Explosive Eighteen

TWENTY-ONE

I WENT HOME to change my clothes and discovered Joyce was back.

“That’s it,” I said to her. “I’m going to shoot you and bury your body where no one will ever find it.”

“Relax. I just dropped in to get my chest. You went to Korda’s house this morning, right?”

“Right. So I have some good news, and I have some bad news. The good news is the Pink Panthers aren’t trying to kill you. Probably no one’s trying to kill you. The bad news is, I found the treasure chest, but the only treasure in it was the remains of Korda’s cat, Miss Kitty.”

Joyce went pale. “I don’t believe you.”

“Believe it. It’s true. Ask Pat Korda. She’s got it sitting on her mantel. And just out of morbid curiosity, what did you really want with the chest?”

Joyce pressed her lips together and took a couple beats to get it together. “This is a real pisser,” she finally said. “I actually think you’re telling the truth. You haven’t got enough imagination to invent something that hideous.”

“About the chest?”

“What the hell, it doesn’t matter now. Frank said he kept the safe combination in it. He said half the combination was on my key, and the other half was in the chest.”

“You were going to rob the safe?”

“No. I was going to sell the combination. If I robbed the safe, I’d have to find a fence, and I didn’t think chances were good I could depend on the Pink Panthers. I tried picking the lock to the store, but I couldn’t get in. Then I thought of you. I figured you were dumb enough to get Ranger to open the door for you. Then you could get me the chest.”

“How about the guy who bought the combination? How was he getting in?”

“Not my problem,” Joyce said. “He could go in the front window with a bulldozer for all I cared.”

It was comforting to know Joyce was still her old obnoxious, rotten self. Parts of my life were so beyond my control that it was nice to have consistency in others.

“Since we have everything settled, I guess you’ll be leaving now and not coming back,” I said to Joyce.

“Yeah, I suppose, but I need a ride. In case you forgot, my car got compacted.”

“How did you get here?”

“Taxi. And I’m not taking one home. My income source just evaporated.”

Forty-five minutes later, I dropped Joyce off at her town house.

“You’re positive the Pink Panthers aren’t looking for me, right?” Joyce asked.

“Positive. Korda made the whole thing up. It was a line he used to get women to sleep with him. You weren’t the only one. And if he gave you any jewelry it was probably fake.”

“No shit. I found that out when I tried to pawn my necklace. I didn’t get crap for it.”

I drove away half afraid if I looked in my rearview mirror I’d see Joyce running after me.

I had a bunch of open files in my messenger bag that I should have started working my way through, earning rent money. But having resolved Lahonka, Buggy, and Joyce, I thought it was time to focus my energy on staying alive, and that meant I had to get rid of the photograph hunters. Raz was in the wind, and I had no good way to find him. Brenda was going to stick with her lame fiancée story, at least for now. That left Lancer and Slasher as the weak link. I was convinced they knew nothing beyond their instructions to follow me. I had to go farther up the food chain if I wanted real information.

I called Berger on my way across town. “Anything new on the photograph thing?” I asked him.

“Nothing significant.”

“How about insignificant?”

“Two out of three people polled agree that the second sketch looks like Ashton Kutcher.”

“Anything on Lancelot or Larder?” I asked.

“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.”

“Any ideas?”

“I can run another credit check, but it’s not going to show anything if they’re getting paid in cash. You might do better if you went to the casino and talked to people.”

“I’d like to take Lula with me, but I can’t get her away from Moron Man.”

“She says he’s her true love,” Connie said. “Something about a love potion.”

I get that Lula would like to find her true love. And I get that she’s giving it her best shot to turn pond scum into noodle soup. And I wasn’t entirely discounting that Buggy was her true love, because I’ve seen some of Lula’s previous boyfriends, and Buggy wasn’t so far off the mark. But true love or not, I couldn’t take much more of Buggy. Buggy had to go. If Lula could convince herself a love potion started this fiasco, she could damn well unconvince herself.

I called Grandma. “I need to talk to Annie Hart,” I said.

“Tonight’s bowling night,” Grandma said. “She’s gonna pick me up. I could invite her to dinner again if you want.”

“That would be great. And tell Mom to set three extra plates besides Annie’s.”

I called Lula next.

“Where are you?” I asked.

“I’m at the mall with Sugar Lumps. He needed a Dairy Queen Blizzard and a new leather jacket. And it’s not easy getting a leather jacket for him, since he needs so much leather. You gotta just about use a whole cow for his jacket. Good thing I had my credit card limit raised.”

“Remember when you thought you were a vampire, but it turned out to be an absessed tooth?”

“Yeah.”

“And remember how this morning you thought you were having an allergic reaction to cat ashes, but you really were just fine?”

“Yeah.”

“Do you suppose this attraction to Buggy is another one of those imaginary episodes?”

“I admit I’m an impressionable person, but I’m pretty sure Shrek is my true love.”

“You mean Buggy?”

“Yeah, what did I say?”

“You said Shrek was your true love.”

“Well, Buggy got a lot of Shrekness to him.”

“Now we’re getting somewhere,” I said to Lula. “Maybe it’s actually Shrek that’s your true love.”

“Something to think about,” Lula said.

“I need to go to Atlantic City to do some research tonight,” I said to Lula. “Are you on board?”

“Damn skippy. I love Atlantic City. Me and Buggy’ll research the heck out of it.”

“I’ll meet you at my parents’ house at six o’clock. We’ll have dinner and head south.”

Jeans and a T-shirt are perfectly okay gear for an Atlantic City casino, unless you want to get information out of a man. If information, free drinks, or dinner is on the agenda, it doesn’t hurt to show some cleavage.

I went home, changed into skinny designer jeans, a stretchy red sweater with a low scoop neck, and strappy heels. I added dangly earrings and a couple more swipes of mascara. I transferred my stun gun, Glock, cuffs, and all my normal girl stuff into a dressier handbag, and I was ready to go to work.

I arrived at my parents’ house a little before six and parked behind Annie’s car. Lancer and Slasher parked half a block down. There was no other traffic on the street. The seniors were still at the diner, finishing up the early-bird specials. Kids were home from soccer practice and piano lessons. Working moms were in the kitchen scarfing down Cheetos and wine from Costco while they frantically pulled dinner together. The men on my parents’ street were zoned out in front of the television. No foreclosure signs on the front lawns. This was a neighborhood that was here for the long haul. Hardworking survivors who didn’t care if their house was underwater. Nobody frigging bailed on the Burg.

Grandma was at the front door, waiting for me.

“You left the wake too early,” she said. “The widow got snockered and passed out in the chicken salad and had to be carted upstairs. You don’t see that every day.”

“Where’s Annie?”

“She’s in the kitchen helping your mother.”

We went to the kitchen and I snitched a corn muffin out of the breadbasket.

“We have a problem,” I said to Annie. “Remember the little bottle of pink stuff you gave me?”

“Yes, of course.”

“Lula drank it, and now she needs an antidote.”

“Goodness. Did she have an allergic reaction?” Annie asked.

“No. She fell in love with a sandbag.”

“How unusual,” Annie said. “It was just a pocket-sized over-the-counter antacid. You were having digestive problems.”

“Do you have any more?”

“I have some,” Grandma said. “She gave some to me. I was saving it for when I saw my true love and needed it.”

“Do you have a true love?” Annie asked Grandma.

“I’m hot for George Clooney,” Grandma said, “but I think he mostly stays in Hollywood.”

“My idea is to give more of the pink stuff to Lula, and tell her it’s an antidote to the love potion she took,” I said.

“That’s a little deceptive,” Annie said. “I don’t feel comfortable with that. Suppose he really is her true love?”

“Yeah,” Grandma said. “It would be like those time-travelers when they aren’t supposed to mess around with history.”

“Yoohoo,” Lula called from the front door. “I’m here with my honey.”

Grandma, Annie, my mom, and I traipsed out to see the honey.

“This is my big stud muffin, Buggy,” Lula said, her arms partially wrapped around him.

“Yuh,” Buggy said.

My father was in the living room, watching television, reading the paper. He glanced over at Buggy, grimaced, and returned to the paper.

My mother and grandmother scurried off to the kitchen to get the food, and we all took our seats at the table.

“Have you and Buggy known each other long?” Annie asked Lula.

“About a week,” Lula said.

Annie turned to Buggy. “And what do you do?”

“I’m a purse snatcher,” Buggy said.

Lula looked over at Buggy. “He’s a good one, too. He’s real intimidating on account of he’s so big.”

My mother set a full rump roast in front of my father, and my grandmother came in with a cauldron of mashed potatoes. My father carved up the roast, and my mother and grandmother brought green beans, gravy, and applesauce to the table.

Buggy’s eyes were darting from dish to dish. He was sitting next to my father, and he had a good grip on his fork, waiting for a signal that he could dig in, keeping close watch on my father, who still held the big carving knife.

My father selected a piece of meat and placed the knife on the table.

“Buggy,” my mother said. “Help yourself.”

“Yuh!” Buggy said, lunging for the meat platter, forking slabs of it onto his plate.

In seconds he had a mountain of meat and potatoes, beans, and applesauce. He poured gravy over the mountain until it slopped over his plate and ran onto the tablecloth. He shoveled the food into his mouth, chewing, swallowing, grunting, smacking his lips. Gravy oozed out of his mouth and dripped off his chin. Everyone sat in frozen horror watching Buggy eat.

“Isn’t he adorable,” Lula said. “Don’t you just love a man who enjoys his food?”

“Get the antidote potion for Stephanie,” Annie said to Grandma. “The one I gave you. The little bottle with the pink liquid.”

“Okay,” Grandma said, “but don’t let him eat my food while I’m gone.”

“What antidote is that?” Lula asked.

“I gave Stephanie a love potion a couple days ago,” Annie said, “but I found out it’s defective, so I prepared an antidote.”

Grandma came with the little pink bottle. “Here it is,” she said, putting it on the table.

“I was the one who drank Stephanie’s love potion,” Lula said. “How was it defective?”

Annie went blank. She didn’t have an answer.

Grandma jumped in. “It’ll give you worms,” she said. “If you don’t drink the antidote soon enough, you get worms and all your hair falls out.”

“What about finding true love?” Lula asked.

“You gotta make a choice between true love and worms,” Grandma said.

Lula did a shiver. “I don’t want worms. Do you think it’s too late? Will the antidote work on me?”

“Only one way to find out,” Grandma said.

Lula chugged the bottle and felt her hair. “Anyone notice if I’ve been losing hair? Do I look like I got worms? I think I might feel some crawling around inside me.”

“Anything else?” Annie asked. “Do you feel a little chilly?”

“Yeah, maybe a little,” Lula said.

“That’s a sign that the antidote is working,” Annie told her.

Lula sat perfectly still. “I don’t feel nearly so wormy anymore.”

Buggy took a slice of beef off Lula’s plate and shoved it into his mouth.

“Say what?” Lula said to Buggy. “You just took my pot roast.”

“Honey Pot’s hungry,” Buggy said.

“Shrek wouldn’t never have taken Princess Fiona’s pot roast,” Lula said.

“Well, I’m not Shrek,” Buggy said. “I’m Honey Pot.”

“You’re no honey pot, either,” Lula told him. “Who the heck said you’re a honey pot?”

“You did.”

“I don’t think so,” Lula said. “You must be mistaken.”

“I want dessert,” Buggy said.

“How is that to act?” Lula said. “That’s just plain rude. You don’t go to someone’s house and ask for dessert. What’s the matter with you, anyways? I’m beginning to see you in a whole new light. Didn’t your mama ever teach you manners?”

“I don’t need manners on account of I’m cute,” Buggy said.

“You been operating under a delusion,” Lula said.

“Huh, well I’m going home if I can’t have dessert. Give me the keys to your car.”

Lula crinkled up her nose and squinted at him. “Excuse me?”

“I’m driving home. I want your car.”

“Are you smokin’ funny stuff or something? I’m not giving you my car. You’re lucky I don’t give you my foot up your ass.” Lula looked around the table. “Excuse me. I meant to say up your behind.”

My father was smiling. Usually he ate fast, with his head down, tuning out my grandmother’s ramblings. Tonight he was enjoying Lula giving the what-for to Buggy.

Buggy looked at my mother. “Is there dessert?”

“I made a pie,” my mother said.

Buggy sat up straight. “I like pie a lot.”

“You’re a oaf, and you don’t deserve no pie,” Lula said.

“You didn’t think I was a oaf this afternoon when you were doing nicky nacky on me,” Buggy said.

My father gave a snort of laughter, and my mother knocked back a tumbler of whiskey.

“That was before I took the antidote,” Lula told everyone. “I was under the influence of a potion.”

“I like nicky nacky,” Buggy said, “but it’s not as good as pot roast.”

My mother looked down the table at him, her eyes unfocused. “Thank you, dear.”

“Maybe you should leave,” I said to Buggy.

“Not until I get some pie.”

“Will you leave if I give you half the pie?” I asked.

“Yuh.”

Minutes later, he was out the door with his pie, walking toward his parents’ house.

“I’m worried about them worms,” Lula said. “I’m pretty sure I’ve still got them.”