“She hasn’t been gone very long.”
“I know, but she left without her egg salad,” I said to Ranger. “Lula might abandon me, but she’d never drive off without her lunch.”
“Maybe something better came along.”
FIVE
CONNIE WAS ON the phone when I walked into the office. She hung up and looked over at me. “Have you heard from Lula?”
“No.” I put the deli bag on Connie’s desk. “It’s like she vanished into thin air. Left without her lunch.”
Vinnie stuck his head out of his inner office. “Do I smell egg salad?”
“It’s Lula’s lunch,” I said.
“So where’s Lula?” he asked.
Connie and I did a shoulder shrug.
“Don’t know,” I said.
Vinnie is like a cartoon character of a bail bondsman. Slicked-back hair, body like a weasel’s, pointy-toed shoes, skinny pants, and shiny shirts. He keeps a vodka bottle in his bottom desk drawer, next to his gun.
“Where’d you get the egg salad?” he asked.
“The deli on K Street.”
Vinnie ventured out of his office far enough to look in the lunch bag.
“Is this potato salad?” he asked.
“Yeah, and macaroni.”
“Anybody want any of this?”
“Not me,” Connie said.
“Nope,” I said. “Me either.”
“Hello, lunch,” Vinnie said, and he took the bag into his office and closed and locked his door.
“Any luck with Globovic?” Connie asked.
“I’m going back this afternoon to talk to his girlfriend.”
Vinnie yelled from inside his office. “Where’s my dessert? There’s no dessert here.”
“How do you keep from shooting him?” I asked Connie.
“I embezzle money from his bank account. It’s pretty satisfying.”
When most people say things like that it’s a joke. I suspected Connie was serious. And I’m sure she deserves whatever she steals.
“I’m going back to Kiltman,” I said. “Let me know if you hear from Lula.”
It took three tries to get my car to crank over, but I finally chugged down the street. I watched for the red Firebird as I drove across town. I tried to convince myself that Lula was at a shoe sale or all-you-can-eat sausage bar, but I wasn’t having a lot of success. There was a knot in my stomach and a hollow feeling in my chest.
I parked in a lot attached to the student center and walked to the front entrance. It was a big building containing a small theater, a food court, a gallery for student art, and a bunch of offices. The student paper was located in one of the second-floor office spaces. Every inch of the room was cluttered with stacks of papers, office machines, some utilitarian desks, and mismatched chairs. Two women were at a desk, studying something on a laptop.