Evelyn?”

“Yep. Evelyn and Annie, and another woman and her two children.”

Dotty and her kids.

“I didn't have time to get my purse,” Grandma said. “So I haven't got a gun. I'm going to be real disappointed if there's shooting, and I'm the only one without a gun.”

If my mother knew my grandmother was carrying a gun around in her purse she'd have a cow. “First off, I haven't got a gun,” I said. “And second thing, there won't be any shooting.”

I hit Route 1 and put my foot to the floor. This brought me into the flow of traffic. In Jersey we think the speed limit is merely a suggestion. No one in Jersey would actually do the speed limit.

“You should be a race car driver,” Grandma said. “You'd be good at it. You could drive in them NASCAR races. I'd do it, but probably you need a driver's license, and I don't have one of those.”

I saw the sign for the shopping center and took the off-ramp with my fingers crossed. What had started as a courtesy to Mabel had become a crusade. I really wanted to talk to Evelyn. Evelyn was critical to ending the crazy war game. And ending the war game was critical to not getting my heart ripped out.

I knew every square inch of the mall, and I parked at the entrance to the food court. I wanted to tell Grandma to wait in the car, but that would have been wasted energy.

“If Evelyn is still there, I need to talk to her alone,” I said to Grandma. You're going to have to stay out of sight."

“Sure,” Grandma said. “I can do that.”

We entered the mall together and quickly walked to the food court. I watched the people while I walked, looking for Evelyn or Dotty. The mall was moderately full. Not jammed like on weekends. Just enough people to give me cover. My breath caught when I recognized Dotty and her kids. I'd memorized the photo of Evelyn and Annie, and they were there, too.

“Now that I'm here, I wouldn't mind having a big pretzel,” Grandma said.

“You get a pretzel, and I'll talk to Evelyn. Just don't leave the food court.”

I stepped away from Grandma and the light suddenly dimmed in front of me. I was in the shadow of Martin Paulson. He didn't look much different than he had in the police station parking lot, rolling around on the ground, trussed up in shackles and handcuffs. I imagine fashion choices are limited when you're shaped like Paulson.

“Well, lookey here,” Paulson said. “It's Little Miss Asshole.”

“Not now,” I said, moving around him.

He moved with me, blocking my way. “I have a score to settle with you.”