Hardcore Twenty-Four (Stephanie Plum #24)(63)

“How’s it going?” I asked him.

“So far we’ve rounded up three zombies.”

“Are they in the van?”

“No. We’ve already transported them to the lockup at St. Francis for evaluation. When they’re released from there, a bunch of three-letter agencies will take over.”

“I brought Diggery home. He got fined for trespass, and he was told to do his gardening during the day from now on.” I looked around. “Will you be here much longer?”

“The rest of the day. There’s a lot of ground to cover. We have dogs in the woods and an eye in the sky.”

I looked up at the helicopter hovering overhead.

“This is a big deal,” I said.

“Yeah. Decapitation is unpopular. People don’t like it. Using human brains to make mind-destroying drugs doesn’t sit well either.”

“Remember the deli container that was left on your sidewalk? Do you think that was a setup?”

“Yes. These druggies don’t care about eating brains.”

“Diggery says he heard in jail that the only way you can buy more of the drug is to pay with human brain.”

“We’ve heard that, too. The first vial is free. After that you pay with brain.”

“What’s the point?”

“My guess is that someone thinks this is fun.”

It was a chilling thought. It took insanity to a whole new level.

Diggery joined us.

“I want to thank you for taking such good care of Ethel,” he said to me. “I know she can be a handful sometimes, but she’s mostly a sweet old girl.”

“I think your freezer supply of rats got eaten,” I said.

“That’s okay,” Diggery said. “Plenty more where they came from.”

I left Morelli and Diggery and drove to my parents’ house to see how Grandma was doing with the new dog.

? ? ?

Grandma and Henry greeted me at the door.

“I came to check on Henry,” I said.

“He’s a joy,” Grandma said. “He’s got perfect manners.”

“He’s got no manners,” my mother yelled from the kitchen. “He barks at everything, and he pooped on the floor.”

“He was nervous,” Grandma said. “He only did that once.”

Henry was wagging his tail and looking up at me with big brown eyes. I bent down to pet him, and he vibrated with happiness.

“He’s a nice dog,” I said to Grandma.

“We should take him for a walk,” Grandma said. “I keep his leash right here on the sideboard, so it’s always handy.”

She hooked Henry up, and we walked him down the street.

“He’s good on the leash,” Grandma said. “He trots right along. And when he poops, it’s little poops.”

I love Bob, but Bob doesn’t poop little poops.

We walked for several blocks and turned onto Judy Chucci’s street. Judy was on her front steps, waving her arms and screaming. Johnny Chucci was in the front yard, smashing the gnomes with a hammer.

“You’re killing them,” Judy was screaming. “You’re going to burn in hell.”

“They’re lumps of plaster,” Johnny yelled back at her. “They aren’t even interesting lumps. You suck at this. You need a new hobby. Try knitting. Try quilting. Try cleaning your house. It’s a pigpen.”

“I hate you. I hate you. I hate you,” Judy shrieked.

“You’re a fruitcake,” Johnny said. “You’re nuts. These stupid things aren’t real.” SMASH. Another gnome turned into plaster dust.

He went after the gnome with the blind eye, and even I had to cringe. It seemed excessive to attack Mr. Murphy.

SMASH. Mr. Murphy was sent to gnome heaven.

Judy disappeared into her house and returned with a chef’s knife. “An eye for an eye,” she said, charging after Johnny.

“He runs pretty good, considering that big bandage on his foot,” Grandma said.

They ran past us, and I tackled Judy and took the knife away from her.

“Take Judy inside and make her a cup of tea or something,” I said to Grandma. “I’m going to drive Johnny to the police station.”

“I don’t know if I want to go in that house with all them gnomes,” Grandma said. “They kind of creep me out.”

“They’re house gnomes,” Judy said. “They’re very polite.”

Grandma and Henry went inside with Judy, and I called Lula to pick me up. The bonds office was only minutes away.

“I thought you went to Hawaii on a pre-re-wedding honeymoon,” I said to Johnny.

“I had plane tickets and hotel reservations, and we weren’t on the plane more than fifteen minutes before it started about the gnomes. Mr. Murphy and little Susie and Grumpy. All the way to L.A. And then she wouldn’t get on the connecting flight. She called her neighbor forty-five times. How were the gnomes? Was Mr. Murphy depressed? Who the hell is Mr. Murphy anyway?”

“You smashed him.”

“Good. Now he’s not depressed anymore.”

Lula’s Firebird pulled up to the curb.

“Jail is going to be a relief after this,” Johnny said. “I can’t wait to get locked up with some nice sane murderers and rapists.”