Fortune and Glory (Stephanie Plum, #27)(10)

“Things could happen fast after we start the apprehension process with Arnold,” Lula said. “So, I’m suggesting we get our chicken nuts first. I’ll just step up like I’m an ordinary customer and then as soon as I get my nuts, we can make our move.” She fished her wallet out of her purse. “What kind of nuts do you want? Regular or extra spicy?”

“I’m going to pass on the nuts.”

“What? No nuts? You gotta try the nuts. It’s just wrong not to try the nuts.”

“I’m not in a mood for nuts.”

“This is about that fight you had with Morelli, isn’t it? It’s the nuts association.”

“That’s ridiculous. It’s not about Morelli. And it’s definitely not about his… you know.”

“His nuts.”

“Yes, his nuts. It’s not about his nuts. Morelli’s nuts are just fine, thank you.”

“Well, you gotta miss them.”

“Could we please move on from this.”

“Just sayin’,” Lula said.

I cut a look at Lula and decided my chances of walking away with no nuts were small to none.

“Okay,” I said. “I’ll try the chicken nuts. I want the plain.”

“Yeah, but it’s all about the extra spicy,” Lula said.

I felt my eyes narrow and my teeth clench. “Then get me the extra spicy.”

“Good choice,” Lula said. “I’ll be right back.”

I hung just inside the door while Lula went to the counter. Lula was right. I missed Morelli. I missed his dog, Bob. I missed his big-screen TV. I missed the comfort and security of being in a relationship. I missed hearing about his day and cuddling next to him in bed at night. I missed his playful sexiness and the heat that came with the play. I wanted to end the standoff, but I didn’t know how to resolve the problem that caused the argument.

When Grandma found the keys, I told her I’d help her find the treasure. From that moment on, it’s been a battlefield with Grandma and me on one side and the rest of my family plus Morelli on the other side. All of their objections are valid. Ownership of the treasure isn’t clear. Much of the search will most likely fall into the gray zone of legality. And there are psychopaths involved, so it will be dangerous. Maybe even fatal.

Morelli’s parting shot was that he didn’t want a relationship with Indiana Jones. Okay, I get that because I have similar feelings about having a relationship with a cop. It’s dangerous work and the hours aren’t always great. My problem is that while Morelli made the statement to get a point across, he hit on a squelched desire. I’m realizing that I’m a closet Indy. For much of my childhood I was convinced I could fly. I broke my arm trying. I wanted to be Wonder Woman, Buffy the Vampire Slayer, and Princess Leia. None of that worked out for me. I ended up selling bargain-basement lingerie when I graduated from college, and now I’m tracking down a man who fried roaches and fed them to his ex-wife. Transitioning into Indiana Jones has a lot of appeal. Indy never had to eat chicken nuts to save the day. Monkey brains, yes, but not chicken nuts.

Lula put her order in for extra spicy nuts and waited at the counter. A couple of minutes later the counter girl handed Lula a giant bucket of nuts and Lula motioned for me to step forward.

“I can take it from here,” Lula said to me. “I know I’m just the assistant agent, but I got a good grip on this one.”

She popped a donut into her mouth and looked like she was in rapture.

“Omigod,” she said. “This is the best donut ever. This is like having an orgasm in my mouth. And not someone else’s either. Like it’s mine.”

The counter girl took a step back. “That’s gross.”

“Well, obviously you don’t know a lot about orgasms,” Lula said. “I gotta talk to the fry cook. I gotta compliment him.”

“He’s in the back,” the girl said. “He’s pretty busy right now.”

“Hey, fry cook!” Lula yelled. “I gotta talk to you.”

A big guy in a grease-stained white T-shirt appeared and stepped up to the counter. He was over six feet tall and built like a bear. He was balding and the hair he had left was pulled into a ponytail. He had a two-day beard and bloodshot eyes.

“You got something to say about my nuts?” he asked Lula.

Lula looked back at me. “Is he the one?” she whispered.

I nodded, yes.

“Are you Arnold Rugalowski?” Lula asked.

“Yeah,” he said. “So what?”

Lula tucked the bucket of nuts under her arm and fished around in her purse. “Hold on,” she said. “I gotta get my equipment.”

Lula’s purse had the capacity of a small suitcase. Lula could never find anything in her purse.

“Maybe I can help,” I said, moving closer, offering Lula my cuffs.

“Thanks,” Lula said, taking the cuffs, turning to Arnold. “We’re bond enforcement agents, and we want you to come downtown with us, so we can reschedule your court date.”

“Screw that,” Arnold said. “And you’re not getting my nuts, either.”

He reached across the counter and grabbed the cardboard bucket Lula had tucked under her arm.

“Hey!” Lula said. “Those are mine. I paid for them.”