Twisted Twenty-Six (Stephanie Plum 26)

We returned to the Porsche, and I buckled myself in. “You’re good with children,” I said to Ranger.

“You’ve seen my family in Newark. Lots of kids. Even more in Miami when I lived with my grandmother. I can change a diaper, make an omelet, and dance the salsa without my Hispanic machismo being threatened.”

“Do you miss Miami?”

“Less as time goes on.”

Thirty-five minutes later we were riding through two acres of storage lockers, looking for number 3175. Ranger found it and parked in front of it so that the SUV would shield us from view if other cars drove by. We got out, he picked the lock and unholstered his gun. The locker itself was the size of a small single-car garage. We rolled the door up and looked inside. No Grandma.

“This would have been too easy,” Ranger said. “Now what? Do you have any other suspects?”

“I have a long list of people who belonged to Miracle Fitness. Drop me off at my parents’ house so I can check on my mom and dad, and I’ll comb through the list one more time.”

“Sounds good. I’ll go back to Rangeman and see what I can find.”

* * *

—

My dad was in front of the television. The baseball bat was beside him, leaning against his chair. My mom was in the kitchen, staring into the refrigerator. No ironing board in sight. No Big Gulp of iced tea on the counter.

“Hey,” I said to my mom, “how’s it going?”

“I was just going to pull out some leftovers for dinner. Will you be eating with us?”

“Yep. I thought I’d gra

b something here. Why don’t I order pizza?”

“Pizza would be great. Your father would like that.”

I called Morelli to see if he wanted to join us.

“No,” he said. “I want to keep on this. Shine and Salgusta are holed up somewhere. I know something is going down with them. We’re looking for their cars, and we’re talking to relatives and neighbors.”

“What about Benny?”

“He’s in St. Francis. Looking at getting a stent tomorrow. I think he’s already got a bunch of them.”

There’s my weak link, I thought. I hung up with Morelli and called Pino’s. Twenty minutes later we got pizza delivery. One large pie with extra cheese, one large pie with the works, one small pie with the works.

“I’m taking the small pizza to a friend,” I told my mom. “You and Dad go ahead and eat without me. I’ll eat when I get back. I won’t be long.”

St. Francis Medical Center is on the edge of the Burg and a three-minute car ride from my parents’ house. I parked, got Benny’s room number from the attendant at the lobby desk, and went straight to his room.

There were two beds. One was empty. Benny was in the other. He was in a hospital gown, looking like he was about to give birth to twins. He had an oxygen thing hooked up to his nose and an IV drip hooked up to his arm. He was clearly shocked to see me.

“What the hell?” he said.

“I heard you were here,” I said, “and I thought you might be hungry.” I opened the pizza box and set it on his bedside table.

“Oh man,” Benny said. “That’s a Pino’s with the works.” He pushed a button on the side of his bed, and it raised him up into a sitting position. “Close the door a little so the nurses don’t see. I’m supposed to be on a special diet.”

“I didn’t know,” I said. “Maybe you shouldn’t eat this.”

“You try to take this away and I’ll kill you. I could do it too. I know I look like a pussy in this hospital gown, but I’ll do whatever it takes to keep this pizza. They fed me Cream of Wheat and Jell-O for lunch. It was disgusting.”

I closed the door and walked back over to him. “So, what’s the deal here? You looked healthy last time I saw you.”