Seven Up (Stephanie Plum 7)
“My future grandmother-in-law would put the eye on you.”
“The old bat is a crackpot. I don't believe in that bunk.”
DeChooch hung up.
I was getting a lot of fast action on the bait scheme, but I wasn't making any progress getting Mooner back. A big sad lump was sitting in the middle of my throat. I was scared. No one seemed to have Mooner to trade. I didn't want Mooner or Dougie to be dead. Even worse, I didn't want to be like Valerie, sitting at the table blubbering with her mouth open.
“Damn!” I yelled. “Damn, damn, damn!”
Rex backed out of his soup can and looked up at me, whiskers whirring. I broke off a corner of a strawberry Pop-Tart and handed it to Rex. He shoved the Pop-Tart into his cheek and returned to his can. A hamster of simple pleasures.
I called Morelli and asked him over for dinner. “Except you have to bring the dinner,” I said.
“Fried chicken? Meatball sub? Chinese?” Morelli asked.
“Chinese.”
I rushed into the bathroom, took a shower, shaved any legs so the stupid voice in my head wouldn't screw things up again, and washed my hair with the shampoo that smells like root beer. I rummaged through my lingerie drawer until I found my black lace thong underpants and matching bra. I covered the undies with my usual T-shirt and jeans and swiped on some mascara and lip gloss. If I was going to get kidnapped and tortured I was going to have some fun first.
Bob and Morelli bounded in just as I was pulling on socks.
“I've got egg rolls, vegetable stuff, shrimp stuff, pork stuff, rice stuff, and some stuff that I think was supposed to go to somebody else but found its way into my bag,” Morelli said. “And I got beer.”
We put everything on the coffee table and turned the television on. Morelli flipped Bob an egg roll. Bob caught it midair and ate it in one gulp.
“We've talked about it, and Bob has agreed to be my best man,” Morelli said.
“So there's going to be a wedding?”
“I thought you bought a dress.”
I scooped out some shrimp stuff. “It's on hold.”
“What's the problem?”
“I don't want a big wedding. It feels dopey. But my grandmother and my mother keep dragging me into one. All of a sudden I've got this dress on. And then next thing we've got a hall reserved. It's like someone sucked my mind out of my head.”
“Maybe we should just go get married.”
“When?”
“Can't be tonight. The Rangers are playing. Tomorrow? Wednesday?”
“Are you serious?”
“Yeah. Are you going to eat that last egg roll?”
My heart stopped dead in my chest. When it started back up again it was skipping beats. Married. Shit! I was excited, right? That's why I felt like I might throw up. It was the excitement. “Don't we need blood tests and licenses and stuff?”
Morelli turned his attention to my T-shirt. “Pretty.”
“The shirt?”
He traced a line with his fingertip along the lace edge of my bra. “That, too.” His hands slid under the cotton fabric and the shirt was suddenly over my head and discarded. “Maybe you should show me your stuff,” he said. “Convince me you're worth marrying.”
I raised a single eyebrow. “Maybe you're the one who should be doing the convin
cing.”