Eleven on Top (Stephanie Plum 11)

“How late? What's wrong with the car?”

“Real late. There's a lot wrong with the car.”

“I'll send your father for you.”

“Not necessary,” I said. “Have the rehearsal without me, and I'll meet you at Marsillio's.”

“You're the maid of honor. You have to be at the rehearsal. How will you know what to do?”

“I'll figure it out. This isn't my first wedding. I know the drill.”

“But the cello .

. .”

“You don't have to worry about that either.” I didn't have the heart to tell her about the cello.

Two fire trucks pulled up to the garage. Emergency-vehicle strobes flashed up and down the alley, and headlights glared into Morelli's yard. The garage had been blown to smithereens, and the remaining parts had rained down over a three-house area. Some parts had smoked but none had flamed. The SUV had burned brightly but not long. So the fire had almost entirely extinguished itself before the first hose was unwound.

Ryan Laski crossed the yard and found Morelli. “I'm seeing a disturbing pattern here,” Laski said. “Was anyone hurt... or vaporized?”

“Just property damage,” Morelli said.

“I've sent some uniforms off to talk to neighbors. Hard to believe no one ever sees this guy. This isn't the sort of place where people mind their own business.”

A mobile satellite truck for one of the local television stations cruised into the alley.

Laski cut his eyes to it. “This is going to be a big disappointment. I'm sure they're hoping for disintegrated bodies.”

There's something hypnotic about a disaster scene, and time moves in its own frame of reference, lost in a blur of sound and color. When the first fire truck rumbled away I looked at my watch and realized I had ten minutes to get to Marsillio's.

“The rehearsal dinner!” I said to Morelli. “I forgot about the rehearsal dinner.”

Morelli was blankly staring at the charred remains of his garage and the blackened carcass of his SUV. “Just when you think things can't get any worse...”

“The rehearsal dinner won't be that bad.” This was a blatant lie, but it didn't count since we both knew it was a blatant lie. “We need a car,” I said.

“Where's Laski? We can use his car.”

“That's a department car. You can't borrow a department car to go to a rehearsal dinner.”

I looked at my watch. Nine minutes! Shit. I didn't want to call anyone in the wedding party. I'd rather they read about this in the paper tomorrow. I didn't think Joe would be excited about getting a lift from Ranger. There was Lula, but it would take her too long to get here. I searched the crowd of people still milling around in Morelli's yard. “Help me out here, will you?” I said to Morelli. “I'm running down roads of blind panic.”

“Maybe I can get someone to drop us off,” Morelli said.

And then it came to me. Big Blue. “Wait a minute! I just had a brain flash. The Buick is still sitting in front of the house.”

“You mean the Buick that's been sitting there unprotected? The Buick that's very likely booby-trapped?”

“Yeah, that one.”

Now Morelli was seriously looking around. “I'm sure I can find someone...”

I could hear time ticking away. I looked down at my watch. Seven minutes. “I have seven minutes,” I said to him.

“This is an extreme circumstance,” Morelli said. “It's not every day someone blows up my garage. I'm sure your family will understand.”

“They won't understand. This is an everyday occurrence for me.”