Game On: Tempting Twenty-Eight (Stephanie Plum #28)(29)

“Where do you pick him up?” Diesel asked.

“Different places,” my father said. “Always downtown by the capital buildings. I figure he lives in one of the high-rises. What’s he done?”

“For starters, he broke into an apartment that was being rented to a cop.”

“It was probably a mistake,” my father said. “He doesn’t look like he needs to rob apartments. He dresses nice and he said he has a Porsche, but he doesn’t like to leave it at the train station. Afraid it won’t be there when he comes home.”

“If you pick him up again, call me,” I said. “His recovery fee will pay my rent for next month.”

“Sure,” my father said. “I don’t have any stuffing. I missed the stuffing.”

Grandma passed him the stuffing and poured herself a glass of wine. “Isn’t this nice,” she said. “I like when the table’s filled with people.”

There was a knock on the front door and Morelli walked in. “I thought I’d find you here,” he said to me. “I called but you didn’t answer.”

“My phone is in my messenger bag,” I said. “I didn’t hear it.”

“This gets better and better,” Grandma said, getting to her feet. “Pull up a chair and I’ll get you a plate.”

Diesel was sitting on one side of me and Morelli took the chair on the other side. Grandma gave Morelli a place setting and a glass of wine.

“I guess you just came from the murder scene,” she said to him. “Stephanie said she didn’t get to see the tongue. Did you at least get to see the dog that ate it?”

Morelli filled his plate. “I did. He belongs to a neighbor.”

“What kind of dog was it?” Grandma asked.

“Black Lab,” Morelli said. “Very friendly. We decided not to charge him with evidence destruction.” Morelli cut his eyes to me. “Usually when people and animals tamper with evidence there are repercussions.”

“But not always?” I asked.

“Sometimes there are extenuating circumstances,” Morelli said.

“Like when a fortune cookie is involved?” I asked.

“Yeah,” Morelli said. “A fortune cookie could make a difference.”

Two people to a side at my mom’s table was comfortable. Three to a side was a tight fit. I was squashed between Diesel and Morelli and the best I could say about my position was that it kept them from challenging each other to arm wrestling.

Diesel excused himself after the apple pie. Morelli waited until I’d helped clear the table before he pulled me aside.

“I’m assuming that was a laptop under your raincoat,” he said.

“How did you know?”

“It had corners.”

“If I left it in the apartment, it might have sat in evidence storage without getting opened. I have Melvin here and he was able to plug one of his gizmos into the laptop and get it working.”

“Has he found anything?”

“An email message that said RETRIBUTION and was signed with Oswald’s special mark. Melvin got a similar message, but he wasn’t home when Oswald visited.”

Morelli smiled at me. “Nice work. Not legal, but nice.”

“Melvin’s hacker group is called Baked Potatoes. Out of the seven Potatoes, two are dead with their tongues cut out.”

“What about the other four group members?”

“Melvin only communicates with them online and his ability to do that has been blocked. He doesn’t know where they live or their real names. They could be anywhere on the planet.”

“I can have a search sent out for homicides with the same MO,” Morelli said. “If these murders are connected to hacking, the feds should get involved. They should also get involved if we have a serial killer.”

“Melvin has a record and a business to protect. He might not be a good match-up with the feds.”

We looked through the dining room to the kitchen, where Melvin was back to working at the little table.

“He’s motivated,” I said to Morelli.

“And he won’t leave this house?”

“Grandma’s watching him.”

Melvin shook his head and mumbled something. He got up and walked around his chair and sat down again.

“Is he any good?” Morelli asked.

“He’s good enough to be able to hack the super hacker. Apparently, he’s not smart enough to have seen the downside, which might be death. Melvin said hacking Oswald was like a game to the Baked Potatoes. Melvin’s exact quote was We thought he was a genius. We didn’t know he was a homicidal maniac.”

Melvin was on his feet again, walking around, waving his arms in the air, talking to himself.

“I need to go to my house to feed Bob,” Morelli said. “Are you going to stay here and watch him pace, or are you coming with me?”

“I’ll come with you. I want to be around when you cash in on your fortune cookie luckiness.”





CHAPTER TWELVE


My smartphone alarm went off at 8:00 a.m. and I had a moment of disorientation. The moment passed and I figured it out. I was in Morelli’s bed and the day had started without me. As usual, Morelli had gotten up at the crack of dawn and was already at work.