Explosive Eighteen (Stephanie Plum 18)

“No.”

“Would you tell me if you had something?”

A moment of silence. “Absolutely.”

I knew from the length of the pause that his answer was actually no. I disconnected and called Morelli.

“Joyce is gone,” I said. “I have my apartment back.”

“Is that an invitation?”

“No. It’s a statement. Would you like an invitation?”

“Maybe.”

“Only maybe?”

“I’m not in good shape here. We’re getting ready to make an arrest in the Korda case.”

“Really? Who?”

“I can’t tell you.”

“You’re teasing me.”

“Cupcake, you’re breathing shallow and begging for more when I tease you.”

“That wouldn’t be now,” I said to him. “Right now, I’m grinding my teeth and my eyes are squinty.”

“I have to go,” Morelli said.

“No! I need a favor.”

“I’m hoping this has to do with teasing.”

“It has to do with the FBI and the fact that three people are possibly trying to kill me.”

“You have my attention,” he said.

“Berger is no help at all. I think he knows something but he’s not sharing. I thought he might talk to you.”

“I’ll get back to you.”

While Morelli worked it from his angle, I thought I’d come at it from a different direction. I drove a quarter mile on Broad, turned right onto a side street, made another right, and found a parking place in front of the bonds office. Connie’s car was there. No Vinnie. No Lula.

Connie was paging through Star magazine when I walked in.

“What’s up?” I asked. “Where is everybody?”

“Vinnie is hiding at home. He’s afraid DeAngelo will demand a Ferrari. Lula’s off somewhere making coochy-coochy sounds at Moron Man. And I’m stuck in this hellhole. I can hear rats running overhead. Honest to God, I think they’re planning an attack.”

“I was hoping you could do some digging for me. We did a search on Mortimer Lancelot and Sylvester Larder, and I need to go deeper. They’re working for someone. I want to know who it is. I’m guessing it’s someone they met while they were security at the casino.”

“That narrows it down to fifty thousand people,” Connie said.

“I’m looking for someone shady.”

“Okay, forty-nine thousand.”