Plum Spooky

FOURTEEN

IT WAS DUSK when we returned to the Subaru. We hadn’t encountered any more people or habitable houses. We’d ridden around for hours, but we covered only a very small portion of the Barrens. Diesel secured the ATVs and locked the back gate on the trailer. He pulled onto the paved road and headed toward Marbury.

“This isn’t the way home,” I said.

“I’m looking for a place we can hang for a while. I’d like to see the lights.”

Five miles down the road, we found a soft-serve stand, closed for the season. The small parking lot was empty and dark. No ambient light for miles. Diesel positioned the Subaru so we were looking north, and we settled in.

“What about food?” I asked Diesel. “I’m hungry.”

“Sorry,” Diesel said, “you’re going to have to live off your fat for a few hours.”

I gave him a shot in the arm.

Diesel grinned. “Let me rephrase that.”

“Too late,” I told him. “You’re in big trouble.”

There was a flash of light in the sky, and then it was gone. We sat perfectly still, and two more flashes shot out of the pine forest.

“Those weren’t beams of light,” Diesel said. “They were tails from a rocket.”

We had our windows rolled down, listening for rain or the crackle of electricity. Nothing carried to us.

“Hard to tell exactly where the rocket originated,” Diesel said, “but I have an idea of the general area. I’ll go over the aerial maps again when we get home, and tomorrow we’ll do more off-road.”

We found fast food just outside of Hammonton and collected bags of burgers, fries, onion rings, fried chicken, and doughnuts. Diesel took the Atlantic City Expressway and connected with the Jersey Turnpike, eating while he drove. Who says men can’t multitask?

I WOKE UP with a start. The phone was ringing. It was still dark. Someone must be dead, I thought. My grandmother or my father. Heart attack while they slept.

Diesel reached across me and got the phone.

“Yeah?” he said to the caller, listened for a moment, and handed the phone to me. “It’s Lula.”

“Lula? What time is it?”

Diesel looked at his watch. “It’s five a. m. ”

“I’m a sick person,” Lula said. “I got the flu back. I can’t stop sneezing. And I can hardly breathe. I’m just about breaking out in a rash. And I haven’t got any of my meds. Tank and I went out last night, and I left my purse in his car. He got everything. He got my decongestant and my antihistamine and my car keys.”

“And?”

“And he isn’t answering his phone. He sleeps like a dead man. I need a ride over there so I can get my purse. Or else I need to find some store open so I can buy drugs.”

“Why don’t you just call the Rangeman control room?”

“He don’t live in a Rangeman apartment anymore. He’s got his own place. It’s brand new. I haven’t even seen it yet.”

“Give me a couple minutes to wake up, and I’ll be right over.”

“You could call her a cab,” Diesel said. “And then you could stay in bed with me.”

If there was an argument that would get me on my feet, that was it. I rolled out of bed, stumbled into the bathroom, got dressed, and stumbled out to the lot. I stood for a moment inhaling the cold air, willing it to go to my brain. I sat my ass behind the wheel and drove on autopi lot to Lula’s house.

Lula rented the top floor of a very small house. Small living room, bedroom, bathroom, and a kitchenette. Lula fit the apartment like she fit her clothes. It was all a tight squeeze. She was sitting on the stoop, waiting for me, when I stopped at the curb.

“You could just drive me to the cemetery,” she said, slumping into the passenger seat. “It would save time.”

“I can’t believe you left your purse in his car. That purse is practically attached to your shoulder.”

“He picked me up, and we were gonna get some Chinese takeout and bring it back to his house on account of I’ve never been in his house. And we didn’t even get to Chang’s and I started getting sick. Came on me like BANG. So I told Tank I wanted to go home. By the time we got to my place, I was sneezing my head off, and I wasn’t thinking good. I don’t even remember getting out of the car.”

“This comes on you every time you see Tank.”

“It never used to.”

Lula’s hard-working, low-income neighborhood was bordered by a slackard, no-income neighborhood. Since there were no legal drugs to be had in the no-income neighborhood, I drove back toward Hamilton and Broad, where there were a couple all-night con ve nience stores. I stopped at the first store with lights blazing, and Lula lurched out of the Jeep and went inside.

Lula was wearing big, pink, fluffy slippers, pink sweatpants, and a white down-filled quilted coat. A red flannel nightgown hung two inches under the coat. Her hairstyle was yikes.

It was almost six A.M. Morelli and Ranger would be up. Diesel was most likely still asleep. Diesel wasn’t a morning person. I dialed Morelli’s cell phone while I waited for Lula.

“Yo,” Morelli said. “What’s up?”

“Just calling to say hello.”

“That’s a relief. I was afraid your apartment was fire-bombed again. You’re not usually up this early.”

“Lula is sick, and I had to take her out on a drug run.”

“Maybe you can bring some over for me. I’m ready to start taking Anthony’s happy pills.”

“Is he feeling any better?”

“He’s bitching less when he goes to the can. Did you really tell him to get his broken ass out to the kitchen and get his own ice cream?”

“Yeah.”

“You’re my hero,” Morelli said.

“Do you want me to take phone calls again today?”

“Thanks, but no. I can manage Anthony today. I do have another huge favor though. Do you suppose you could talk to his wife? Maybe you can get her to take him back.”

“You’re kidding. What on earth would I say? He’s a womanizing, cheating, perverted idiot. My advice to her is to run like hell and don’t look back.”

“Cripes, Stephanie, I’m trying to get rid of this guy. Help me out here. Lie. You do it all the time on your job. You’re good at it.”

“You want me to lie to your sister-in-law?”

“Hell, yes!”

“Okay, I’ll try to find time to talk to her.”

Lula wrenched the door open, and I said good-bye to Morelli.

“I got a bag full of stuff,” Lula said, holding the bag open for me to see. “Pick one for me.”

I chose one that was for allergies.

“Tank is probably up by now,” I said. “Do you want to stop in and get your purse?”

“Yeah, that would be great. I need my car keys.”

“Where does Tank live?”

“He’s in a house on Howard Street, two blocks from Cluck-in-a-Bucket.”

Good deal. There was a Dunkin’ Donuts alongside Cluck-in-a-Bucket. I was ready to kill for coffee, and I wouldn’t mind a couple dozen doughnuts, either.

I pointed the Jeep in the right direction and drove with renewed motivation. Lula took a pill from the box I picked and then sampled a couple more meds.

“You should go easy on that,” I said. “I don’t think it’s good to mix and match.”

“I figure I’ll keep taking them until I find one that works.”

“They don’t work right away. You have to give them a chance.”

“I don’t have all day for some dumb pill. I got things to do. I got no patience for this.”

“If you stop taking pills, I’ll get you a bag of doughnuts and a nice greasy breakfast sandwich.”

“I like the sound of that. And we could get some of them home fries, too.”

“Right. Home fries. And coffee. Lots of coffee.”

“I feel better already,” Lula said.

I drove to Tank’s house first. It was a small yellow-and-white Cape Cod. Far from what I would imagine for Tank. It had a tiny front yard and a front porch with a white railing. It was a total little-old-lady house.

“You sure this is the right house?” Lula asked. “This don’t look like no Tank house.”

“This is the address you gave me.”

Lula set her bag of cold aids on the floor, got out of the Jeep, and walked to the front door. She rang the bell and looked in the front window. She rang the bell a second time, and Tank opened the door. He was dressed in Range-man black, ready to go to work. Hard to see his expression from where I sat, but he had to be surprised. Not only was Lula on his doorstep unannounced, she looked like she’d just escaped from the electroshock room of the loony bin.

Lula went into his house, and he closed the door. Minutes later, the door banged open, and Lula stormed out. She had her purse in her hand, and she was wasting no time getting to the Jeep. She ripped the door open and rammed herself into the car.

“I need food,” she said. “A lot of it.”

Hard to tell what that meant. Lula ate when she was pissed off, happy, sad, tired, or bored. Food solved it all for Lula.

“Dunkin’ Donuts okay?” I asked.

“It’s perfect. I love Dunkin’ Donuts.” And then she sneezed and farted. “Excuse me,” she said.

“Well?” I asked her. “Was Tank responsible for that sneeze?”

“He’s got cats! Three of them. Suzy, Miss Kitty, and Applepuff. It’s no wonder I’m dying here. I’m allergic to cats.”

“I thought you said you weren’t allergic to anything.”

“Yeah, except for cats.”

“I didn’t know Tank had cats.”

“He said that’s why he moved. He adopted this family of cats, and he couldn’t keep them at Rangeman. So I told him I was allergic to cats, and he was gonna have to make a choice.”

“And then what happened?”

“He said he couldn’t get rid of the cats on account of they didn’t have any other home. He said I should get allergy shots.”

“And?”

“I’m not getting no allergy shots for a man who chooses a cat over me.”

“What are you going to do? Is the wedding off?”

“I don’t know. I gotta call Miss Gloria. She always said my numbers weren’t so good with Tank’s anyway. And our moons didn’t line up, either. I should have listened to her right from the start.”

I pulled into the Dunkin’ Donuts lot and parked.

“Maybe you should go in and get the stuff,” Lula said. “Tank wasn’t real complimentary about my appearance.”

“What did he say?”

“He said I was scarin’ his cats.”

“Shouldn’t you be crying or something?”

“I guess, but I don’t feel like crying. I feel like eating,” Lula said.

“What do you want?”

“Everything.”

“You got it.”

I gave my order in and waited while the food and coffee were gathered together and bagged.

“Office party?” the girl behind the counter asked.

“No,” I told her. “Pity party.”

Lula was on the phone with Miss Gloria when I got back to the Jeep.

“Okay” she said to Miss Gloria. “I appreciate your taking the time for me like this.”

I set the coffee out and unpacked the sausage-and-egg sandwiches first.

“I feel much better,” Lula said. “Turns out it wasn’t nobody’s fault. It was just to do with me being on the cusp of something, and Tank being in the wrong quadrant. Miss Gloria said it was good the cats came because me and Tank were on a collision course with our moons and shit.”

“Does this mean the wedding is off?”

“Yeah. I was thinking I might not want to spend eternity with Tank anyway. I can’t sleep with that man. He snores, and he sweats. Is that something I want to look forward to for the rest of my life? I don’t think so.” Lula polished off her sandwich and went to the doughnut box. “You can count on Dunkin’ Donuts,” she said. “I’ll take a doughnut over a man any day of the week.”

“Your allergy sounds better.”

“Yeah. I think one of them pills did the trick.”

I dropped Lula off at her house and headed for home. Lights were on in the bonds office when I drove by, so I made a U-turn and parked. Connie was booting up her computer when I walked in. I gave her the body receipt for Denny Guzzi, and I looked through the new FTA files on her desk.

“Nothing interesting,” she said. “Domestic violence, grand theft auto, destruction of personal property.”

“Did you get an address on Gordo Bollo?”

“His employer has him residing at 656 Ward Street in Bordentown. I verified it with his sister. She posted the bond.”

“I was on Ward. There’s nothing there. A cemetery and a ceramic pipe factory.”

“You must be missing something. Or maybe there are two Ward Streets. Are you feeling okay? You look sort of green.”

“I had breakfast with Lula, and it’s not sitting well.”

“What did you eat?”

“Everything.”

I shoved the new FTAs in my bag and left the bonds office. Might as well get the lying and begging out of the way first thing, I thought. Visit Anthony’s wife and get it over and done. It wasn’t a long drive to his house. He lived in the Burg in a house similar to my parents’ house. The sun was weak in the sky, the sky was gray with a thick cloud cover, and the air felt raw.

Anthony’s wife is named Angelina. Angie for short. I think Stephanie Plum is an okay name, but Angelina Morelli is a symphony. If I was named Angelina, I’d marry a Morelli just for the name alone.

Angie opened the door as soon as I rang the bell. We went to the same schools but never knew each other until we both hooked up with a Morelli. She was two years younger than me, and she was really pretty. Classic Italian. Olive skin, brown eyes, lush body, and lustrous black hair. She also had a splotch of baby barf on her shirt.

“Omigod,” she said. “Let me guess. They sent you over to talk me into taking him back.”

“Yep.”

“Come on in. I’m feeding little Anthony.”

Little Anthony was in one of those baby-chair contraptions. Hard to say how old he was. All babies sort of look alike to me. He had a lot of orange glop on his pajamas, and he didn’t smell all that good. I was thinking I was smart to have a hamster.

Angie sat opposite Barfman, and I took a chair as far away as possible. She spooned some green stuff into him, and he gummed it around.

“So,” I said. “Are you going to take him back?”

“Do you think I should?”

“No.”

Angie laughed out loud. “You’re not supposed to say that. Didn’t they give you a rehearsal?”

“You have a nice house. It’s cozy. It’s a family house.”

“I feel like the lady in the shoe who had so many kids she didn’t know what to do. We’re bursting at the seams.”

“Yes, but it feels good in here.”

Except for the kid with the spewed mush on his clothes. It was Saturday morning, and the rest of her pack was in front of the tele vision in the small living room. They were all eating cereal out of a box, not saying anything, mesmerized by what ever was on the screen.

“Is it easier without Anthony?” I asked her. “One less mouth to feed.”

“No. He’s great with the kids. Not like his father. His father was a mean, abusive drunk. Anthony is sweet. He’s just got too much machismo. All dick and no brain.”

“You love him.”

“Yeah. Stupid, huh?”

“Yes, but in a good way. God knows, someone has to love him. He’s pathetic. Did they tell you he got shot with a nail gun?”

Angie pressed her lips together. “He is such a jerk. He deserved to get shot. And I’m not letting him back in this house until the stitches come out. He’s horrible when he’s sick. He expects to be waited on hand and foot. A head cold is a major catastrophe for him.”

“So, you’re taking him back?”

“Probably. Someone has to haul the garbage out to the curb and shovel the walk, and it’s not going to be me. And maybe someday he’ll grow up, or get a prostate condition. He’d be terrific if he didn’t have gonads.”

“I guess my work here is done,” I said. “I have to go catch some felons now.”

Angie stood and walked me to the door. “It was nice to see you. Stop in anytime.”

I gave her a hug, walked to the Jeep, wedged myself behind the wheel, and called Morelli. “I talked to Angie,” I said.

“And?”

“There’s some good news, and there’s some bad news.”

“I hate this good news, bad news shit,” Morelli said.

“How about this. There’s bad news, and there’s bad news. Do you like that any better?”

“No.”

“She’s taking him back, but not until the stitches come out.”

“I don’t suppose you’d want to come over for dinner to night?”

“You suppose right. Anyway, I’m trying to find Martin Munch. Vinnie’s in a rant over him. Anything new on your end?”

“No,” Morelli said. “But we found eight other unsolved murders spread all over the country with the same MO.”

“Rotated neck and a burn that looks like a handprint?”

“Yes.”

“It’s creepy. Is that Anthony yelling in the background?”

“He wants breakfast. He can’t find clean socks. He needs batteries in the television remote. It’s endless.”

“You’re being an enabler. He can do all those things for himself, but he has no incentive if you do them for him. And he has no incentive to want to shape up and go home to his wife as long as you’re taking her place. The only thing missing in your relationship is sex. And that might not be a big selling point, since I suspect the sex scene in his house is going to be very frosty for a long time.”

“You’re right,” Morelli said. “Let him find his own damn socks. I’m done.”

“Gotta go. Things to do.”