Lean Mean Thirteen (Stephanie Plum 13)

“That was Lula,” I said to the empty apartment.

I put the paper back on Mr. Molinowski's welcome mat, returned to my apartment, threw

the bolt on the door, and called my mother.

“All a pack of lies,” I said to my mother. "Ignore it. Everything's fine. I went downtown to

have coffee with Marty Gobel and someone got the wrong idea."

There was a pause while my mother talked herself into halfway believing the story. "I'm

having a roast chicken tonight. Are you and Joseph coming to dinner?"

It was Friday. Morelli and I always had dinner at my parents' house on Friday night.“Sure,”

I said. “I'll be there. I don't know about Joe. He's on a case.”

I drank coffee and read the third file. Stewart Hansen was charged with running a light and

possession of a controlled substance. He was twenty-two years old, unemployed, and he lived

in a house on Myrtle Street at the back end of the Burg. The house had been posted as

collateral on the bond. It was owned by Stewarts cousin Trevor.

I heard a sharp rap on my door and went to look out the security peephole. It was Joyce. “Open this door,” she yelled. “I know you're in there.” She tried to rattle the door, but it

held tight.

“What do you want?” I called through the door.

“I want to talk to you.”

“About what?”

"About Dickie, you moron. I want to know where he is. You found out about the money

and you somehow managed to snatch him, didn't you?"

“Why do you want to know where he is?”

“None of your business. I just need to know,” Joyce said.

“What's with the knit hat on your head?” I asked her. "I almost didn't recognize you. You

never wear a hat."

Joyce fidgeted with the hat. “It's cold out. Everyone wears a hat in this weather.” Especially everyone who has beaver fur stuck to their hair.

“So where the frig is he?” Joyce asked.

“I told you, I don't know. I didn't kill him. I didn't kidnap him. I have no clue where he is.” “Great,” Joyce said. “That's how you want to play it? Okay by me.”

And she stomped away.

“What's wrong with this picture?” I asked Rex. “How did this happen?”

Rex was asleep in his soup can. Hard to have a meaningful conversation with a hamster in a