Fearless Fourteen (Stephanie Plum 14)

“What?” Dom said.

“I'm looking for Loretta.”

“She went to get the kid.”

“He just called me. He's on the street, waiting.”

“She left an hour ago,” he said. “Maybe she went to the store or something.”

I couldn't see Loretta doing that. She would have been anxious to see her son.

She would have gone to the store after she picked him up.

“Oh shit!” Dom said, panic-voiced. “I gotta go.” And he hung up.

I redialed. No answer. I called Morelli.

“Something's not right,” I said to him. “I can't locate Loretta.”

“Do you think she skipped again?”

“I don't know what I think, but I have a bad feeling in my stomach. I got a call from Zook. She never picked him up. I called Dom, and he said she left an hour ago. Someone has to get Zook.”

“Dom?”

“He hung up on me, and I can't get him back.”

“Then I guess you have to get Zook.”

“I can't get Zook. I'm working. You have to get him.”

“I can't get him. I'm in the middle of something.”

“What?”

“Baseball. You know I play ball with the guys every Thursday.”

I rolled my eyes so severely I almost fell off my seat. “Please help me out here,” I said. “He's your... cousin.”

“Okay,” Morelli said. “But only because you said please.”

The SUVs wound their way into the arena back lot, and we off-loaded at the door. The lot held the semis that haul the staging and sound equipment, two band buses, a bunch of cop cars, and a SAT TV truck.

“This is just about the most exciting thing I've ever done,” Lula said. “This is better than when Grandma Mazur burned the funeral home down. There were TV trucks from all over the place covering that.”

A woman who looked like a Nancy clone led us through the maze of cinderblock corridors to the area set aside for costume changes and makeup. Twenty to thirty people milled around a couple tables of catered food. Electrical cables snaked along the floor, and the whole deal felt like the circus was in town.

Brenda's arrival prompted a flurry of activity. The stage manager, the bandleader, the makeup wrangler, the hairdresser, and the wardrobe specialist clustered around her. I followed Ranger's instructions and kept Brenda in sight, but I did it from a distance. Brenda was suddenly the c

onsummate professional. She answered questions, she made decisions, she followed instructions. People drifted away from the food to do their jobs, and Lula, Nancy, and I waited backstage while everyone walked through the show.

“This here's what I should be doing,” Lula said. “I always wanted to be a supermodel, but now I see I should be a singer. I've been doing gigs with Sally Sweet, but it don't showcase my talent. I need to be out there on that stage with a whole bunch of half-naked men dancing behind me.”

I gnawed on my lip a little.

“What?” Lula said.

“Nothing.”