Hardcore Twenty-Four (Stephanie Plum 24)

“I got a load of information about Johnny,” Grandma said. “He came back because he had a dream about his ex-wife, and he decided he was still in love with her. He tried to go visit her, and she hit him on the head with a fry pan, and he had to go to the emergency room. Twelve stitches. Went home and had another dream. This time God told him he had to try again. He’s afraid to go back, so he’s been sending her stuff. Flowers and pizza and love notes. So far as I know, the ex-wife wants nothing to do with him.”

“That’s pathetic,” Lula said. “If someone sent me pizza I’d have to reconsider my feelings for him.”

Grandma forked in some meatloaf. “Word is that he even forgives her for killing his dog with the chicken bone.”

“He sounds like a nice man,” Lula said. “A real romantic. It’s a shame we gotta haul his ass back to jail, but I guess that’s life, right?”

“Do you know where he’s staying?” I asked Grandma. “Where’s home these days?”

“He was staying with his brother Earl, but that got old for Earl’s wife,” Grandma said. “Then he moved in with his brother Little Pinkie, and he might still be there. And that’s all I know except that Johnny doesn’t look so good these days, and he might be a zombie.”

Lula sat forward in her seat. “Get out! Is that for real?”

“Well, he’s not raggedy, but his eyes are sort of sunken in like zombie eyes. I guess he could just be anemic, but people are talking.”

“What’s he smell like?” Lula asked. “Did anybody smell him?”

“I haven’t heard anything about his smell,” Grandma said.

My mother brought half a chocolate cake to the table. “For goodness’ sakes, the man got hit in the head with a fry pan. He’s probably got a headache.” She knifed into the cake and put a slab onto a plate. “Who wants dessert?”

We all wanted dessert.

• • •

We finished lunch and pushed back from the table.

“I’d offer to help you take down Johnny,” Grandma said, “but I got an appointment at the hair salon. I have to keep up appearances in case my honey decides to visit me or vice versa.”

My mother still had the cake knife on the table. She was looking like she wanted to plunge it into her heart and end it all, so I removed the knife from the table, washed it, dried it, and put it back in the knife drawer.

“Great lunch, Mrs. P.,” Lula said. “You sure know how to put out a spread.”

I gave my mom a hug. “Thanks for the lunch. Don’t worry about Grandma.”

“I’ll never forgive your grandfather for dying,” my mother said. “God bless his soul.”

• • •

Lula and I drove four blocks and parked across the street from Little Pinkie Chucci’s house.

“It doesn’t say anything about him in the file,” Lula said. “Is he married?”

“He’s married to a guy named Butch. They both work at the gym on Center Street. Butch is a physical therapist, and Little Pinkie is a trainer.”

We crossed the street, and I rang Little Pinkie’s doorbell. No one answered, but there was a lot of barking on the other side of the door. I rang the bell a second time, and the barking continued.

“I’m guessing that Little Pinkie and Butch are at work, and Johnny isn’t here either,” I said. “If someone was home they would have attempted to stop the barking.”

Lula was already creeping around the house, looking in the windows.

“The dog that’s making all that noise is about three pounds. It’s one of those Chihuahua dogs,” Lula said. “I can see the little ankle biter looking up at me.”

I moved next to Lula, checked out the dog, and continued walking. I was able to see the kitchen from the back door window. Everything was neat and clean. Two cereal bowls and two juice glasses in the dish drain. No indication that a third person was living in the house.

“No sign of Mr. Underpants,” Lula said. “Now what?”

“Now we go to the gym to talk to Little Pinkie.”