Hard Eight (Stephanie Plum 8)

I was in the kitchen, having a final cup of coffee before starting my day, and Mabel appeared at the back door.

“I just heard from Evelyn,” she said. “She called me, and she said everyone was fine. She's staying with a friend, and she said not to worry.” She put her hand to her heart. “I feel so much better. And I felt better knowing you were looking for Evelyn. It gave me peace of mind. Thank you.”

“Did Evelyn say when she was coming home?”

“No. She said she wouldn't be back for Steven's funeral, though. I guess there are hard feelings.”

“Did she say where she was? Did she mention the friend's name?”

“No. She was rushed. It sounded like she was calling from a store or a restaurant. There was a lot of noise in the background.”

“If she calls again, tell her I'd like to talk to her.”

“There isn't anything wrong, is there? Now that Steven's gone it seems like everything should be okay.”

“I'd like to talk to her about her landlord.”

“Are you interested in renting a house?”

“I might be.” And that was the truth.

The phone rang, and Grandma ran for it. “It's for you,” she said, holding the phone out to me. “It's Valerie.”

“I need help,” Valerie said. “You have to get over here in a hurry.” And she hung up.

“Gotta go,” I said. “Valerie's got a problem.”

“She used to be so smart,” Grandma said. “And then she moved to California. Think all that California sun dried her brain up like a raisin.”

How bad could the problem be? I thought. More chicken soup in the computer? What would Kloughn care? He had no files to lose because he had no clients.

I pulled into the lot and parked nose first in front of Kloughn's office. I looked into the big plate glass windows but didn't see Valerie. I got out of the car, and Valerie came running from the Laundromat side.

“Over here,” she said. “He's in the Laundromat.”

“Who?”

“Albert!”

A row of turquoise plastic chairs lined the wall facing the dryers. Two old women sat side-by-side in the chairs, smoking, looking at Valerie. Taking it all in. No one else was in the room.

“Where?” I said. “I don't see him.”

Valerie sucked in a sob and pointed to one of the large commercial dryers. “He's in there.”

I looked more closely. She was right. Albert Kloughn was in the dryer. He was all scrunched up with his ass to the round porthole glass door, looking like Pooh stuck in the rabbit hole.

“Is he alive?” I asked.

“Yes! Of course he's alive.” Valerie crept closer and knocked on the door. “At least, I think he's alive.”

“What's he doing in there?”

“The lady in the blue sweater thought she lost her wedding ring in the dryer. She said it was wedged into the back of the drum. So Albert went in to get it. But then somehow the door slammed shut, and we can't get it to open.”

“Jeez. Why didn't you call the fire department or the police?”

There was movement in the drum and a lot of muffled noise coming from Kloughn. The noise sounded like no, no, no.