Look Alive Twenty-Five (Stephanie Plum #25)(13)

“I forgot,” Lula said. “There’s so many people missing I could hardly keep track of them.”

I ate my pie and considered Raymond, Stretch, and Dalia. Morelli brought up a good point. Kulicki disappeared in record time. Not many people knew he was the manager. That information had to have been passed on from Raymond, Stretch, or Dalia.

We were all sitting in the dining area. Lula was checking out Facebook. Dalia was filing her nails. Raymond and Stretch were texting on their smartphones.

“Did any of you tell anyone we had a new manager?” I asked.

Everyone shook their head no.

“Someone knew,” I said.

“Those space aliens got ways,” Lula said. “They can probably read minds.”

“How long must we sit here?” Raymond asked. “I have many things to do.”

I went outside and found Krut. “How’s it going?” I asked him.

“It’s not,” he said. “Nada. Bupkus. Nothing happening. How am I supposed to explain this to my wife? I got called out at ten o’clock at night because someone found a shoe by a dumpster. You know what she thinks? She thinks I’ve got something going on the side.”

“Do you?”

“Not tonight,” Krut said.

I looked back at the deli. “The natives are getting restless in there.”

“Tell them they can go. If we need to talk to them we know where to find them.”

I dismissed the troops and drove Lula to the office so she could get her car. I returned to the deli and tagged after Morelli. He was done walking the alley, and he was examining the parking area around the dumpster.

“You really like this,” I said.

He nodded. “I like police work in general, but this case is especially interesting. I’m sucked in by the single shoe left behind. It’s a calling card.”

“Someone is sending a message.”

“Yeah. Too bad I don’t know the content of the message. I only know the signature.”

“What do you think has happened to all these people? Dead?”

“That’s one possibility.”

“What would be another?”

“I don’t have another,” Morelli said. “I suppose they could all be working at a bodega in Bogotá.”

This was especially chilling since one of the victims was a man I’d deliberately put in harm’s way and another was my cousin. I wasn’t fond of Vinnie, but he was my cousin all the same.

“I’m not feeling good about this,” I said.

“I’m not feeling good about you even being involved. There’s a serious lunatic at work here, and so far, forensics isn’t finding anything useful.” He narrowed his eyes ever so slightly and looked at me. “You aren’t involved, right?”

“Technically I might still be the manager.”

“I thought you were going to quit.”

“I sent Vinnie the text message when I was with you, but I never got an answer. I suppose he was already beamed up or rubbed out or shipped off to Bogotá.”

“My understanding is that the deli is owned by Harry. You can tell Harry you’re no longer manager.”

“You’re right. I’ll get in touch with Harry first thing in the morning.”





CHAPTER SIX


FIRST THING IN the morning for Morelli is different than first thing in the morning for me. Morelli is showered and dressed and out the door at the crack of dawn. I usually drag myself out of bed a couple hours later. This morning I heard him leave, and I lay in bed with my eyes wide open. I was plagued with guilt over Kulicki and concern for Vinnie. I always thought if Vinnie would just disappear it would be like my family was finally free of something horrible—like boils or ringworm or chronic bloat. Now that he really had disappeared, I found that my emotion wasn’t the joy I’d expected. If I could put my finger on an emotion it would be grief. I was truly worried. Go figure.

I gave up on sleep and got dressed. I grabbed a waffle out of the freezer, hugged Bob, and drove back to my apartment while I gnawed on the waffle.

I live in a dated, uninspired, three-story building that straddles the Trenton city limits. I have one bedroom, one bathroom, one television, a kitchen, a dining alcove, and a living room. My furniture is mostly secondhand. My fridge contains beer, wine, Velveeta cheese slices, strawberry preserves, sometimes milk, olives, bread and butter pickles, various condiments, and on occasion leftover pizza.

I share the apartment with a hamster named Rex. He lives in an aquarium on my kitchen counter. He doesn’t bark and he has very small poop, so he would be the perfect pet if I could just walk him on a leash.

I said hello to Rex and apologized for spending the night with Morelli. I gave him fresh water and food and told him I loved him. He blinked his round black eyes at me and twitched his whiskers.

“I have a problem,” I said to Rex. “I agreed to take this very dangerous job. I didn’t know it was dangerous when I took it. I found out when I showed up for work. So, I chickened out of the job and encouraged someone to take my place. It was someone who was in a vulnerable spot and thought I was doing him a favor. And now he’s missing. And I feel sick inside.”

I dropped a peanut into the cage, and Rex stuffed it into his cheek. He looked as if he still liked me even though I wasn’t such a nice person for possibly getting Wayne Kulicki killed. That’s the good thing about having a hamster as a roommate. They’re not judgmental as long as you give them an occasional peanut.