Look Alive Twenty-Five (Stephanie Plum #25)(12)

“Here’s the deal,” Morelli said, stuffing plates and utensils in the dishwasher. “The game doesn’t start until eight tonight, so we have some time to kill.”

“And?”

“I’ve missed you,” he said.

He pulled me close and kissed me. His hands were warm at my waist and the kiss was soft. I felt a rush of desire swirl through my stomach and head south.

Morelli was like the post office. He always delivered. If the delivery vehicle ran out of gas, there was no need to panic. Morelli had battery backup.

“Maybe we should move this upstairs,” Morelli said. “By the time I’m done we’re going to need a shower.”

Okay, this worked for me. We’ve had passionate experiences on the little kitchen table, bent over the kitchen counter, on the couch, the billiard table, the coffee table, the washing machine, and halfway up the stairs. His nice, big king-sized bed was definitely my favorite. I’ll take comfort over novelty any day of the week. An orgasm is an orgasm, but getting there can leave you with a herniated disc if you aren’t careful.

After the shower, we settled in to watch the game on Morelli’s big-screen TV. It’s a cozy seating arrangement since Morelli and I have to scrunch ourselves together at one end of the couch so Bob can sprawl at the other. My phone rang at nine-thirty.

“You gotta get here,” Lula said. “I’m totally freaked. I need tranqs or a burrito or something.”

“You’re in a deli,” I said. “Make yourself a grilled cheese.”

“That’s not going to do it. Maybe mac and cheese. I need a gallon of mac and cheese.”

“There’s a problem?” I asked Lula.

“Fuckin’ A there’s a problem. We got a freakin’ shoe in the parking lot. Next to the dumpster.”

“Oh boy.”

“Exactly,” Lula said. “It’s a ‘oh boy’ problem.”

“Do you know who belongs to the shoe?”

“Hell yeah. It’s Kulicki’s shoe. He was being all smart-ass about how nothing was going to happen to him. And how there weren’t aliens beaming people up to their spaceship. And next thing he was taking a bag of garbage to the dumpster and whoosh no more Kulicki. Only his shoe.”

“Did anyone see this happen?”

“No. We were all busy cleaning up and taking care of the last two customers. I couldn’t even say how long he was gone. Stretch went to the storeroom and noticed the back door to the deli was open and the light was on in the parking area. He looked out and saw the shoe.”

“Maybe Kulicki is playing a joke.”

“We called out to him but he didn’t answer,” Lula said. “And Raymond and Stretch went outside, looking around, but they couldn’t find him.”

“Did you call the police?”

“I’m thinking that’s what I’m doing now. And remember I need a ride to my car. It’s at the office.”

“Okeydokey then. I’ll see you in a little bit.”

I disconnected, gave up a sigh, and stood. “It looks like Kulicki lost a shoe.”

“Who’s Kulicki?”

“He was the new deli manager. We sort of hired him.”

“And he lasted how long?”

I checked my watch. “Approximately four hours.”

“Damn,” Morelli said. “Those aliens are good. They spotted a new manager after only four hours.”

“You’re thinking someone on the inside is involved.”

“It’s possible.”

“There were only three people who knew Kulicki was the manager.”

“Krut probably wants to talk to them . . . again.”

I grabbed my messenger bag off the coffee table and hiked it onto my shoulder. “I have to roll.”

“I’ll roll with you. I want to make sure you don’t get beamed up by mistake.”

Morelli called Jimmy Krut from the car, and by the time we got to the deli there were already two uniforms on the scene. Krut arrived a couple minutes after us. Lula, Stretch, Raymond, and Dalia were hunkered down inside.

“This is getting very old,” Raymond said to me. “I am thinking this is not such a good place to work.” He looked over at Morelli. “I have a green card.”

“Good for you,” Morelli said. “Can I see it?”

“No,” Raymond said. “It would not be possible to show it to you at this time. I fear I have misplaced it.”

“You should try to find it,” Lula said. “You could lose your job here without that green card.”

“Fortunately, this is a sanctuary deli,” Raymond said. “It is a prime consideration for maintaining employment at this establishment.”

One of the uniforms ran a strip of crime scene tape across the back of the deli parking lot, and a photographer showed up to take pictures of the shoe before Krut bagged and labeled it. Morelli walked the alley with a flashlight, and I stayed inside and helped myself to a piece of coconut cream pie.

“We should get Vinnie to put up a security camera over the back door,” Lula said. “Then we’d see next time someone got snatched.”

“Vinnie is MIA,” I said. “He’s not going to be a lot of help here.”