Hardcore Twenty-Four (Stephanie Plum #24)(2)

I cuffed Simon, promised him I’d look in on Ethel, loaded him into my SUV, and drove him to the police station. I handed him over to the cop in charge, and Simon explained that should a zombie show up, the cop needed to shoot the zombie in the brain. The cop assured Simon it was a done deal.

? ? ?

It was almost four o’clock when Lula and I got back to Simon’s double-wide. The snake wasn’t in the tree, and the hot dogs were all gone.

“I’ll stand here and keep watch that no one steals your car while you check up on Ethel,” Lula said.

“No one’s going to steal my car out here,” I said. “And I’ll take the key.”

“Okay then, how about I’m not going anywhere near that snake pit. It got snakes living under it, and it got a giant snake living in it. And I don’t like snakes. Plus I’m wearing my favorite Via Spigas, and Simon don’t keep his walkway up to Via Spiga level.”

Lula is a couple inches shorter than me and has about twice as much flesh. Much of the flesh is boob. This week her hair was straightened to the texture of boar bristle, was colored a metallic royal blue, and had been pulled up into a ponytail that stuck out of the top of her head. Between the hair and the heels, she was about seven feet tall. She was wearing a shiny silver tank top with a matching cardigan sweater and a short black skirt. The skirt barely covered her hoo-ha and was stretched out to maximum capacity over her ass. Her spike-heeled Via Spigas matched her hair.

I was in my usual work uniform of running shoes, jeans, sweatshirt, and a fitted V-neck T-shirt. I had a canvas messenger bag slung over my shoulder, and I was wearing La Perla lace bikini panties under my jeans. Not an entirely glamorous outfit, but I was pretty much ready for any emergency.

I carefully approached the double-wide, keeping watch for yard snakes.

“At least you don’t have to worry about rats,” Lula said. “Nothing a snake likes better than a nice fat rat.”

I crept up the makeshift stairs to Simon’s door, and said a small prayer before looking inside. I hoped Ethel was in full view, because I really didn’t want to go inside and search for her. I sucked in some air, stepped into the doorway, and froze. The double-wide was filled with raccoons. The raccoon closest to me was working on a jar of peanut butter. He opened his mouth and something fell out. It looked like a finger, but I’m going with hot dog. I backed out, turned, and hustled to my car.

“Was Ethel in there?” Lula asked. “How come you didn’t close the door?”

“Raccoons.”

“Say what?”

“It’s filled with raccoons. They were eating cereal and stuff and rearranging the furniture.”

“Did you see Ethel?”

“If Ethel was in the double-wide the raccoons wouldn’t be there. Ethel would have those raccoons for lunch.”

“You should get those raccoons to leave,” Lula said. “They’re gonna make a mess.”

“They already made a mess, and I have no clue how to get them out. Stick a fork in me. I’m done here.”

? ? ?

I dropped Lula off at the bonds office and called Joe Morelli. Morelli is a plainclothes cop in Trenton. He works crimes against persons. Mostly pulls homicides. And he’s pretty much my boyfriend.

I’ve known Morelli just about all my life. Some of our times together have been good, and some have been not so good. Lately they’ve been comfortable. Past experience tells me that the comfort level could change in a heartbeat. He’s six feet tall and slim with hard-toned muscle. His hair is black and wavy, and because he’s on cop salary he always needs a cut. You put him in a suit and he looks like an Atlantic City casino pit boss. In jeans and a T-shirt he’s totally hot. He has a big orange shaggy-haired dog named Bob, a serviceable green SUV, and a small house that he inherited from his Aunt Rose.

“Yo,” Morelli said on the first ring.

“I have a problem.”

“Me too,” Morelli said. “I’m thinking about you naked, and you aren’t here.”

“You know Simon Diggery’s snake, right?”

“Ethel.”

“Yes. She’s sort of escaped. Simon’s in the lockup, and I think Ethel is slithering around the neighborhood.”

“And?”

“And she’s a fifty-pound boa! She might eat things that don’t want to get eaten. Like cats and dogs and little people. She might even eat big people.”

“I know that neighborhood. Ethel could only improve it.”

“What if Ethel gets out of the neighborhood?”

“Cupcake, she’s not going to get out of the neighborhood. Someone will spot her, and she’ll be snake stew.”

“I promised Simon I would take care of her.”

I heard Morelli blow out a sigh, and I knew he was staring down at his shoe. Probably thinking he could have any woman he wanted and wondering why he wanted me. I often wondered the same thing.

“Is this heading somewhere?” he asked.

“Yes, but I don’t know where. In the interest of public safety, should people be notified that there’s a boa wandering around looking for a snack?”

“The morally correct answer is yes, but the practical answer is no. Simon’s neighborhood would be filled with snake hunters, four or five government agencies would want to take the snake away from him, and my sister-in-law, who hates snakes, would panic.”