Fortune and Glory (Stephanie Plum 27)

Lula sat forward in her seat. “I don’t see anything.”

“It went away,” Potts said. “It was there for a minute. It might have been one of those escort angels that take you to heaven.”

“As long as it’s not coming for me,” Lula said. “I’m not ready. I got a hair appointment tomorrow.”

Parker Street was two blocks away. The neighborhood wasn’t the best, but it also wasn’t Stark Street. It was mostly residential row houses that were two and three stories. Occasionally there would be a small bar on a corner or a small grocer in the middle of a block. There was the usual gang graffiti on the buildings, but the buildings weren’t pockmarked with bullet holes. I found the peace sign building and parked at the curb.

“Are we going in this building?” Potts asked.

“Yes,” I said. “Do you want to wait in the car?”

“By myself?”

“Yes.”

“I guess I can’t protect you if I wait in the car.”

Lula cut her eyes to me. “He’s protecting you?”

“He took an oath,” I said.

“Oh boy,” Lula said. “Hah!”

“It’s true,” Potts said. “I would give my life for her. She’s been nice to me.”

Lula went serious. “That’s heavy,” she said. “Sort of stupid, but heavy.”

Potts nodded. “Exactly.”

“Okay then,” Lula said. “Let’s do it.”

We all got out of the car and walked to the building. The door was unlocked and led to a tiny lobby with some mailboxes. There were two names for the second floor. Tim Windrow in 2A and Alice Smuther in 2B. We took the stairs to the second floor, and I knocked on 2B. No answer. I knocked again. Still no answer.

“I don’t like the way it smells here,” Lula said. “I’ve smelled this smell before.”

“I’ve never smelled it, but I don’t like it,” Potts said. “It’s unpleasant.”

I tried the doorknob and it clicked open. “Not locked,” I said.

I pushed the door open and we all stepped inside. One medium-size room with a door leading to the bathroom. Kitchenette lining one side. Small table with two chairs. Queen-size bed against the far wall. Slept in and unmade. Dead woman sprawled on the floor. Probably been dead for a couple of days.

Potts looked at the corpse, his eyes rolled back into his head, and he crashed to the floor.

“He handled that pretty good,” Lula said. “At least he didn’t poop himself. Not yet anyways.”

I called 911 and reported a possible homicide. It looked like the woman had been shot in the chest and the head, so I was pretty sure it wasn’t self-inflicted. We grabbed Potts by his ankles, dragged him into the hall, and shut the door.

“I guess we gotta wait for the police,” Lula said. “I hope this all doesn’t take too long. I’ve got some stuff lined up on my TV. I’ve been binge-watching Game of Thrones. This is my second time around, but I still like it. Not to mention if I stay here much longer, I’m going to throw up.”

Potts opened his eyes. “What?” he said.

“Stay down and relax for a couple of minutes,” I told him. “You fainted.”

“I had the craziest dream while I was out. I thought I saw a dead woman with blood all over. It was horrible.”

I gave Lula the keys to my car. “I’ll stay here, and you can go home. I’ll pick my car up tomorrow. Take Potts with you and drop him at his parents’ house on Porter Street.”

“How will you get home?”