Hardcore Twenty-Four (Stephanie Plum #24)(22)

“Damn zombies,” Grandma said. “They’re running amuck all over the place. Grace Merkle said she saw one tramping through her flower garden the other night. She lives two blocks from the cemetery on Morley Street. She said the zombies are a real nuisance.”

My mother looked over at the cabinet where she kept her whiskey. She checked her watch. Too early for a drink. There were rules to be observed. Good Christian women didn’t drink before four o’clock unless they were at a wake. My mother gave up a small sigh and took a cookie.

“You could probably bend the rules, since there are zombies in Grace Merkle’s flower garden,” I said to my mother.

“I’ve got fifteen minutes to go,” my mother said, taking a second cookie. “I can stick it out.”

“Boy, you’re a strong woman,” Lula said. “You got real willpower.”

“The rules change when you get to be a senior citizen,” Grandma said. “If I want a snort of whiskey in the morning I go for it. I probably only got about thirty good years left.”

By my calculations, thirty good years had Grandma well over a hundred. No doubt in my mind that she would still be going strong.

“My honey just took a part-time job as a greeter,” Grandma said. “He’s working in one of those bars in Key West.”

“You got a honey?” Lula asked.

“I met him on one of them Internet sites,” Grandma said. “He’s a real looker.”

“You gotta be careful of those Internet hookups,” Lula said.

Grandma pulled the picture up on her cellphone and showed Lula.

“That’s George Hamilton,” Lula said.

“Yeah, there’s a good resemblance,” Grandma said. “I’m guessing he’s a little younger than me, but I think I can keep up.”

“What’s a greeter do for a bar?” Lula asked.

“It sounds to me like he holds up a sign outside saying that they got cheap drinks and live dancers inside,” Grandma said. “He works days, so I’m thinking it’ll help him keep that deep tan he’s got.”

“No doubt,” Lula said.

My mother crammed two more cookies into her mouth.

“Okay then,” I said. “This has been nice, but Lula and I have to move on. It’s about quitting time.”

“Don’t worry,” Grandma said. “You can count on me to find out about Johnny.”

“Thanks,” I said. “I’d appreciate any information you can get, but please don’t shoot anyone.”

“Not unless I have to,” Grandma said.

“Can’t ask for more than that,” Lula said.

I gave my mother a hug, told her to hang in there, and maneuvered Lula out of the house and into my car.

“Your granny is a hoot,” Lula said, buckling herself in. “And imagine snagging a guy who looks like George Hamilton. How cool is that? Are you gonna look up Johnny’s two brothers?”

“Not today.”

I drove back to the building Slick destroyed. The crime scene tape was still up, and the CSI people were working. Morelli’s car was still there. I cruised the perimeter and didn’t see Slick, so I took Lula back to the office.

“See you tomorrow,” Lula said. “Have a good night.”

That was worth an eye roll. I had Diesel squatting in my apartment, and my grandmother was going to Emily Molinowski’s viewing with a loaded gun. Not that it was entirely my fault. She would have gone with a loaded gun as a matter of habit. Problem is, now she was on the hunt for Johnny Chucci. It had seemed like a good idea to ask if she’d heard anything. In retrospect, maybe not smart.

This wasn’t going to be a good night.

? ? ?

My apartment was empty when I walked in. No Diesel. No Morelli. No Ranger. Just Rex asleep in his soup can. I tapped on the side of his cage and said hello.

No answer from Rex.

I opened my laptop and checked my email. I wasted a half hour on Facebook. I logged into a search engine and researched Johnny Chucci and his relatives. Ditto Zero Slick. I didn’t get anything new on Chucci. Slick had applied for a car loan and been declined. Possibly he was declined because he listed his address as “Under the bridge.”

I shuffled off to the kitchen and stared into the refrigerator. I couldn’t get excited about another peanut butter sandwich. Yogurt, no. Cereal, no. Ham sandwich, no. I grabbed a bottle of beer, took a step back, bumped into Diesel, and yelped in surprise.

“Jeez Louise,” I said. “I hate when you sneak up on me like that. I didn’t hear you come in.”

“You were in the zone.”

“I was contemplating dinner.”

Diesel grinned down at me. “I like a hungry woman. Makes life easy. I don’t have to work hard to satisfy her.”

“Are we talking about food?”

“Yeah, that too.” He motioned to two bags on the counter. “I got Chinese. Not especially authentic but should be okay.”

I pulled the cartons out of the bag. Kung pao chicken, fried rice, steamed dumplings, some kind of glutinous vegetable mix.

“This is great,” I said. “Thank you.”

The smile was still in place. “How grateful are you?”

“Grateful enough to let you stay one more night.”