Hardcore Twenty-Four (Stephanie Plum 24)

“The advantage to this is you don’t have to cut the grass, being that there isn’t any,” Lula said. “This lady got wall-to-wall gnomes.”

I rang the bell, and Judy Chucci opened the door. She was a couple inches shorter than me and pleasantly plump. That’s an outdated expression, but it fit Judy Chucci perfectly. She had brown hair tucked back behind her ears, and she was wearing jeans and a gray sweatshirt. The sweatshirt looked like someone had dripped red paint on it or maybe had a massive nosebleed.

“Omigod,” she said. “Stephanie Plum, right? You used to hang out with my little sister, Joanie. Joanie Beam.”

“Wow,” I said. “I didn’t know you were Joanie’s sister.”

“Yeah, I get that a lot. We don’t look alike, right? She’s all blond and thin, and I’m, you know, round.”

“What’s she doing now? I haven’t seen her in years.”

“She works at the tattoo parlor on State Street, downtown. She’s real good. I saw her tattoo Madonna on a guy once.”

“It’s gotta be hard to do Madonna,” Lula said. “I guess being artistic runs in the family. Looks like your thing is gnomes.”

“A lot of people don’t understand the finer points of gnome painting,” Judy said. “At first glance, they might all look the same, but it’s the details that count. Charlie, over in the corner, has a little pink in his red coat. And Harry, by the mailbox, has a crooked smile. And poor Mr. Murphy has a cataract. It was an accident. I added too much white to his eyes and next thing he was blind.” Judy bit into her lower lip. “I’m so sorry,” she whispered to Mr. Murphy.

“Can’t you just paint over it?” Lula asked.

Judy shook her head. “No. He’s blind. It’s irreversible.”

“That’s too bad,” Lula said. “Seems like something could be done to help him.”

“I’m told there’s a paint specialist in Denver who does wonderful work,” Judy said. “I’ve started a GoFundMe page for Mr. Murphy.”

“That’s a excellent idea,” Lula said. “I hear those pages rake in big bucks. And they got a good variety of weed in Denver, too.”

Judy nod

ded. “Mr. Murphy would like that. And he deserves it. He’s suffered so much.”

“About Johnny,” I said.

Judy stiffened and looked around. “He better not be here. I have a restraining order.”

“He missed his court date,” I said. “I work for his bond agent, and I need to bring him in to get rescheduled. I was hoping you’d help me find him.”

“In other words, you want to take him to jail?”

“Yes.”

“I’m in. What do you want to know? What do I have to do?”

“Boy, you must really dislike him,” Lula said.

“He’s a douchebag,” Judy said, “but I don’t want to get into that in front of the gnomes.” Judy stepped back. “Would you like to come in? I have coffee cake.”

We followed Judy along a narrow path through the living room. There were gnomes on every surface. They were on the floor, on the tables, on the couch, and on all the chairs. Ditto the dining room and kitchen. She had a gnome-painting workstation set up on the kitchen table.

“You ever watch that television show about hoarders?” Lula asked Judy.

“Yeah, those poor people get buried alive with their stuff. I don’t know why they don’t get help.”

“You ever see any hoarder shows about gnomes?”

Judy was searching through her kitchen. “I know I have a coffee cake here somewhere.”

“That’s okay,” I said. “We don’t really have time for coffee cake. I was hoping you could give me some information on Johnny. Do you know where he’s staying?”