Lean Mean Thirteen (Stephanie Plum 13)

Uncle Mickey disappeared behind his door, and we moved to 3 B.

“That was sort of depressing,” Lula said. “He looks so sincere in those commercials. You just want to rush out and buy one of his cars.”

A voluptuous, dark-haired, dark-eyed woman answered my knock at B. She was wearing a red sweater and jeans and had an expensive watch on her wrist and a diamond cocktail ring that went knuckle to knuckle. I put her age at forty with very good genes.

“Yes?” she said.

'We're working our way through college fixing things,“ Lula said. ”You got anything broken?"

“I know who you are,” the woman said to me. “I saw your picture in the paper. You're the woman who murdered Dickie Orr.”

“I didn't murder him,” I said. “I have an alibi.”

“Yeah, right. Everyone's always got an alibi. You're in big trouble. Orr embezzled a shitload of money from the firm, and you killed the little worm before anybody could figure out where he put it.”

“How do you know that?”

“The guy I'm living with is a partner. Peter Smullen. He tells me everything. We're getting married as soon as he gets a divorce from his bitch wife. Then we can buy a house and get out of this dump.”

“Peter Smullen lives here?”

“Usually. When he's not traveling. Or screwing around. He didn't come home last night, and it's going to cost him big. I've had my eye on a bracelet at Tiffany's. I've been waiting for him to pull something like this.”

“A woman's gotta plan ahead,” Lula said. “Gotta take advantage of those opportunities.”

“Fuckin' A,” Smullens girlfriend said.

“Okay then/' I said. ”Have a nice day. We'll be moving along."

Lula and I stopped on the second-floor landing to regroup.

“That was interesting,” Lula said. “Do you want to try the other tenants? We missed a bunch on the first and second floors.”

“I don't think Dickie is here, but we might as well finish the job we started. And for God's sake, don't offer to fix anything.”

Joyce followed me to my apartment building and parked two rows back. I could be a good person and tell her I was done for the night, or I could be mean and let her sit there for a while before she figured it out. I decided to go with mean. She wouldn't believe me anyway. I took the elevator to the second floor and found a guy in RangeMan black waiting in front of my door.

“I'm supposed to make sure your apartment is safe before you go in,” he said.

Good grief. I guess I appreciated the concern, but this was feeling a little over the top.

I unlocked the door and waited while he did his thing, looking under beds and checking out closets.

“Sorry,” he said when he was done. “Tank made me do it. If something happens to you while Ranger s away, we're all out of a job.”

“Ranger should get a grip.”

“Yes, ma'am.”

I closed the door and looked at him through the peephole. He was still standing there. I opened the door.

“Now what?” I said.

“I'm not allowed to leave until I hear you lock and bolt the door.”

I closed the door, locked and bolted it. I looked through the peephole again. No RangeMan. I hung my coat and bag on the hook in the hall and gave Rex a cracker.

“I have a very strange life,” I said to Rex.