Top Secret Twenty-One: A Stephanie Plum Novel(53)

“It’s an animated movie,” I said. “He’s Gru from Despicable Me.”

“Lies!” Forest said, wild-eyed. “All lies. El Macho turned my minions into Chihuahuas using a top-secret formula known as Chihuahua Maker Number 42. They might look like Chihuahuas, but underneath they’re one hundred percent minion.”

“That explains it,” Lula said. “You want a burger? We brought some burgers for you and your minions.”

Forest disappeared inside the box, a door scraped open on the other side, and he crawled out. He unfolded a red and white checkered plastic tablecloth, laid it on the ground, and sat cross-legged on it. The dogs trotted over and sat beside him.

“Will you ladies be joining us for dinner?”

“Actually,” I said, “I thought you could feed your minions and then eat your burger while I drive you to the police station to reschedule.”

“I can’t leave Daisy,” Forest said. “Daisy gets anxious when I leave. And Ronald and Scooter will go off and chew the corners off other people’s boxes. And then there’s Mitzy and Brownie and Puddles and Boomer …”

“Boy,” Lula said. “You got a lot of minions.”

“I started with two.”

“You might want to think about minion birth control,” Lula said.

“How do you feed all your minions?” I asked Forest. “How do you feed yourself?”

“There’s a church truck that comes around and gives out sandwiches. If I get in line twice, there’s enough for all of us. The minions don’t eat a lot.”

“Suppose I found good homes for the minions,” I said. “Would that work for you?”

“It would be okay with me, but the minions have minds of their own, and they’re very attached to me.”

“That’s on account of minions are loyal,” Lula said, “but that don’t mean deep down inside they wouldn’t rather go with the guy with the bag of bacon cheeseburgers.”

I handed the bag of burgers to Forest. “I’ll be back,” I said. “I need to look into some options for the minions. They’re housebroken, right?”

“Perfectly. They have never once piddled in my box.”

Lula and I returned to the Buick and drove back to the office.

“How are you going to find homes for those minions?” Lula asked. “Do you know anyone who wants a minion?”

“I need to give it some thought.”

“You need to start asking around,” Lula said. “There’s Morelli’s dog, Bob, who could use a minion. And there’s your granny. I could see her with a minion.”

“How about you?”

“It seems like a big responsibility,” Lula said. “I don’t know if I could take that on. I’d have to feed him and walk him and pick up minion poop. Of course, minion poop would be real small. I might have to get reading glasses just to see it. And reading glasses would ruin my image of perfection.”

Connie had closed the office for the day, so Lula got into her Firebird and drove home, and I took a call from Morelli.

“I need ice cream,” he said. “Lots of it.”

“What flavor?”

“Every flavor.”

“Jeez, you must have had a really bad day.”

“Some idiot found a judge and bonded out Jimmy Poletti, and some other idiot shot him dead. Do you have any idea the kind of paperwork this creates?”

“Do you know who bonded him out?”

“I imagine it was Vinnie, but I haven’t gotten that far in the investigation. This thing’s created a media storm. I had to attend the press conference. I had to brief the mayor. I had to stop for antacids and Excedrin. Poletti was shot an hour after he got out of jail. An hour!”

“Do you know who did it?”

“If I knew who did it, I wouldn’t need the antacids, Excedrin, and ice cream.”

“Are you done working? Are you home?”

“I’m home, but I’m not done working. I came home to walk Bob and get something to eat, and then I’m going back to the station.”

“And you need ice cream.”

“It’s a temporary substitute for liquor,” he said.

“I’m on my way.”

I stopped at the deli next to the bakery and got tubs of chocolate, butter pecan, coffee, and chocolate chip, plus a large bag of dog food for the minions.

Morelli was in the kitchen eating a ham and cheese sandwich when I walked in. He looked in the ice cream bag, then grabbed me and kissed me and fondled a breast.

“Is this big display of affection and passion a result of the ice cream, or are you happy to see me?” I asked him.

“I’m happy to see you, but the ice cream enhances the moment.”

He finished his sandwich and dug into the chocolate.

“Where was Poletti when he got shot?” I asked.

“In Buster’s apartment.”

“Get out!”

“I swear to God. He was in Buster’s apartment. Buster phoned it in.”

“Where was Buster when all this went down?”

“He was at the eye doctor getting his eyes checked. Rock solid alibi. They dilated his eyes, so he had a friend take him and bring him home. They walked into Buster’s apartment and found Poletti sprawled out on the living room rug. A bullet in the head and two in the chest. The rug will never be the same.”