Hardcore Twenty-Four (Stephanie Plum #24)(20)

“No,” Morelli said. “He still had his head, but someone drilled a hole in the skull, and it appears that the brain might have gotten sucked out. Won’t know for sure until the autopsy.”

A wave of nausea slid through my stomach, and I went light-headed for a moment.

“Are you okay?” Morelli asked.

“No. I’m not okay. That’s horrible.”

“At least they left the head this time. Makes my job easier.”

“Do you have any leads on this?”

“Not a one,” Morelli said.

“Lula thinks it’s zombies.”

“Okay, so now I have one lead. Does she have an address for the zombies?”

“They originally came from the cemetery on Morley Street, but I’m not sure where they’re hanging out now.”

“Well, that’s a start. I’ll check out Morley Street.”

I grimaced and looked at him. “You’re kidding, right?”

“Yes. I’m kidding. There’s some psycho nutjob out there collecting cadaver brains.”

“So I’m safe as long as I’m not dead?”

“Looks that way.”

“I guess that’s comforting.”

“Not to me. The department is working overtime to keep this out of the press, and the mayor is on everyone’s ass to find the idiot who’s doing it.” His expression softened, and he gently touched my cheek with his fingertip. “Your eye looks awful.”

“Zero Slick hit me with his protest sign.”

“He’s an asshole. Do you want me to bring him in and charge him?”

“No. I’ll take care of it. You have your own problems.”

“Cupcake, you’re my problem.”

“I don’t want to be your problem. I want to be your sex goddess.”

This got a smile out of Morelli. “You’re all that and more.”

I gave him a small kiss and a smile. “Gotta go. Probably I won’t see you tonight?”

“Not likely.”

“Okeydokey then,” I said, relieved that I didn’t have to address the Diesel issue.

Lula was waiting on the other side of the crime scene tape. “What’s up?” she asked.

“Homeless man is dead.”

“And? There’s a lot going on for a dead homeless man.”

“He might be missing his brain.”

“Say what? Holy crapola. It’s the zombies, isn’t it? They came and sucked out his brain. I knew it. I could feel something was happening. I told you, right? I was creeped out. I knew they were roaming around. I bet they wanted my brain, but it wasn’t available, so they went somewhere else.”

“Zombies aren’t on the short list for the police. They’re thinking more lunatic.”

“They don’t know nothing. This here’s the work of zombies. Anybody could see that.”

I didn’t know which was worse . . . a criminally insane cannibal or a hungry zombie. Hard to believe that either existed.

“This neighborhood seems to be congested,” I said to Lula. “I’m thinking we change direction and look for Johnny Chucci.”

“Whatever. I’m a flexible person. There’s probably zombies lurking here anyway. Now that I’m thinking about it I can feel them looking at me. You probably want to take some evasive action when you drive out of here.”

“You think zombies can drive?”

“I’m thinking it’s possible.”

“Can they only drive forward?”

“I don’t know,” Lula said. “That would be one of them zombie mysteries.”

I hung a U-turn and drove to the Burg. Johnny Chucci’s mother lives in the Burg. His sister lives in the Burg. His two brothers live in the Burg. His ex-wife lives in the Burg. If Johnny was back, sooner or later, he’d be in the Burg, if not to live at least to visit.

“I guess you know Johnny Chucci,” Lula said.

“Not personally. He’s a couple years older than me. Grandma Mazur knows his mom. She sees her at bingo and the funeral home sometimes. I know about the family from Grandma Mazur.”

“Your granny knows everything,” Lula said. “When I grow up I want to be just like her.”

I passed the Chucci file over to Lula. “The family addresses should be listed. I know where the mother lives. I can’t remember the others.”

“You gonna just drive around?”

“Yes. And then I’ll decide if I want to talk to anyone.”

“I think you should talk to your granny. It would have the added benefit of a piece of coffee cake or some of them Italian cookies. There’s always excellent bakery products at your momma’s house.”

I’d had the same thoughts. Grandma was tapped into the Burg gossip network. There was a good possibility she knew something about Johnny Chucci. And, more important, I could use a cookie.

Johnny’s parents lived in a two-story frame house that was similar in size to my parents’ house. It had a postage stamp front yard, a small front porch, and a single-car detached garage at the rear of their property. There was a blue F-150 pickup parked in the driveway.

“This is a nice house,” Lula said. “It’s all kept up with fresh paint, and they even got a pot of flowers on the porch.”