Explosive Eighteen (Stephanie Plum 18)

Here was the question I dreaded asking. “Why are you here? What do you expect me to do to help you?”

“I need the treasure chest. Everything is in there. All the Pink Panther contact information. I figure if I could get in touch with the Panthers, I could negotiate.”

“Where is this treasure chest?”

“Frank used to keep it at the store.”

“You know what it looks like, right?”

“It looks like a miniature pirate chest. Frank said you hide things in obvious places because that’s never where anyone looks. He kept the chest on the shelf behind the register. There are some picture frames, and small glass vases, and the chest is in the middle.”

I finished my piece of chicken and washed my hands. I wanted a cookie, but I wasn’t going to open the package of Vienna Fingers in front of Joyce. I didn’t want to share.

“I’m not breaking into the store,” I said.

“It’s not a big deal. I know the code. I watched Frank punch it in.”

“Then why don’t you do it?”

“The Panthers could be watching.”

“I think there’s a real good chance they’ve all gone back to Pink Panther land.”

“No way. The Panthers are tenacious.” She eyeballed the Vienna Fingers sitting on the counter. “I guess I’ll just have to stay here forever.”

“Don’t even think about eating those Vienna Fingers,” I told her.

“Better on your hips than mine. Obviously, you don’t care how big your ass gets.”

Here are my options, I thought. I could stun her when she goes to sleep, drag her into the hall again, and have bars installed on my bedroom window. I could get the treasure chest. Or I could kill her.

“How am I going to get into the store?” I asked her.

“I assumed you had skills.”

“You assumed wrong. I have no skills.” That wasn’t even an understatement. What I had was luck, friends, and tenacity born of desperation.

“You know people who do have skills,” Joyce said.

“Fine,” I said, “I’ll get the stupid treasure chest.” I grabbed the Vienna Fingers and shoved them into my messenger bag. “Do not eat my frozen pizza. Do not drink my wine.”

Joyce tore a scrap off one of the grocery bags and wrot

e the code on it. “Say hello to Ranger for me. Tell him if he ever wants to trade up, I might give him a tug.”

For a moment I considered option number three. Someone really needed to kill Joyce. My fear was that I’d bungle it. Then what? She could be a living vegetable in my apartment for the rest of her life while I spooned soup into her and rubbed her feet.

I hiked my bag up onto my shoulder and left my apartment. I took the elevator and called Ranger when I got to the foyer.

“I need help,” I said. “I need to break into a jewelry store.”

There was a beat of silence. “Looking to accessorize?”

“I need to get into Frank Korda’s store. Can you get me in? I know the security code.”

“No problem.”

“I’m leaving my apartment now. I’ll meet you behind the store in about twenty minutes.”