Hardcore Twenty-Four (Stephanie Plum #24)(27)

I left downtown, drove to Lula’s neighborhood, and took the alley that ran past the back of Lula’s apartment. Lula had a dedicated parking spot that I was able to slide into. The rest of the street and alley space was clogged with police vehicles, satellite TV trucks, and clumps of curious bystanders. Some of the bystanders were dressed like zombies.

Lula disappeared inside her house, and I went in search of Morelli. I found him on the sidewalk, in front of the CSI van, standing back on his heels, looking lost in thought.

“What’s going on?” I asked him.

“This is turning into a freak show.”

“Are you still in charge?”

“No one’s in charge,” Morelli said. “The state is here. The feds are here. Zombie National Chapter 103 is here.”

“Those are the guys in rags?”

“Yeah, they’re waiting for the apocalypse.”

“Nice. What are you waiting for?”

“Inspiration,” Morelli said. “The headless bodies are stacking up like cordwood, and I’m not making any progress.”

“Have you identified the guy in the bushes?”

“Yes. He was stolen from the funeral home on Stark Street.”

“Do you have . . . all of him?”

“No. The state guys are talking about bringing in a clairvoyant.”

“Do you think that will help?”

“I stopped thinking a couple hours ago.”

The zombie chapter had a boom box going. They were playing the “Monster Mash” and marching around stiff-legged with their arms stretched out in front of them.

“This is a little carny,” I said to Morelli.

“This is nothing. There are food trucks and T-shirt vendors on the next block.”

Lula approached us. She had changed into a short purple metallic wig, a black low-cut sweater that barely contained the girls, and black Pilates pants that fit her like skin.

“Just look at this,” Lula said, spreading her arms wide, taking the scene in. “This is what I’m talking about. Here’s people changing something bad into something rad. It’s like a wake with a lot of liquor and meatballs. This could set Trenton back on the map. Not everywhere you got a zombie fest going on.”

“This is a murder scene,” I said.

“Technically it’s not a murder scene,” Morelli said.

“Yeah, and technically these aren’t real zombies,” Lula said. “These here are fun zombies.”

I didn’t think they looked all that much fun. I thought they were creepy.

“Maybe these fun zombies are all actually nuts and like to eat brains,” I said.

Morelli looked over at them. “We thought of that. We have them all on record. Names, addresses, photos and video.”

I followed Morelli’s line of sight and studied the zombies. “I don’t suppose Zero Slick happens to be with them?”

“No. For what it’s worth we don’t have him in the zombie registry.”

“You got a zombie registry?” Lula asked. “That sounds wrong. You better be careful or you’ll get accused of zombie harassment.”

“Been there, done that,” Morelli said.

“Gotta go,” I said. “Stuff to do.”





TWELVE


LULA AND I walked to the back of her apartment building and got into the Lexus.

“I wouldn’t mind taking a look at the street with the food trucks and T-shirts,” Lula said. “I might want a commemorative T-shirt.”

I drove around the block, found the food truck street, and cruised the length of it. It was slow going because it was packed with people. They were buying ice cream in waffle cones, cotton candy, sausage sandwiches, zombie glow sticks, zombie T-shirts, and zombie ball caps. A guy dressed in zombie rags was playing the accordion. A sign advertised valet parking.

“I’m thinking if you use valet parking here you’re not likely to get your car back,” Lula said.

“Do you need to buy something?” I asked her.

“Not bad enough to stand in line for it. Where’d all these people come from? Why aren’t they working?”

I cut across town and took Klockner to Majestic Mews. I parked a short distance from the Krakowski apartment and settled in.

“How long are we going to sit here?” Lula asked.

“Until lunch.”

“In that case, I’m putting my seat back and taking a nap. As you know, I didn’t have an ideal night.”

A little after eleven o’clock, Marie Krakowski exited her apartment and walked to a silver Nissan Sentra. She was carrying a bulging cloth grocery bag and a small cooler chest. Bingo. Dollars to donuts she was taking lunch to her son.

“We’re on the move,” I said to Lula. “Raise your seat.”

Marie pulled out of the lot, and I followed at a distance. She left Hamilton Township and took Olden Avenue to Morley Street.

“Oh crap,” Lula said. “She’s going to the cemetery. She’s taking lunch to the zombies. You said she has a cooler. Maybe she’s got a head in it.”

“Marie Krakowski doesn’t impress me as being a zombie chaser. She’s a mom, and I’m pretty sure she’s feeding her son.”