Lean Mean Thirteen (Stephanie Plum 13)

“Smells funky,” Lula said, sniffing her finger. “What's it smell like?”

“Squirrel.”

“I didn't know squirrels had a smell.”

“This one does,” I told her.

"I'm gonna need to take this coat to the dry cleaner, and I'm gonna send the bill to that

Coglin freak. He got some nerve exploding a squirrel on me."

“You took the squirrel.”

“Yeah, but it was entrapment. I think I got a case.”

“Maybe we should go to lunch,” I said to Lula. “Take your mind off the squirrel.” “I could use some lunch.”

“Do you have any money?”

“No,” Lula said. “Do you?”

“No.”

“There's only one thing to do then. Senior buffet.”

Ten minutes later, I pulled into the Costco parking lot.

“Where we gonna start?” Lula wanted to know, taking a shopping cart.

“I like to start in produce and then go to the deli and then frozen.”

Costco is the all-American free lunch. If you can't afford to buy food, you can buy a

minimum membership at Costco and get freebies from the give-away ladies. You just have to

kick your way through the seniors who stand ten deep around them.

“Look over there,” Lula said. "They got a give-away lady frying up them little bitty

sausages. I love those little sausages."

We had some apple slices dipped in caramel, some carrots and raw broccoli dipped in ranch

dressing, some goat cheese, some frozen pizza pieces, some tofu stir-fry, some brownie pieces

from the bakery, and some of the sausages. We did a test-drive on Guatemalan coffee and

sparkling apple cider. We used the ladies' room, and we left.

“Whoever invented Costco knew what they were doing,” Lula said. "I don't know what I'd

do without my Costco membership. Sometimes, I even buy shit there. Costco's got

everything. You can buy a casket at Costco."

We got into the Vic, and I drove us back to Coglin's house. I idled at the curb for a couple

minutes, watching to see if anything was going on, then I motored around the block and took