Hardcore Twenty-Four (Stephanie Plum 24)

The judge gave up a sigh and told Diggery to speed things up.

“So anyways,” Diggery said, “I put the ring in my pocket and forgot about it, what with the geranium planting and all. It didn’t occur to me that it belonged to the lady resting in the grave. If it had been buried with her, how in holy heck did it get out of her slumber chamber?” Diggery leaned forward a little. “That’s what they call the casket now,” he told the judge. “Slumber chamber.”

The judge did a small grimace. “Go on.”

“I was leaving after my planting and one of our fine men in uniform, one of our wonderful first responders, mistook me for a miscreant. And that’s how I came to be arrested.”

“According to the arrest report, you were doing your gardening at two in the morning.”

“That’s right, your honor. That’s when I do all my gardening. I got a touch of the skin cancer, so I garden at night.”

The judge gave his head a small shake and looked at his watch. It was lunchtime. He looked at the prosecutor and the court-appointed public defender.

“Anybody? Anything?” the judge asked.

Nobody had anything.

“I’m fining you fifty dollars for trespass after cemetery hours,” the judge said. “Do your gardening during the day and use sunscreen.”

Diggery paid his fine, collected his belongings, and followed me across the street to the CR-V.

“Nice of you to give me a ride,” he said. “Uber never wants to go down my street.”

“There are some things you need to know,” I said, pulling into traffic.

“I hope it’s not bad news about Ethel.”

“I haven’t been to your double-wide today, but as far as I know, Ethel is fine.”

“Then how bad can it be?”

“You know how we left the door open so Ethel could follow the hot-dog trail?”

“Yep.”

“Well, a lot of raccoons got inside instead of Ethel.”

“Again? Dang it. They keep doing that. Did they eat my peanut butter?”

“They ate everything. And then when they left, about a hundred cats went in.”

Diggery nodded. “We got a mean pack of ferals in that neighborhood. Anything else?”

“One of the zombies smashed your window, but Ethel scared it

off, and the police patched it up.”

“Damn zombies.”

“Turns out they aren’t really zombies.”

“I heard about it while I was in jail. You hear about everything in jail. They’re drug zombies, and the only way they can get more of the drug is to pay for it with some human brain.”

“That’s sick.”

“Doesn’t seem to me like a good business plan. Why would you do it if you’re not making any money on it?”

Diggery’s street was blocked by a police cruiser, but we were waved through. There were more cruisers parked along the road, and Diggery’s yard was being used as a staging area. Morelli’s SUV was there, as well as a police transport van. Diggery went straight to his double-wide to check on Ethel, and I went looking for Morelli. I found him behind the van, talking to a uniform.