Explosive Eighteen (Stephanie Plum 18)

Lula turned onto Broad, cut across town, and started to sweat.

“Are you okay?” I asked her. “You’re sweating, and your face isn’t its usual color.”

“What color is it?”

“Asparagus.”

“I might be coming down with the flu.”

“How about food poisoning?”

“I feel like my stomach’s getting all swelled up,” Lula said. “It’s not fitting in my pants no more. And it’s doing funny sounds. I might need a bathroom.”

“Can you make it to the coffee shop?”

“Yeah, I just have to drive faster. You probably want to close your eyes.”

Three minutes later, she slid to a stop in front of the coffee shop.

“I’m gonna make a run for it,” Lula said. “Just stay out of my way, because when I stand up all hell’s liable to break loose.”

She kicked her door open and took off.

“Outta my way! Comin’ through!” she yelled.

She disappeared into the restroom at the back of the coffee shop, and moments later two women ran out.

I bought a ham-and-cheese sandwich and joined Connie at the table in the window.

“Lula ate some green roast beef and half-price potato salad,” I said to Connie.

“You play, you pay,” Connie said. “How’d it go at the junkyard?”

“Andy found a shoe and Joyce’s driver’s license in the crusher area.”

“Were you able to trace it back to a car?”

“No. Turns out your cousin Manny has a loosey-goosey policy about stuff that gets dumped out of the crusher.”

“It’s junkyard etiquette to never look in the trunk,” Connie said.

The restroom door crashed open, and Lula staggered out. “I’m dying,” she said. “Do I look like I’m dying?”

“You’ve looked better,” I told her. “Do you want me to drive you around the block to the emergency room?”

“Thanks for offering, but I’m taking myself home. And I’m never eating potato salad again. There should be a law against potato salad.”

I finished my sandwich and stood. “Places to go. People to capture.”

“If I’m not here, I’ll be on my cell,” Connie said. “I have some short-term offices to look at.”

• • •

I left the coffee shop and drove to Buggy’s house. I was better prepared today. I had plastic Flexi-Cuffs in my back pocket and my hand wrapped around my stun gun when I knocked on his front

door.

“Boy, am I glad to see you,” Buggy said, looking out at me. “I need to borrow your car. I need to go to the drugstore to get a box of Band-Aids.”