Four to Score (Stephanie Plum 4)

“He called us names,” Lula said. “He called Sally a fruit.”

“Well, okay,” I said. “Just this once, but then no more scrambling.”

Lula looked at her stun gun. “Damn. I used all my juice. I got a low battery here.”

Kuntz made a hands-?in-?the-?air, I-?give-?up, I-?hired-?a-?loser gesture and walked away. Several bystanders helped Joyce to her feet. And Lula and Sally and I retreated to the car.

“So what was it you and Joyce were squabbling about?” Lula wanted to know.

“I got another clue. As soon as I saw the pie I knew it was supposed to be for Eddie Kuntz, and I figured there was a clue in it. Joyce saw me pick the clue up off the ground.” I pulled the plastic bag from my purse. “Ta dah!” I sang.

“Hot dang!” Lula said. “You are so good.”

“We're like the A-?team,” Sally said.

“Yeah, only the A-?team didn't have no drag queen,” Lula said.

“Mr. T. liked jewelry,” Sally said. “I could be Mr. T.”

“Nuh uh. I want to be Mr. T. on account of he was big and black like me.”

Sally had taken the note out of the bag and was reading it. “This is interesting. She keeps changing the code. This is much more sophisticated than the others.”

“Can you read it?”

“Hey, I'm the fucking code master. Just give me some time.”

* * * * *

I PARKED in the lot to my apartment building and took the stairs to the second floor. Mrs. Delgado, Mr. Weinstein, Mrs. Karwatt and Leanne Kokoska were standing, staring at my door.

“Now what?” I asked.

“Someone left you a message,” Mrs. Karwatt said. “I was going out with the garbage when I noticed it.”

“It's a pip, too,” Mrs. Delgado said. “Must be from one of them hoodlums you're out to get.”

I stepped up and looked at the door. The message was scribbled in black marker: “I hate you! And I'll get even!”

“Who do you suppose did this?” Leanne asked. “Are you on a real dangerous case? You after a murderer or something?”

Truth is, I had no idea anymore who I was after.

“Permanent marker,” Mr. Weinstein said. “Gonna be the devil to get off. Probably gonna have to paint over it.”

“I'll call Dillon,” I told them, shoving the key in the lock. “Dillon will fix it for me.”

Dillon Ruddick was the super, and Dillon would fix anything for a smile and a beer.

I let myself into my apartment, and my neighbors went off looking for a new adventure. I slipped the safety chain into place, bolted my door and headed for the kitchen. The light was blinking on my answering machine. One message.

I punched Replay. “This is Helen Badijian, the manager at the Seven-?Eleven.” There was a pause and some fumbling. “You left your card here and said I should call if I had information about Miss Nowicki.”

I dialed the 7-Eleven and Helen answered.

“I'm very busy now,” she said. “If you could drop by later, maybe around ten, I think I might have something for you.”

This was turning into a halfway decent day. Sally was working on the clue, and the 7-Eleven woman had a potential lead.