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

“Where’s Stretch?” I asked.

“I have him locked in the pantry. He took some of the bonus pills, and he got very silly.”

“How silly?” I asked.

“He is a little hallucinogenic. There was a moment when he was talking to his chef’s knife, and I became concerned, so I bribed him into the pantry with a jar of mayonnaise, and then I locked the door.”

“Is he in there with the knife?”

“No. I confiscated the knife. He and the knife appeared to be having a disagreement.”

I went to the pantry and knocked on the door. No answer. I knocked again.

“Maybe he has fallen asleep,” Raymond said.

I unlocked the door and peeked inside. Stretch was sitting on the floor, eating out of the mayonnaise jar with his finger. He looked up at me and giggled. I closed and locked the door.

“He’s okay,” I said.

Dalia rushed in. “Sorry I’m late,” she said. “I had car trouble.”

Several customers had come in behind her.

“We need someone to be the new Stretch,” Raymond said. “I must tend to my fry station.”

I blew out a sigh. “I’ll do it. Give me a menu so I have a cheat sheet.”

Dalia slapped an order onto the counter. “I’ve got a sixteen, and a thirty-two with extra cheese, and a number nine, hold the onions.”

“A nine is a burger,” Lula said. “Here’s your roll. Put it on the grill with the burger. I got the sixteen.”

Thirty-two was a chili dog. I could do that. I threw a hot dog on the grill with the burger.

Dalia put another order on the counter. “I need two number twelves and a side of fries,” she said.

“I need fries,” I yelled at Raymond. “And two twelves.”

“I do not do twelves,” Raymond said. “Twelve is a microwave.”

Lula handed me a plate. “Here’s my sixteen. You need to finish it off.”

I stared down at it. “What is it?”

“It’s a number sixteen,” Lula said.

“Yes, but what is it?”

“It’s egg salad on a croissant. I ran out of egg salad, so I mixed in some tuna salad. I figure it’s all done with mayo, right?”

“It’s not on a croissant.”

“I thought it would go better on a hamburger bun.”

I put lettuce, tomato, and some pickles on the plate and set it on the counter for pickup. I put the burger in the bun and plated it up with pickles and fries.

“Where’s my thirty-two?” Dalia said.

“Coming!” I yelled.

I had the hot dog but no bun. The hot dog buns were still in the pantry. I ran to the pantry, opened the door, grabbed the package of buns, and ran back to my station.

“Order up,” I yelled, throwing some chopped onions and chili on the hot dog.

“Fries for the twelve,” Raymond said.

I had no idea what constituted a twelve. “I need something that looks like a twelve,” I said to Lula. “I need two of them.”

“There’s no cheese on my extra cheese dog,” Dalia said. “And I need a party Italian to go.”

I turned and bumped into Stretch. He’d escaped from the pantry.

“Mary had a little lamb,” he said. “Its fleece was white as snow.” He looked up and stuck out his tongue like he was catching snowflakes.

Hal was watching from the end of the counter. “Do you want me to put him back in the pantry?”

“Can you make two twelves?” I asked Stretch.

“Yes,” Stretch said. “I’m Princess Twilight Sparkle, and I can do anything because I ate the magic whiteness.”

“First off, he isn’t nearly Princess Twilight Sparkle,” Lula said. “That happens to be my favorite Little Pony. And what the heck is the magic whiteness? Is that some racial thing?”

“He ate a jar of mayo,” I said. “The big one.”

“That’ll go through you like goose grease,” Lula said. “We all might want to stand back in case . . . you know.”

“I am Princess Twilight Sparkle,” Stretch said. “I know because I can see inside my head, and it’s rainbow colors.” He pulled two cutlets out of the under-the-counter fridge. He put his nose to the cutlets and sniffed. “They smell like pink and green happiness,” he said. “Pink and green is the best kind of happiness.”

“So true,” I said. “About the number twelve?”

Stretch put the cutlets into the microwave and gave them a minute while he sang a la la la la song. He added marinara sauce and cheese and gave it all thirty seconds. “Do you like my ponytail?” he asked me. “It’s more rainbow color, and it’s sprinkled with pixie dust so I can fly.”

I looked over at Hal, and I mouthed, Is he kidding?

Hal grinned and shrugged.

“Would you like to see me fly?” Stretch asked.

“Maybe later,” I told him. “Can you make a party Italian to go?”

“Yes, and I can catch the snowflakes on my tongue while I make it.”

“Princess Twilight Sparkle can stay,” I said to Hal. “Just don’t let him near any knives.”