Hard Eight (Stephanie Plum 8)

“Well, this is a big disappointment,” Lula said. “Where's the red nose that goes beep beep? And where're your big clown feet?”

“I'm not that kind of clown. Yeesh. Everybody says that. Ever since kindergarten I've been hearing that. It's spelled 'K-1-o-u-g-h-n.' Kloughn!”

“Could be worse,” Lula said. “You could be Albert Fuch.”

I gave Kloughn my card. “I'm Stephanie Plum and this is my associate, Lula. I understand you represented Evelyn Soder in her divorce case.”

“Wow,” he said, “are you really a bounty hunter?”

“Bond enforcement,” I told him.

“Yeah, that's a bounty hunter, right?”

“About Evelyn Soder . . .”

“Sure. What do you want to know? Is she in trouble?”

“Evelyn and Annie are missing. And it looks like Evelyn took Annie away so she wouldn't have to visit her father. She left a couple notes.”

“She must have had a good reason to leave,” Kloughn said. “She really didn't want to jeopardize her grandmother's house. She just didn't have any choice. She had no place to turn for the bond money.”

“Any ideas where Evelyn and Annie might have gone?”

Kloughn shook his head. “No. Evelyn didn't talk much. From what I could tell, her entire family lived in the Burg. I don't want to be mean or anything, but she didn't impress me as being real bright. I'm not even sure she could drive. She always had someone bring her to the office.”

“Where's your secretary?” Lula asked him.

“I don't have a secretary right now. I used to have someone who came in part-time, but she said the lint blowing around from the dryers bothered her sinuses. Probably I should put an ad in the paper, but I'm not real organized. I only opened this office a couple months ago. Evelyn was one of my first clients. That's why I remember her.”

Probably Evelyn was his only client. “Did she pay her bill?”

“She's paying it off monthly.”

“If she mails in a check, I'd appreciate it if you'd let me know where it was postmarked.”

“I was just gonna suggest that,” Lula said. “I thought of that, too.”

“Yeah, me, too,” Kloughn said. “I was thinking the same thing.”

A woman rapped on Kloughn's open door and stuck her head in. “The dryer at the far end don't work. It took all my quarters, and now it's just doing nothing. And on top of that, I can't get the door open.”

“Hey,” Lula said, “do we look like we care? This man's an attorney-at-law. He don't give a rat's ass about your quarters.”

“This happens all the time,” Kloughn said. He pulled a form from his top desk drawer. “Here,” he said to the woman. “Fill this out and the management will refund your money.”

“They gonna comp your rent for that?” Lula asked Kloughn.

“No. They'll probably evict me.” He looked around the room. “This is my third office in six months. I had an accidental wastebasket fire in my first office that sort of spread throughout the building. And the office after that got condemned when there was a toilet incident above it and the roof caved in.”

“Public restroom?” Lula asked.

“Yes. But I swear it wasn't me. I'm almost positive.”

Lula looked at her watch. “It's my lunchtime.”

“Hey, how about if I go to lunch with you guys,” Kloughn said. “I have some ideas on this case. We could talk about it over lunch.”

Lula cut her eyes to him. “Haven't got anybody to eat lunch with, hunh?”