Explosive Eighteen (Stephanie Plum 18)

“Yeah,” Lula said, “but you’ve been real secret about it, and all this talk about true love and indigestion has me putting it together, and I finally got it figured out. You’re preggers!”

My mother clapped a hand over her mouth, made a strangled sound, and went facedown into the olive loaf. For a brief moment, I thought she’d had a heart attack, and I was responsible.

“She just fainted,” Grandma said. “She used to faint all the time when she was a little girl. A real drama queen.”

We stretched my mom out on the floor, and Grandma got a wet towel. My mom finally opened her eyes and looked up at me. “Who? What?”

“I’m not pregnant,” I said.

“Are you sure?”

I had to think about it for a minute. “Pretty sure.” I’d be more sure in a week.

We sat my mom back in her chair, I got the whiskey from the cupboard, and we all chugged some.

“I can’t take it anymore,” Lula said to me. “I want to know about the ring. I want to know who you married. What the heck happened in Hawaii anyhow?”

“Yeah,” Grandma said. “I want to know, too.”

“Ditto,” my mom said, taking another hit from the whiskey bottle.

I’d been avoiding this. There were parts to my vacation that were spectacular, but there were also parts I’d just as soon forget … like the ending. Not only didn’t I want to talk about it, I had no idea what to say. It was all too awkward. Unfortunately, I owed Lula and my family an explanation. I just wouldn’t tell them all of it.

“It was nothing. It was business. I’ll tell you what happened, but you have to swear not to repeat it.”

Everyone made the sign of the cross, drew zippers across their mouths, and threw the keys away.

“I offered the second free plane ticket to Morelli,” I said, “but he couldn’t get away from work. He never gets away from work. So I went by myself. I got off the plane in Honolulu, and as I was walking through the terminal, I spotted Tootie Ruguzzi.”

“Get the heck out,” Lula said. “The Rug’s wife?”

“Yeah.”

“Those two disappeared off the face of the earth,” Grandma said. “We all thought they got planted.”

Simon Ruguzzi, better known as The Rug, is a local celebrity hit man. He’s part of the Colichio crime family, but he’s also been known to do freelance. Three years ago, he executed seven members of a Hispanic gang that was trying to muscle in on Colichio territory. Two other gang members witnessed the massacre but escaped and fingered The Rug. He was arrested and charged and somehow managed to get released on a ridiculously high bail bond. That was the last anyone ever saw The Rug or Tootie. Vinnie had written the bond, and Ranger and I have been looking for The Rug ever since.

“Was The Rug with her?” Lula asked.

“Not in the terminal. She was alone. I followed her outside and watched her get on a shuttle to a resort. I picked up my rental car and drove to the address on the side of the shuttle. It was one of those really expensive beachfront, view-of-Diamond-Head resorts that cater to special-events packages. I tried to get in, but it was married-couples-only retreat month. High-security, exclusive, strictly enforced privacy.”

“They weren’t even letting bounty hunters in?” Lula asked.

“My name wasn’t on the guest list. End of story.”

“How about if you were a guest?”

“I had to be married.”

“I’m getting a picture,” Lula said.

“It was more complicated than that,” I told her. “Even if I captured The Rug, I don’t have the authority to return him to Jersey. Vinnie and Ranger handle the high stakes bonds and extradition.”

“So you called Ranger,” Lula said.

“Yes. He caught the next flight, and we checked into the resort as Mr. and Mrs. Manoso.”