Lean Mean Thirteen (Stephanie Plum 13)

“Any calls for me?” I asked her.

“No. Were you expecting calls?”

“I was supposed to talk to Marty Gobel this morning. I expected him to call my cell.” Not

that I wanted to talk to Marty Gobel, but it was better than having a warrant issued for my arrest.

I dialed Morelli. No answer.

Ranger was next up.

“Babe,” Ranger said.

“Anything new on Dickie?”

“No, but the natives are restless. I can feel Smullen sweating on the bug.”

I left the bonds office, climbed into the Vic, and drove to Dickie s house. It was easy to find since it was the only house on his block draped in yellow crime scene tape. It was a large cape with black shutters and a red door. Probably thirty years old but recently painted. Two-car garage. Nicely landscaped. Medium-size lot. Very respectable, if you overlooked the tape. I wasn't sure what I'd expected to find, but I'd felt compelled to do a drive-by. Morbid curiosity, I suppose, since Joyce had been impressed with his wealth. As it was, he seemed comfortable but not excessively rich.

I did a mental reenactment of the crime. I imagined the door to Dickie's house open, and Dickie getting dragged out by whoever shot him. There would have been a car in the driveway. Shots were fired a little before midnight, so it was dark. Overcast sky. No moonlight. Still, you'd think someone would have at least seen the car leave. If you hear shots fired, and you care enough to call the police, you care enough to look out the window.

I parked the Vic, crossed the street, and knocked on the door of the house across from Dickie s. The knock was answered by a woman in her fifties. “I'm investigating the Orr incident,” I told her. “I'd appreciate it if you could just answer a few questions for me.”

“I suppose, but I've already spoken to the police. I don't have much more to say.”

“You reported the shots?”

“Yes. I was getting ready for bed. I heard the shots, and I thought it was kids. They ride through and shoot at mailboxes. But then when I looked out the window, I saw the car pull out of the Orr driveway. And I saw that the front door to the house was left open.”

“What did the car look like?”

“It looked a little like your police car. It was dark out, so I can't be certain, but I think it was that burgundy color. And the shape was similar. I'm not much of a car person. My husband would have known exactly, but he was already in bed. He didn't get to the window in time.”

“Did you see any people in the car? Did you see the license plate?”

“No. I just saw the car. It pulled out of the driveway and went north, toward th Street.”

I thanked her and went back to the Vic. I had two means of exit from the Vic. I could crawl across the console and go out the passenger side door, or I could crawl out the driver's side window. It was easier to crawl out the window, but that meant the window stayed open, and it was freezing cold when I returned to the car. Although, since I had half a rotting squirrel stuck to my dashboard, there was some advantage to the open window.

I'd chosen to do the crawl over the console thing this time so as not to tip off the neighbors I wasn't really a cop. I returned to the Vic, got some heat going, and reviewed my choices. I could take a shot at finding one of the remaining skips. I could go on a poster hunt. I could head over to my parents' house and talk to Grandma about Milton Buzick. Or I could go home and take a nap.

I was leaning toward the nap when my phone buzzed.

“I need help,” Grandma said. “I got a hot date tonight with Elmer. We're going to the Rozinski viewing, and I'm thinking I might have to show some skin to keep Elmer away from Loretta Flick. I figure I can open a couple buttons on my blue dress, but I can't get my boobs to stay up. I thought you might be able to get me one of them pushup bras.”

Forty-five minutes later, I had Grandma in the Victoria s Secret dressing room, trying on push-up bras.

“Okay,” Grandma said from the other side of the door. “I got them all lifted up, and they look pretty good except for the wrinkles.”

“I wouldn't worry about the wrinkles,” I told her. “It looked to me like Elmer has cataracts.”

“Maybe I need one of them thongs to go with this bra,” she said.

I didn't want to think about Grandma in a thong. “Some pretty panties might be better.”

“As long as they're sexy. I might get lucky tonight.”

If she got lucky, Elmer would drop dead before dinner. “I'll pick out something that will match while you're getting dressed,” I told Grandma. We were at the register with the bra and panties, and I heard something sizzle in my head, and the next thing I knew I was on the floor and my lips were tingling.