Smokin' Seventeen (Stephanie Plum 17)

“I’m trying to sleep. It’s nice and quiet here. And it’s dark.”

“Don’t the people who own the funeral parlor mind you sleeping in their casket?”

“Actually, it’s my casket. I bought it a couple years ago. It’s very restful. I used to have it at the house, but it was freaking my sister out when she came to visit, so Georgie said I could leave it here.”

“Even for a vampire you’

re weird,” Lula said.

“It’s not easy being a vampire,” Ziggy said. “I have to avoid the sunlight, and I have to find blood to drink, and I can’t even wear normal dentures. I had to have these made special. And there are expectations. Like sleeping in a coffin. And I always have to be on guard for people who want to drive a stake through my heart.”

“That’s it,” Lula said. “A stake to the heart. I knew there was a way to kill you.”

Ziggy sucked in air.

“You already got the casket,” Lula said. “Nothing to worry about. It’s all good.”

“No way are you putting a stake in me,” Ziggy said. “I’m not ready. You come near me, and I’ll suck out all your body fluids.”

“Damn,” Lula said. “I got enough of the vampire cooties already. My teeth are growing, and I’m not happy about it. I had perfect teeth before you sucked on me.” She reached into her purse, grabbed her stun gun, and tagged Ziggy.

Ziggy crumpled into a heap on the floor.

“That was scary,” Lula said. “I like my body fluids. I wouldn’t look good without them.”

“I don’t know which of you is worse. He’s not a vampire, and he’s not going to drain any of your fluids. The best he could do is slip a diuretic into your coffee.”

“How am I worse?”

“You’re full of baloney. You haven’t got a silver bullet or a stake. You’re making threats you have no intention of carrying out.”

“Yeah, but we do that all the time.”

True. “We should cuff him and load him into the Jeep before he comes around.”

“What about the sunshine?”

“He’ll be fine.”

“Are you sure? And what about the screaming? I couldn’t take any more of that screaming. We need to cover him.”

I looked around. Nothing. No drop cloths, sheets, garbage bags.

“I know,” Lula said, grabbing his arms. “We’ll put him in his casket. Get his legs and help me heave ho.”

“Caskets are heavy. We’ll never be able to get it into the Jeep.”

“There’s a rolling casket carrying thing by the door. It’s what they use at funerals. It raises and lowers.”

“Okay, but if it doesn’t work you’re just going to have to deal with the screaming.”

“Deal,” Lula said, “but I’m not watching him shrivel up and turn into a cat turd. Soon as he starts to smoke I’m outta there.”

We dropped Ziggy into the casket, and I closed and locked the lid. I rolled the gurney over, we hefted the casket onto it, and we rolled the whole deal to the front of the garage.

“I’ll wait here,” Lula said. “You back the Jeep up to the door.”

I ran to the Jeep and collapsed the backseat so there was more room for the casket. I backed the SUV up to the door, Lula powered the door up, and we loaded the casket in.