Hardcore Twenty-Four (Stephanie Plum #24)(37)

“It’s gotta be hard to do Madonna,” Lula said. “I guess being artistic runs in the family. Looks like your thing is gnomes.”

“A lot of people don’t understand the finer points of gnome painting,” Judy said. “At first glance, they might all look the same, but it’s the details that count. Charlie, over in the corner, has a little pink in his red coat. And Harry, by the mailbox, has a crooked smile. And poor Mr. Murphy has a cataract. It was an accident. I added too much white to his eyes and next thing he was blind.” Judy bit into her lower lip. “I’m so sorry,” she whispered to Mr. Murphy.

“Can’t you just paint over it?” Lula asked.

Judy shook her head. “No. He’s blind. It’s irreversible.”

“That’s too bad,” Lula said. “Seems like something could be done to help him.”

“I’m told there’s a paint specialist in Denver who does wonderful work,” Judy said. “I’ve started a GoFundMe page for Mr. Murphy.”

“That’s a excellent idea,” Lula said. “I hear those pages rake in big bucks. And they got a good variety of weed in Denver, too.”

Judy nodded. “Mr. Murphy would like that. And he deserves it. He’s suffered so much.”

“About Johnny,” I said.

Judy stiffened and looked around. “He better not be here. I have a restraining order.”

“He missed his court date,” I said. “I work for his bond agent, and I need to bring him in to get rescheduled. I was hoping you’d help me find him.”

“In other words, you want to take him to jail?”

“Yes.”

“I’m in. What do you want to know? What do I have to do?”

“Boy, you must really dislike him,” Lula said.

“He’s a douchebag,” Judy said, “but I don’t want to get into that in front of the gnomes.” Judy stepped back. “Would you like to come in? I have coffee cake.”

We followed Judy along a narrow path through the living room. There were gnomes on every surface. They were on the floor, on the tables, on the couch, and on all the chairs. Ditto the dining room and kitchen. She had a gnome-painting workstation set up on the kitchen table.

“You ever watch that television show about hoarders?” Lula asked Judy.

“Yeah, those poor people get buried alive with their stuff. I don’t know why they don’t get help.”

“You ever see any hoarder shows about gnomes?”

Judy was searching through her kitchen. “I know I have a coffee cake here somewhere.”

“That’s okay,” I said. “We don’t really have time for coffee cake. I was hoping you could give me some information on Johnny. Do you know where he’s staying?”

“From what I hear, he moves around. Nobody can tolerate him for more than two days. He’s so annoying. He has an opinion about everything. Talk, talk, talk. And he’s constantly cracking his knuckles, and there’s no polite way to say this . . . he farts. A lot.”

“Maybe he’s got gluten issues,” Lula said.

“Maybe he should double up on his underwear in the place that counts, instead of wearing a pair on his head,” Judy said.

“Does he have a favorite bar or fast-food place?” I asked. “Is there any place he regularly hangs out?”

“Yes,” Judy said. “Here! I have a restraining order against him because he skulks around my house every night and breaks my gnomes, but that doesn’t stop him. He leaves stupid presents on my doorstep.”

“What kind of presents?” Lula asked.

“Flowers and bottles of wine and pizza and jewelry.”

“They sound like nice presents,” Lula said.

“I guess so, but he’s such an oaf he’s always knocking over the gnomes. He broke Henry’s arm last night. I call the police and by the time they get here he’s gone.”

“Where does he get the money to buy these presents?” I asked. “Does he have a job?”

“He steals them,” Judy said. “The moron puts his underpants on his head and steals stuff.”

“Does he have a routine?” I asked. “When does he leave these presents?”

“Usually between nine and eleven. He knows I go to bed at eleven.”

“I’m going to stake out your house between nine and eleven for a couple days,” I said. “Don’t call the police. Maybe I can catch Johnny.”

Lula and I tiptoed our way through the gnomes to Morelli’s car.

“If you ask me, they’re both whackadoodle,” Lula said, buckling her seatbelt.

I was about to drive to the office when my mother called.

“You have to come see this,” she said. “You have to talk to your grandmother. And I’ve got kielbasa for lunch.”

“We’re having lunch at my parents’ house,” I said to Lula.

? ? ?

Grandma met us at the door. Her hair was cut, styled, and colored to look exactly like my mom’s. And Grandma was spray-tanned. Head to toe with the exception of white circles around her eyes.

“What do you think?” she asked.

“I think you rock,” Lula said. “Us girls gotta mix it up once in a while.”