“You suppose right. Anyway, I’m trying to find Martin Munch. Vinnie’s in a rant over him. Anything new on your end?”
“No,” Morelli said. “But we found eight other unsolved murders spread all over the country with the same MO.”
“Rotated neck and a burn that looks like a handprint?”
“Yes.”
“It’s creepy. Is that Anthony yelling in the background?”
“He wants breakfast. He can’t find clean socks. He needs batteries in the television remote. It’s endless.”
“You’re being an enabler. He can do all those things for himself, but he has no incentive if you do them for him. And he has no incentive to want to shape up and go home to his wife as long as you’re taking her place. The only thing missing in your relationship is sex. And that might not be a big selling point, since I suspect the sex scene in his house is going to be very frosty for a long time.”
“You’re right,” Morelli said. “Let him find his own damn socks. I’m done.”
“Gotta go. Things to do.”
Stephanie Plum 14.5 - Plum Spooky
FIFTEEN
DIESEL WAS ON the phone when I walked into my apartment. His hair was damp, and he was freshly shaved, which meant he’d used my razor. Diesel traveled light. He hung up and wrapped an arm around me.
“You smell like doughnuts,” he said.
“I bought Lula breakfast.”
“I have a guy flying in to a small airport just north of Hammonton. He’s going to take us over the Barrens. I’m hoping we can spot the rocket-?launch site from the air.”
“How small is this plane?”
“It’s not a plane. It’s a he li cop ter.”
“Oh boy.”
“Something wrong with that?”
“I’ve never been in a he li cop ter. I’ve never wanted to be in a he li cop ter. They don’t look safe.”
“Sweetie, nothing that flies looks safe, including birds.”
He lifted my bag off the hook on the wall and draped it over my shoulder. “Time to roll.”
We took the Subaru with the trailered ATVs. If we found the launch site, we’d use the ATVs to get back to it. If we didn’t find the launch site, we’d ride around and hope we got lucky. I had mixed feelings about getting lucky. I wanted to snag Munch, but I didn’t especially want to see Diesel in action, shutting Wulf down.
At the best of times, Trenton isn’t especially pretty. And this wasn’t the best of times. The sky was the color and texture of wet cement, and everything under it felt like doom. I looked up at the sky, and I prayed for rain. I was pretty sure he li cop ters didn’t fly in the rain.
By the time we found Hammonton Airport, the sky had lightened a little, and I knew I wasn’t going to be saved by rain. The he li cop ter was sitting on a stretch of blacktop, waiting for us. It was blue and white, had a clear bubble nose, and looked like a big dragonfly. It seated four.
“Oh God,” I said on a moan.
“Think of this as an adventure,” Diesel said.
“I’m from Jersey. I get my adventure on the Turnpike. I only fly if there’s a beach or a casino involved. And then it’s in a big plane serving alcohol.”
We parked and crossed the blacktop to the pi lot. He was average height, average weight, and covered head to toe with tattoos. His graying blond hair was pulled back in a ponytail.
“This is Boon,” Diesel said. “I’ve known Boon for about a hundred years.”