Twisted Twenty-Six (Stephanie Plum 26)

“Not all the time.”

“Well, once in a while. Anyway, you get firebombed more than I do.”

No one was doing much for my car. Mostly everyone was standing around waiting for it to burn itself out.

“I hate to miss this bingo,” Grandma said. “It’s not every day I get to be a celebrity. Once Jimmy’s put in the ground my days of glory are going to be over.”

My great-uncle Sandor had bequeathed his ’53 powder blue and white Buick Roadmaster to Grandma. The car was kept in the garage and was available for anyone desperate enough to use it. And that would be me.

“I can borrow the Buick,” I said. “What about Mom? She’s not going to want you to go.”

“She’s inside nipping at the hooch,” Grandma said. “She’ll be nice and mellow by bingo time.”

* * *

—

It was close to four o’clock when I finished with the police report and arranged to have my car towed away. I backed Big Blue out of the garage and drove the short distance to Morelli’s house. I got Bob hooked up to his leash, and we followed his usual route. It was slow going since Bob did a lot of bush sniffing and leg lifting, but it was a pleasant walk, not counting the occasional whiff of cooked car carried on the wind.

“What would you think of magenta extensions?” I asked Bob. “It could be the start of my makeover program. Who knows what would follow. Maybe a new job. Or a new boyfriend. I might join a gym.”

Bob turned his head and looked at me.

“Yeah, you’re right,” I said. “I’m not going to join a gym. I mean, let’s not get stupid about this makeover.”

A black Cadillac sedan cruised by and pulled to the curb. The passenger door opened and a young guy with slicked-back black hair got out and walked over to me.

“Stephanie Plum?” he asked.

“Yes.”

“Get in the car. Someone wants to talk to you.”

“Who?”

“I’m not at liberty to say.”

“Is he in the car?” I asked, looking into the car.

“No. We’re going to take you to him.”

“I don’t think so. I’m walking Bob right now. Tell him to text me.”

So this all sounds pretty tough on my part, but the truth is I was a little rattled. I’d seen this scene countless times in mob movies, and it never ended well.

“Look, lady,” he said. “Just get in the car, okay?”

I pressed the speed dial to Ranger. He picked up, and I told him I might have a problem.

“Who are you calling?” the slick-haired guy asked.

“Ranger.”

“Oh jeez,” he said. “He’s the Rangeman dude, right? He threw my cousin out of a window once.”

“Was your cousin okay?”

“Eventually. Sort of. It was a third-floor window.”