Three to Get Deadly (Stephanie Plum 3)

“You have your car keys in your hand, and I know the body language. You look like my mother.”

The grin widened. “You sure you don't want an escort?”

“Yes, I'm sure.” The only thing worse than being scared out of my wits was having Morelli know it.

Morelli opened the door and glanced at the Mazda. “Looks like you've got one of Bucky's loaners.”

“Bucky remembered me from high school. Said you gave me quite a recommendation on the men's room wall at Mario's.”

“That was during my reckless youth,” Morelli said. “These days I'm the soul of discretion.”

It was still early, and I couldn't get excited about going home and fixing dinner for one. The alternatives were Cluck in a Bucket or mooching a meal from my parents. I was afraid I might be recognized and remembered at Cluck in a Bucket, so I opted for family.

My mother looked flustered when she came to the door. “Whose car is that?” she asked.

“It's a loaner from a garage. My car is broken again.”

“Hah!” my father said from the dining room.

“We were just sitting down,” my mother said. “Roast leg of lamb with mashed potatoes and asparagus.”

“Is that Stephanie?” Grandma Mazur hollered from the table. “Have you got your gun? I want to show it around.”

“I've got my gun, but you can't see it,” I said.

There was a man sitting next to Grandma Mazur.

“This here's Fred,” Grandma said. “He's my boyfriend.”

Fred nodded to me. “Howdy-do.”

Fred looked to be about three hundred years old. Gravity had pulled the skin from the top of his head down to his neck, and Fred had tucked it into his shirt collar.

I took my seat across from Grandma and noticed a set of false teeth neatly placed beside Fred's salad fork.

“Those are my choppers,” Fred said. “Got them for free from the VA, but they don't fit right. Can't eat with them in.”

“Had to put his lamb through the meat grinder,” Grandma said. “That's what the lump of gray stuff is on his plate.”

“So,” my father said to Fred. “You pretty well fixed?”

“I do okay. I get disability from the army.” He tapped a finger against his right eye. “Glass,” he said. “World War Two.”

“Were you overseas?” my father asked.

“Nope. Lost my eye at Camp Kilmer. I was inspecting my bayonet, and then next thing you know I'd poked my eye out with it.”

“The fact he's only got one eye don't slow him down none,” Grandma said. “I've seen him handle ten bingo cards and never miss a single call. And he's an artist, too. He hooks rugs. You should see the beautiful rugs he makes. He made one with a picture of a tiger on it.”

“I imagine you got a house of your own?” my father asked him.

Fred gummed some of the gray glop. “Nope. I just got a room at Senior Citizens. I sure would like to have a house though. I'd like to marry someone like Sweetie here, and I'd be happy to move right in. I'd be quiet too. You wouldn't hardly know I was here.”

“Over my dead body,” my father said. “You can take your teeth and get the hell out of here. You're nothing but a goddamn gold digger.”

Fred opened his eyes wide in alarm. “I can't get out of here. I haven't had dessert yet. Sweetie promised me dessert. And besides, I don't have a ride back to the Seniors.”

“Call him a cab,” my father ordered. “Stephanie, go call him a cab. Ellen, wrap up his dessert.”