Fortune and Glory (Stephanie Plum, #27)(38)

“I didn’t see the Buick in your garage just now,” I said.

“I had it returned to your parents’ house. I’ll give you a less conspicuous car. You’re too easy to spot in the Buick. I could also run some security on your parents’ house, but last time your father declined.”

“And he would probably decline again, so let’s concentrate on finding the treasure.”

I ate my bagel and drank my coffee while Ranger drove. It was a beautiful fall day with the promise of blue skies and a warm afternoon. Not a lot of traffic on the road yet, but in fifteen minutes, there would be an explosion of people heading off to work and kids going to school.

We entered a neighborhood of moderately priced homes. Some older single-level ranches and some larger colonials. Ranger idled in front of a single-level ranch. Two vehicles were in the driveway. A blue pickup and a black Escalade. Shades were drawn in the house. Ranger drove to the end of the block, made a U-turn, and parked on the opposite side of the street, two houses down.

Ranger can go into a surveillance mode where I swear his heart rate drops to 20 beats per minute but he’s still alert and focused. My heart rate was considerably higher, and I had a problem with focus. I was watching the house, but I was wishing I was wearing clean clothes. That led me to wishing I was wearing new clothes. And from that point I went to wondering what sort of clothes I should buy. I had no clue.

After a half hour of mind-numbing surveillance, the front door opened, and the two suits came out and got into the Escalade. No sign of the lesser wise guys.

Ranger let them get a sizable lead before following. They cruised through town, turned just before the train station, and continued on to the Mole Hole. They parked in the lot and went inside. There were no other cars in the lot.

We watched from a distance for a while. No one went in or out. No other cars entered the lot. I pulled the visor mirror down and checked out my hair. I was freak girl. I found a brush and a scrunchie in my bag and pulled my hair back into a ponytail.

“What do you think they’re doing in there?” I asked.

“Playing cards, watching reruns of Friends, checking in with their wives back in Miami.”

“Do you think they’re coming out anytime soon?”

“Babe,” Ranger said.

“Just sayin’.”

Ranger called the Escalade plate and location in to his control room and requested that someone place a tracking device on the SUV. He turned the ignition key on the Porsche and put it in gear.

“Let’s check back on the Ewing house.”



* * *




No pickup in the driveway of the Ewing house. Shades were still down. No sign of activity. No street traffic. We were parked one house away, in front of a white colonial with black shutters.

“Let’s take a closer look,” Ranger said.

We went to the door and rang the bell. No answer. Ranger knocked. No answer. He picked the lock, and we were in. He closed and locked the door behind us.

“Bail bond enforcement!” he shouted. “Anyone here?”

Nothing.

We went room by room, looking for information that might lead us to Shine. The furnishings were basic and beige. It didn’t feel like a house that had ever been a home. Possibly a safe house for the mob. Or maybe a rental property. There was very little in the fridge. Half-and-half for coffee. A loaf of white bread. Some provolone cheese slices and deli ham. Mustard. Leftover pizza. A six-pack of beer. Two tubs of ice cream in the freezer, coffee and chocolate.

There were four bedrooms. Two with bathrooms en suite. The other two were small and shared a bathroom. Suitcases and duffel bags were mostly unpacked and open on the floor. Beds were unmade in three rooms. The third room had a perfectly made bed.

“Military,” Ranger said.

“It looks like they’ve only been here a couple days.”

“My source told me they flew in on Monday. It wasn’t clear if they were making a permanent move. The suits have families and houses in Miami. The other two guys are free agents. One of them is Shine’s nephew.”

We returned to the car and I buckled in. “Now what?”

“Now we wait to see where the suits take us,” Ranger said.

“Do you think they wear suits all the time?”

“No. I think they didn’t take a lot of clothes with them.”

“My old friends Chick and Ed. Do they have last names?”

“Ed Gruman and Chick Rizer,” Ranger said. “The nephew is Kenny Farmer. I don’t have a name for the fourth.” He pulled away from the curb. “Do you have any other leads you’d like to run down?”

“No. But I could use some backup bringing in an FTA. Last time I tried to apprehend him he stuck a syringe in Potts’s leg. He lives on Stiller Street.”

Ranger drove down Stiller Street and parked behind Trotter’s van. I gave him the paperwork and he paged through it.

“This reads like bad fiction,” Ranger said. “Who would be dumb enough to let this guy inject them?”

“Enough women to keep him in vodka and tequila.”

He gave the paperwork back to me and we went to the door. Trotter’s mother answered. She was wearing fluffy pink slippers and an orange-and-purple flowered tent dress that came to her knees. She had a cigarette stuck to her overinflated lower lip.