Seven Up (Stephanie Plum 7)

“I'm bail enforcement.”

“That's right,” Valerie said. “This is my sister and she's a bail bonds enforcement person.”

“Bail bonds is different from police,” the woman said.

“The police are on their way,” I told her.

“I think you're a big fibber. I think you're saving this spot for your boyfriend. Nobody in police work would dress like you.”

The Oldsmobile was about a third into the parking space with the rear of the car blocking off half of Hamilton. From the corner of my eye I caught a flash of white and before I had a chance to react, DeChooch smashed into the Oldsmobile. The Oldsmobile bounced forward and smashed into the back of the SUV, missing me by half an inch. The Cadillac careened off the left rear quarter panel of the Oldsmobile, and I could see DeChooch struggling to get control. He turned and looked directly at me, for a moment we all seemed suspended in time, and then he took off.

Damn!

The two old ladies wrenched open the doors to the Oldsmobile and struggled out.

“Look at my car!” the driver said. “It's a wreck!” She whirled around at me. “It's all your fault. You did this. I hate you.” And she hit me in the shoulder with her purse.

“Yow,” I said, “that hurts.”

She was a couple inches shorter than me but had me by a few pounds. Her hair was cut short and was newly permed. She looked to be in her

sixties. She was wearing bright red lipstick, had crayoned dark brown eyebrows onto herself, and her cheeks were decorated with spots of rose-toned rouge. Definitely not from the Burg. Probably Hamilton Township.

“I should have run you over when I had the chance,” she said.

She hit me with the purse again, and this time I grabbed it by the strap and yanked it out of her hand.

Behind me I could hear Valerie give a little yelp of surprise.

“My purse,” the woman shrieked. “Thief! Help. She took my purse!”

A crowd had started to form around us. Motorists and mourners. The old lady grabbed one of the men on the fringe. “She's stealing my purse. She caused the accident and now she's stealing my purse. Get the police.”

Grandma jumped out of the crowd. “What's going on? I just got here. What's the ruckus about?”

“She stole my purse,” the woman said.

“Did not,” I said back.

“Did so.”

“Did not!”

“Yes you did,” the woman said, and she shoved me back with a hand to my shoulder.

“Keep your hands off my granddaughter,” Grandma said.

“Yes. And she's my sister,” Valerie chimed in.

“Mind your own business,” the woman yelled at Grandma and Valerie.

The woman shoved Grandma and Grandma shoved back and next thing they were slapping at each other and Valerie was standing to the side, shrieking.

I stepped forward to stop them and in the confusion of flailing arms and shrill threats someone smacked me in the nose. Little twinkle lights spread across my field of vision and I went down on one knee. Grandma and the old lady stopped slapping at each other and offered me tissues and advice on bow to stop the blood that was dripping from my nose.

“Someone get a paramedic,” Valerie shouted. “Call nine-one-one. Get a doctor. Get the undertaker.”

Morelli arrived and hauled me to my feet. “I think we can cross boxing off the list of possible alternative professions.”