Hardcore Twenty-Four (Stephanie Plum #24)(53)

“Mom was worried about you and sent me to make sure you were okay.”

“Of course, I’m okay. I’m just dandy. My Key West boyfriend invited me to a party at his seniors club.”

Eeeek. “I need to talk to you about that club.”

“He said they had some fun activities, and I figured since Willie Kuber turned out to be a dud I might as well see what Roger Murf is about.”

“I got the background check on Murf. He’s married. And the seniors club is for swingers.”

“The married part is a disappointment,” Grandma said. “Did you get a picture?”

I pulled the photo out of my messenger bag and handed it over to her. “The woman is his wife, Miriam.”

Grandma studied the photo. “He’s no George Hamilton.”

“Only George Hamilton is George Hamilton.”

Grandma nodded. “George Hamilton is a good-looking man. This Roger Murf isn’t doing it for me. And since Roger Murf is one of those swingers, I’m thinking he only wanted me for my body,” Grandma said.

“He wanted you for Mom’s body.”

“Technically that’s true, but a senior citizens’ swingers club might not be too picky. I bet I could pull it off. I might have to get one of them Brazilian wax jobs. I hear they’re painful. And when they’re done with you, you’re bald down there.”

“How about a puppy? Why don’t we go home and get a puppy?”

“That would beat the heck out of a swingers party,” Grandma said.

“Okay, it’s settled. If we hurry, we can get back to United in time for a flight to Newark and then we can get the puppy first thing in the morning.”

“I’m going to name him Henry,” Grandma said.

? ? ?

It was after midnight when we deplaned in Newark. The airport shops and restaurants were closed, and the corridors were mostly empty. Grandma had a small carry-on bag, and I had nothing other than my messenger bag. We bypassed the checked baggage carousels and walked through the terminal directly to short-term parking. I found Big Blue and was confronted with the reality that I’d parked in short-term all day. Between the airfare and the parking, it had been a costly night. And tomorrow I was going to have to buy Grandma a puppy!

It was a long, quiet drive in the dark back to Trenton. I’d texted my mom and told her I was bringing Grandma home. I didn’t tell her about the puppy.

Lights were still on in my parents’ house when I pulled to the curb. My mom was waiting up for Grandma.

“Thanks for going all that ways to tell me about the Murfs,” Grandma said. “It’s probably just as well I didn’t go to the party. I don’t know if I want to look at a bunch of naked old people. It would be different if it was those Chippendales men.”

I waited until Grandma was safely inside, and then I headed over to Morelli’s neighborhood. I drove down his street and idled in front of his house. It was dark. I hadn’t called him, and he wasn’t expecting me. Not that it mattered. I had a key. I parked Big Blue at the curb, let myself in, and started to tiptoe up the stairs when Bob came bounding down and slammed into me. So much for my stealth entrance.

Morelli was at the head of the stairs. He was naked, and he had a gun.

“I wasn’t expecting you,” Morelli said.

“I see you’re armed and dangerous.”

He looked down at himself. “It’s going to get a lot more dangerous now that you’re here.”





TWENTY-TWO


I HEARD MORELLI calling me through the fog of sleep. His hand was on my bare shoulder. I think he kissed me on the forehead. Or maybe I was dreaming.

“Steph!”

I opened my eyes. “Again?”

“No,” Morelli said. “I have to go to work, but I need to show you something first.”

“What time is it?”

“Six o’clock.”

“In the morning?” I sat up and swung my legs over the side of the bed. “This better be good. I hope you’re not going to show me the same stuff you showed me last night.”

Morelli grinned. “You liked it last night.”

“Yes, but that was last night. I’m not a morning person.” I looked around for my clothes. “Should I get dressed?”

Morelli grabbed a robe from the closet, stuffed me into it, and tied the belt. “This will only take a minute,” he said. “And then you can go back to bed.”

I followed him down the stairs to the front door and stared at the words scratched into it: NEED BRAIN. Below it was the stick figure of a woman with curly hair. A half-empty take-out container and plastic fork had been left in the middle of Morelli’s sidewalk.

“What’s with the trash?” I asked.

“Zombie late-night snack,” Morelli said. “The deli label says ‘calf brains,’ and I’m not sure, but it looks like it was doused with hot sauce.”

He took a plastic evidence bag from his pocket and gingerly dropped the take-out container and fork into it.

“How could the zombie have known I was here?” I asked.

“Maybe it didn’t. Maybe this was random.”

“I don’t think it was random. When I went back to my apartment yesterday, ‘brains’ and ‘die’ had been scratched into my door. There was a smear of something that looked like blood. And the elevator smelled like carnations.”