Hardcore Twenty-Four (Stephanie Plum #24)(41)

“Whoa! That had to be frightening.”

“The zombie?”

“Yeah, that too.”

“I didn’t see the zombie.”

“How did Lula know it was a zombie?”

“It sounded like they were up close and personal. She said it breathed on her.”

“Okay. That’s close. Did she get any pieces of zombie rag? Was there an exchange of zombie fluid?”

“It wasn’t that personal.”

Morelli got a beer out of the fridge. “Worth asking.”

“What about my zombie rag?”

“I haven’t got the report back yet. Not sure what they got off the car other than a look at state-of-the-art tracking technology and a legal Glock that refused to hold a fingerprint. Unfortunately, it’s a Friday so I might not know anything until Monday.”

“Are you working tomorrow?”

“I’m on call. Are you working?”

“The office is open for a half day. I need to check on Ethel, and Connie is doing some research for me.”





EIGHTEEN


LULA AND CONNIE were already at the office when I walked in. Connie was dressed down in jeans and sneakers and a red sweater. Lula was wearing chunky gladiator sandals, a short black metallic skirt, and a silver tank top. If I didn’t know her I might have been frightened. She looked like a Who’s Your Mama? dominatrix.

“I have your photos,” Connie said. “Roger and Miriam Murf.”

Lula came over to see the photos. “Who we looking at?”

“Grandma’s boyfriend and his wife,” I said.

“Say what?”

The only thing Roger Murf had in common with George Hamilton was a tan. Murf was short, mostly bald, and overweight. His wife was equally tan, equally overweight, and excessively wrinkled. Their photos came from the DMV and from an article about a senior center swingers club.

“They need a good dermatologist,” Lula said.

I took the photos from Connie and stuffed them into my messenger bag.

“I’ll run these over to Grandma, and then I’m going to check on Ethel.”

Lula looked out the office front window. “You got the zombie car back. I don’t know if it’s a good idea for you to go down Diggery’s road with that car. There could be zombies lurking that remember you drove over one of them.”

“We could take your car.”

“No way. Even if we didn’t hit any zombies it would get all dusty.”

I tried not to roll my eyes, but I was only partially successful. “Okay, I’ll drive. Are you coming?”

“Hell, yeah. Somebody’s got to be there to shoot the zombies.”

? ? ?

I left Lula in the car, and I ran to my parents’ house. Grandma was in the foyer, holding her purse.

“Are you going somewhere?” I asked.

“I got a date.”

“You aren’t going to Florida, are you?”

“No. That’s old business,” Grandma said. “I’m moving on. I don’t know if I want to keep up with a man who looks like George Hamilton. You got to put a lot of work into looking that good. Besides I got a new honey. This tan and hairdo got me a date with Willie Kuber. He used to be a butcher at Giovichinni’s. We’re going to the shore to play skillo.”

“Wow. That’s great.”

“I’m pretty stoked,” Grandma said. “He could be the one. I’ve had my eye on him ever since his wife passed. For an older man, he’s got a real nice bum.”

I told Grandma to have fun, and I hurried back to Lula.

“Did you break the news to her?” Lula asked.

“Wasn’t necessary. She has a date with Willie Kuber. They’re going to the shore to play skillo.”

“I don’t know who that is, but playing skillo is an excellent date idea.”

I drove out of the Burg and took Broad Street to Diggery’s neighborhood. Halfway to his double-wide I almost ran over a groundhog. It was sneakers-up in the middle of the single-lane road.

I stopped, and Lula and I peered over the hood at the brown blob.

“Looks like a big ol’ groundhog,” Lula said.

“Yeah, a big ol’ dead groundhog. I can’t drive around it, but I think I’ll clear if I drive over it.”

“Yeah, but what if it isn’t dead, and you don’t clear it? Then you got more blood on your hands. First you mow down a zombie, and now you risk smooshing a groundhog. Maybe this groundhog’s just taking a nap.”

I blew my horn at the groundhog. Nothing.

“He could be deaf,” Lula said.

“I think you should get out of the car, and poke it with a stick, and take a real close look at it,” I said.

“I’ll get out, if you’ll get out.”

“Great. Fine. I’ll get out. Yeesh.”

I wrenched the door open, lurched out, and went to stand over the slightly bloated groundhog. Lula came up beside me.

“Looks dead to me,” I said.

“We should say some words,” Lula said. “It’s only right that when you come on the deceased you say some words.”

“You’re going to pray over the groundhog?”