Turbo Twenty-Three (Stephanie Plum 23)

“We’ve checked and there was a family reunion, but it was a one-day affair last week. The wife and daughter are still at Disney. If someone went missing in my family under suspicious circumstances I’d be home and I’d be frantic.”

“Are the police involved yet?”

“Yes. And the FBI. They’ve impounded his car.”

“Who’s running the plant?”

“Jeff Soon. He’s the vice president and in charge of plant operations. He has an office two doors down from Bogart. Word is that Bogart owns the company, but lately Soon’s been running it. If you remember there was an empty file on J. T. Soon in Zigler’s office, and a note on his desk to run a background check on Soon.”

“Have you been working with Soon?”

“No. My dealings have been with Bogart. Soon is a shadow in the hall.”

When we arrived, Butchy had an eighteen-wheeler pulled up to the loading dock. Two men were helping him load it.

“Hey,” Butchy said when he saw me. “Looks like they got you working security with the black shirts now.”

I smiled and nodded. Friendly. “Is there someplace we can talk?”

“I don’t have an office or anything, but we can go to my truck and I can get a smoke if that’s okay with you.”

We followed him to his truck, and he got a joint out of a cooler on his front seat.

“You want one?” Butchy asked. “I got plenty.”

“That’s illegal,” Ranger said. “It’s a controlled substance.”

“No way,” Butchy said. “It’s marijuana. And, besides, we’re on private property so it’s okay.”

“It’s not legal on private property in New Jersey,” Ranger said.

“Okay, but it’s medicinal. I’m even thinking about getting a service dog to help with my medicinal issues. I might get one of those little Chihuahuas. I hear they’re feisty.”

“Ranger and I happened to be in your neighborhood, and when we walked past your house your garage door happened to open,” I said.

“Shoot,” Butchy said. “That’s no good. It shouldn’t do that. I got a load of shit in that garage. Did it close again?”

I cut my eyes to Ranger. Ranger looked like he was contemplating smashing Butchy’s head into his truck to see if any brains fell out.

“About the stuff in your garage,” I said.

“If you want a toaster oven I can’t sell it to you,” Butchy said. “It belongs to someone else. I’m just storing it.”

“Tell me about this storing,” Ranger said.

“It started small,” Butchy said. “Like, I started just keeping a couple boxes for one of my neighbors, and now I got three off-site storage units. I just keep the overflow in my garage these days. You got something you want stored?”

“It looks to me like you might be storing hijacked property,” Ranger said.

“I don’t ask questions,” Butchy said. “I just rent storage.”

I saw a small smile twitch at the corners of Ranger’s mouth. “Have you ever stored anything for Larry Virgil?”

“Sure. He was a good customer. It put a real dent in my business when he got run over.”

“How about ice cream?”

“I can’t store ice cream,” Butchy said. “I haven’t got a freezer unit.”