Plum Lovin' (Stephanie Plum 12.50)

I crossed the street, pushed through the big oak door into the warm pub, and hiked myself up onto a barstool. No trouble claiming a seat. Ernie's was an after-work place, not a Saturday night date destination, and it was eerily empty. A few regulars nursed drinks at the bar and numbly watched the overhead television. The tables were empty. The lone bartender ambled over to me.

“What'U it be?” he asked.

“I'm looking for a friend. He was here last night. Has a birthmark on his face. His name's Bernie.”

“Yeah, I know the guy. Didn't know his name was Bernie. Not real talky. Pays in cash. He hasn't been in today. We get a different crowd during the week. Saturday and Sunday it's real slow. Were you supposed to meet him?”

“No. Just thought I might run into him.”

I left the bar and returned to the car. “He's not there,” I told Diesel. “The bartender said he hasn't seen him. Maybe we spooked him off this afternoon. Maybe he saw us walking around looking for him.”

Diesel was behind the wheel with his phone in his hand. “I have a problem,” he said. “Annie isn't answering. I check on her four times a day. This is the first time she hasn't answered.”

“Maybe she's in the shower.”

“She knows I call at this time. She's supposed to be there. I'm having a

guy I know drop in on her. He lives in her building.”

“Why aren't you staying with him?”

“He has a girl living with him. And he'd drive me nuts. You drive me nuts, too, but in a more interesting way.”

Oh boy. “Do you think Beaner found Annie?”

Diesel did a palms-up. “Don't know.”

Diesel's phone rang, and he looked at the readout. “It's Flash,” he said to me.

“The guy in Annie's building?”

“Yeah.”

A minute later, Diesel disconnected, put the car in gear, and pulled into the stream of traffic. “She isn't in the apartment. The door was locked. Nothing seemed to be disturbed.”

“Did she take her purse?” I asked him.

Diesel looked at me blank-faced. “Don't know.”

“Boots? Coat?”

“Don't know.”

“Were the lights left on?”

“Don't know.” He hung a U-turn and headed for the center of the city. “Let's go take a look.”

Twenty minutes later, we were on a side street in downtown Trenton. Diesel used a passkey to get into an underground garage, parked the car, and we took the elevator to the seventh floor, leaving Bob in the car. There were four apartments on the floor. Diesel knocked on 704 and unlocked the door. We stepped inside and looked around.

Lights were on. There was a purse on the kitchen counter. Wallet and assorted junk inside the purse. No keys. I checked closets. No winter coat or jacket. No boots.

“Here's what I think,” I said to Diesel. “She took her keys and winter coat, but she left her purse behind. So I think she stepped out for a moment and didn't intend to go far. Maybe she just needed air or wanted to walk a little. And then maybe something unexpected happened to her.”

It was a nice apartment. Not fancy, but tastefully decorated and comfortable. Small kitchen, living room, dining alcove, single bedroom, and bath.

“It's a pleasant apartment,” I said to Diesel, “but I can see where Annie would get squirrelly after being cooped up here for a few days. Her phone wasn't in her purse. Why don't you try calling her phone again?”

Diesel dialed Annie on his cell. After a couple beats, we heard the phone ringing. We followed the sound to the bedroom and found her cell phone on the floor by the bed.