Top Secret Twenty-One: A Stephanie Plum Novel by Janet Evanovich(18)

“What’s polonium?”

“I don’t know exactly. I didn’t have time to Google it, but I’m told it’s the stuff some speculate killed Yasser Arafat. Supposedly it’s not a nice death.”

“That’s creepy.”

“Yeah. Probably you’re going to be too creeped out to sleep tonight and you’re going to need a big strong guy like me to keep you safe.”

I narrowed my eyes at him. “Did you make all this up just so I’d sleep with you?”

“No. I’m not that clever, but I am getting desperate, so let me know if it’s working.”

“I have Briggs to protect me.”

“I hear some sarcasm there, but I know Briggs, and he’s a mean little bastard. I wouldn’t underestimate him in a bar fight.”

Our food arrived, and we dug in.

“This doesn’t add up for me,” I finally said. “I was under the impression that Ranger and Gardi hadn’t met prior to Gardi’s arrest. Why was Gardi trying to take down Rangeman?”

“I imagine Gardi was working for someone. When it all went down, someone at Rangeman hit the big red button and the call simultaneously brought in the feds, the hazmat team, and Trenton first responders. The feds immediately took over and put a lid on any information coming from Gardi. I’m surprised you don’t know more from Ranger.”

“I spoke to him briefly, but he couldn’t talk.”

“I’m sure he’s scrambling, trying to keep his business running without his control room.”

And knowing Ranger, he was on the hunt for whoever’d sent Gardi.

“How long do you think he’ll be out of the building?” I asked Morelli.

“No one’s saying. This is the tightest security I’ve ever seen. Everyone’s walking around with their ass clenched.”

Welcome to my world. My sphincter isn’t exactly relaxed. Ranger has lots of enemies, and he sits with his back to the wall, so I’ve become used to a certain element of danger that always surrounds him. This was a whole other deal. This was stone cold scary.

“What are you doing this afternoon?” I asked.

“Paperwork. And I want to walk around Buster’s backyard. We still haven’t found the murder weapon.”

“I have my theory.”

Morelli finished his Coke and sat back in his chair. “I bet we both have the same theory.”

“I’m thinking Poletti isn’t the killer.”

“Yeah, it’s worth throwing into the mix. He could have let himself into the apartment for whatever reason, found another dead poker player, left in a panic, and ran into you on the way out.”

“Buster was in Atlantic City, so who else has a key?”

Morelli signaled for the check. “Turns out lots of people had keys, including Scootch.”

“Did you talk to Miriam Pepper?” I asked Morelli.

“I did. She was completely hammered at one in the afternoon. And I got a better offer from her than I did from Poletti’s wife.”

“Let me guess. She offered you a Manhattan.”

Morelli pushed back from the table. “I was inches from taking it.”





EIGHT


I LEFT MORELLI, drove back to my parents’ house, and retrieved Briggs.

“I got to take a look at tonight’s cake,” he said. “It’s awesome. Chocolate cake and chocolate frosting. And the frosting is real thick.”

“I’m surprised you didn’t carve off a chunk when no one was watching.”

“Someone was always watching. What are we doing now?”

“I don’t know. I’m at a dead end with Poletti.”

“If you haven’t got anything special to do, maybe we could drive past my apartment. The last time I saw it, fire trucks were all over the place and it was still smoking.”

I rolled out of the Burg and followed Hamilton to Grand Avenue. I parked across the street from Briggs’s building, and we looked over at it in silence. It was an ugly redbrick building built in the fifties. Three stories. Briggs lived on the second floor, and it was clear which apartment was his. The windows had been blown out in the explosion and were now patched with plywood. Thick black soot stained the brick on the second and third floors. The building’s front door was open, and hoses snaked out and dumped grimy gray water into the gutter. Two fire restoration vans were parked at the curb.

“Do you want to go in?” I asked him.

He shook his head. “I just wanted to take a look at the building. No point going in. I got a call from the insurance adjuster, and he said there was nothing left. He said the explosion blew a hole in the ceiling, and the fire spread to the third floor. Lucky no one was home there, either. No one got hurt.”

“Sorry about your apartment,” I said. “It’s hard to lose all your stuff like that.”

“You’ve had your place blown up a couple times,” Briggs said. “It must have been bad for you too.”

“The first time it happened was the worst. I was really rattled. Nothing like that had ever happened to me before.”

“Hard to believe,” Briggs said. “You’re a magnet for disaster. I figured you were one of those kids who had their bike run over by the garbage truck.”