Eleven on Top (Stephanie Plum 11)

“You think this woman is a dope because her husband managed to swindle her out of everything?” Valerie asked Kloughn.

“Well yeah. I mean, duh. She was probably too lazy to keep track of things and got what she deserved.”

The color rose from Valerie's neck clear to the roots of her hair. I swear I could see her scalp glowing like hot coals.

“Oh boy,” Grandma said.

Sally inched his chair away from Valerie.

Kloughn was working at the stain on his shirt and not looking at Valerie, and I was guessing he hadn't a clue what he'd just said. Somehow the words got put together into sentences and fell out of his mouth. This happened a lot with Kloughn. Kloughn looked up from his shirt to dead silence. Only a slight sizzle where Valerie's scalp was steaming.

“What?” Kloughn said. He searched the faces in the room. Something was wrong, and he'd missed it. He focused on Valerie, and you could see his mind working backward. And then it hit him. Kaboom.

“You were different,” he said to Valerie. “I mean, you had a reason for being a dope. Well, not a dope actually. I don't mean to say you were a dope. Okay, you might have been a little dopey. No, wait, I don't mean that either. Not dopey or dope or any of those things. Okay, okay, just a teensy bit dopey, but in a good way, right? Dopey can be good. Like dumb blond dopey. No, I don't mean that either. I don't know where that came from. Did I say that? I didn't say that, did I?”

Kloughn stopped talking because Valerie had gotten to her feet with the fourteen-inch bread knife in her hand.

“You don't want to do anything silly here,” I said to Val. “You aren't thinking of stabbing him, are you? Stabbing is messy.”

“Fine. Give me your gun, and I'll shoot him.”

“It's not good to shoot people,” I said. “The police don't like it.”

“You shoot people all the time.”

“Not all the time.”

“I'll give you my gun,” Grandma said.

My mother glared at my grandmother. “You told me you got rid of that gun.”

“I meant I'd give her my gun if I had one,” Grandma said.

“Great,” Valerie said, flapping her arms, her voice up an octave. “Now I'm dopey. I'm fat, and I'm dopey. I'm a big fat dope.”

“I didn't say you were fat,” Kloughn said. “You're not fat. You're just... chubby, like me.”

Valerie went wild-eyed. “Chubby? Chubby is awful! I used to be perfect. I used to be serene. And now look at me! I'm a wreck. I'm a big, fat, dopey, chubby wreck. And I look like a white whale in my stupid wedding gown. A big, huge white whale!” She narrowed her eyes and leaned across the table at Kloughn.

“You think I'm dopey and lazy and chubby, and that I got what I deserved from my philandering husband!”

“No. I swear. I was under stress,” Kloughn said. “It was the meatball. I never think. You know I never think.”

“I never want to see you again,” Valerie said. “The wedding is off.” And Valerie gathered up her three kids, her diaper bag, her sling thing, her kids' backpacks, and the collapsible stroller. She went to the kitchen and took the chocolate cake. And she left.

“Dudes,” Sally said. “I did the best I could with the dress.”

“We're not blaming you,” Grandma said. “But she does look like a white whale.”

Kloughn turned to me. “What happened?”

I looked over at him. “She took the cake.”

I caught a ride home with Sally, and I was parked in front of my television when my doorbell rang at nine I o'clock. It was Lula, and she was dressed in black from head to toe, including a black ski mask.

“Are you ready?” Lula wanted to know.

“Ready for what?”