“Didn't mean to startle you,” he said.
Usually I sense Ranger behind me by the change in air pressure and the hint of desire. I wasn't paying attention today, and I was caught by surprise.
“Men keep sneaking up on me,” I told him.
“I saw Diesel leave.”
“Do you know Diesel?”
“From a distance,” Ranger said. “Is Diesel a problem?”
“No more than usual. We're sort of working together.”
“I have to go out of town for a couple days. Tank will be here. And I'll be on my cell. I need to talk to you when I get back.” He brushed a light kiss across my lips and left.
“The man of mystery” I said to the closed door.
“I heard that,” Ranger said from the other side.
Stephanie Plum 12.5 - Plum Lovin
Chapter 8
I dropped Bob at my parents' house and asked them to dog-sit. I had coffee with my mother and Grandma, and by the time I rolled down Betty Beaner's street, it was a little past nine. I parked in her driveway and checked out her house. Average suburbia in every way. Two-story colonial. Landscaped front yard. Fenced back yard. Two-car garage. Freshly painted.
I rang the bell, and Betty answered on the second ring. She was shorter than me and pleasantly round. She had a round face with a nice mouth that looked like it smiled a lot, round wide-open eyes, rounded hips, and big round breasts. She was a Rubenesque woman. She looked to be around fifty.
I extended my hand. “Stephanie Plum.”
“I've been expecting you,” she said. “Diesel called
.”
“We thought you might be able to help us with Bernie.”
“I can't believe he's running around giving out hives like a senile old fool. I swear, the man is an embarrassment.” I followed her through the living room and dining room and into the kitchen. She'd been at the small kitchen table, reading the paper, drinking coffee. It was a charming room decorated in warm tones. Rusts and yellows mostly. Small-print wallpaper and matching curtains on the windows.
Betty poured a cup of coffee out for me, and we sat at the table. I looked down at the paper and realized she'd been looking at the want ads.
“Getting a job?” I asked her.
Betty had a red pen on the table by the paper, but none of the ads were circled. “I've been thinking about it. Problem is, I can't do anything. I've been a housewife all these years.”
“Two hundred?”
She smiled. “Yes. At least, it seems like that. Actually, Bernie and I have been married for thirty-five years. He was working in a garage, and I took my car in there to get fixed, and next thing we were married.”
I sipped my coffee, and I looked at Betty Beaner. She didn't seem angry when she spoke of Bernie. If anything, there was affection. And tolerance. In fact, she reminded me of my mom. My parents didn't have the perfect marriage, but over the years they'd developed a plan to make things work. My mother made my dad feel like he was king of the castle, and my dad abdicated the kingdom over to my mom.
“I know I'm going to sound nosey,” I said, “but I haven't got a lot of time, and I'm trying to help Diesel fix things. What went wrong?”
“Snoring.”
“That's it? That's the whole thing?”
“Have you ever tried to sleep with a man who snores?”
“No. The men in my life don't snore.”