Explosive Eighteen (Stephanie Plum 18)

“Does Bob count?”

I disconnected and went to the door. Bob came thundering across the living room and threw himself at me, almost knocking me over. I scratched his neck and made dog sounds at him.

“Here’s my boy,” I said. “Here’s my big boy. Is he good? Has he been a good boy?” Bob was a big, shaggy red dog that on a decent hair day might resemble a golden retriever.

“You have an escort,” Morelli said, looking out at the Lincoln.

“Lancer and Slasher. The fake FBI guys. They’re low on the threat level.”

“Who’s high?”

“Razzle Dazzle. The guy in the parking garage. And Marianne Mikulski.”

“Why is Marianne a threat?”

“Rumor has it you’ve been seen with her.”

“So?”

Morelli was barefoot, wearing faded jeans and a navy T-shirt. His hair was still damp from a shower, and he smelled like fresh-baked cinnamon rolls. I was torn between wanting to rip his clothes off and wanting to lick his neck. Fortunately, I didn’t have to make a choice since I was off men.

“Just checking,” I said.

Morelli headed for the kitchen. “Marianne is a neighbor. She lives two doors down, and she brings her dog over to play with Bob. Who’s spreading rumors?”

“Joyce Barnhardt.”

Morelli poured out two mugs of coffee and handed one to me. “My mother dropped cinnamon rolls off this morning when she was on her way to church with my grandmother. They both asked about you. Conjecture out there is that I punched you in the nose.”

I took a roll and leaned against the counter. “I got that one, too. People seem genuinely disappointed when I deny it.”

“It’s nice to have you back in my kitchen, and I hate to ruin the moment, but I wouldn’t mind knowing when you had a chance to gossip with Joyce.”

“She’s squatting in my apartment. I can’t get rid of her.”

Morelli choked on his coffee. He wiped coffee off his chin with the back of his hand.

“You want to run that by me again?”

“Have you heard of the Pink Panthers?”

“Are you talking about the movies or the network of jewel thieves?”

“Jewel thieves. Joyce thinks they’re after her.”

“Keep going,” Morelli said.

“According to Joyce, Frank Korda was a Pink Panther. She was playing footsie with Korda, and she was helping him plan a big New York job with the Panthers. And then something went wrong, and the Panthers tried to kill them, but Joyce managed to escape.”

“And she’s living with you, why?”

“She doesn’t seem to have any money, and she’s afraid to go back to her condo.”

“Because the Panthers still want to kill her?”

“That’s the fear. And there’s a little chest she needs to find.”

“And she wants you to find it for her?”