Tricky Twenty-Two

by Janet Evanovich

  “So then who’s supposed to save the world?”

  “Good point,” Morelli said. “For sure not me. I need a bathroom. I’ll be right back.”

  Gobbles called while Morelli was away.

  “How did it go?” he asked. “Did you find anything in his apartment? I heard you got into the Zeta cellar and the police are there now.”

  “His apartment was just as you described it. The aquariums were filled with fleas.”

  “That makes sense. We were just starting to build the new models, and we all had flea bites. Pooka said he probably brought them in. That he’d been having flea problems in his apartment. It was the first week of school, and we were having an alum mixer, and Harry Getz was there. So Becker asked Getz to send someone around to get rid of the fleas.”

  “Why Getz?” I asked.

  “He owns an extermination company. Actually I guess it’s construction, but they do exterminating, too. He was partners with another Zeta alum, Doug Linken, and the company was in the toilet.”

  “And did he get rid of the fleas?”

  “Yeah. Some guy came and sprayed the cellar.”

  “Did Getz ever go into the cellar?”

  “Yeah, he came back to check on the fleas and Becker took him down. That was when the three of us had keys. Getz saw that we were building fireworks and didn’t like it. Said it was a fire hazard, and we needed to clean it out. He said he was going to have a talk with Pooka.”

  “What day was that?”

  “It was the day Getz got shot. He was at Zeta around lunchtime, and he was shot that night. It was a Wednesday, and then Becker disappeared the next day, and Pooka had the locks changed a second time.”

  “Do you suppose Pooka shot Getz?”

  “Why would he do that? Over fireworks? That’s not a good reason to shoot someone.”

  Not if you’re sane.

  “I’ll be back in touch,” I said. “Let me know if you hear from Becker.”

  “I was hoping he was in the cellar,” Gobbles said. “And alive.”

  I disconnected and Morelli came back.

  “You look kind of white,” I said to him.

  “Just the thought of food has my intestines in a knot.”

  “That’s serious.”

  “It’s probably some stupid virus.”

  The waitress set our food down and Morelli went from white to green.

  “How long has this been going on?” I asked him.

  “I don’t know. A month maybe. Maybe two months.”

  “You never said anything.”

  “Look at me. I’m macho man. We don’t talk about stuff like that. It screws with our hotness. Cramping and diarrhea aren’t on the checklist of ways to get laid.” He poked at his cottage cheese. “I think I’m getting old. My Uncle Baldy talks about this stuff, and he’s a hundred.”

  “Jeez, Morelli, you have a house and a dog and a toaster. I thought you were past the Italian Stallion thing. I thought you had some level of maturity.”

  “There’s a difference between having maturity and being mature. I’m not ready to be mature. I don’t want to see the AARP magazine in my mailbox.”

  Morelli’s phone buzzed with a text message. “I have to go,” he said. “They want me back at the fraternity.”

  “You didn’t have anything to eat. Do you want half my sandwich?”

  “Thanks, but I’m supposed to be off gluten. I can’t eat bread.”

  “Pizza?”

  “Dead to me.”

  “Birthday cake?”

  “Gone from my life.”

  “Is it working?”

  “No.”

  I finished my lunch and headed for home. Morelli had always seemed invincible to me. He waded through crap every day and it all washed off in the shower. Even as a kid he was constantly getting into trouble and landing on his feet. He broke his leg and he was fine. He was shot and he was fine. Never defeated. And now he was the victim of cramping and diarrhea and he wasn’t sounding good. It was so atypical for Morelli that it was hard for me to wrap my head around it.

  •••

  I was still thinking about Morelli when I got to my apartment building. Maybe he was right to reach the conclusion that the stress of the job had finally gotten to him. And having a Calamity Jane girlfriend added to the stress. So he was cutting us out of his life. I guess I couldn’t blame him. I might do the same. Not sure I’d want a relationship with someone who gave me cramps.

  I parked, took the elevator to the second floor, and found a man sitting in front of my door. He jumped up when he saw me. Excited. All smiley. Not a big guy. Maybe five five. In his thirties. Thinning sandy blond hair. Looked like he never spent a day in the sun. Dress slacks and a blue dress shirt tucked in. Red suspenders.

  “Gina Bigelow!” he said. “I’d know you anywhere. We finally meet.”

  Just when you think your day can’t possibly get any more bizarre…it does.

  “Let me guess,” I said. “Kenny.”

  He reached out for me. “Do I dare kiss you hello?”

  “No. If you take one step closer I’ll zap you with my stun gun.”

  “Hah. I knew you’d be a great kidder.”

  “There’s been a misunderstanding. I’m not the person you’ve been talking to online. Do you know what it means to be catfished?”

  “Yes.”

  “Well, you’ve been catfished. Someone used my picture without my permission.”

  “That’s terrible.” He thought about it for a beat and got all smiley again. “It doesn’t matter. Here you are and here I am and it’s perfect. It was meant to be. It was fate that brought us together.”

  “It wasn’t fate. It was my grandmother. I’m sorry for your inconvenience but you’re going to have to leave. I have things to do.”

  “What sort of things?”

  “Just things.”

  “I could do them with you.”

  “No!”

  “Would you like to have dinner with me? I’ll take you someplace nice.”

  “No.”

  “It’s the least you could do. I’ve spent a lot of time on this. And I’ve put in a certain amount of effort.”

  “How about you have dinner with my grandmother?”

  “I don’t think so. I think I deserve dinner with you.”

  “Why me?” I asked. “Why do these things happen to me?”

  “I guess you’re lucky,” he said. “I’ll come back at six o’clock. Do you like seafood?”

  “No.”

  “Would you like a kitten? My cat just had kittens.”

  “Thank you, but no. I have a hamster.”

  I watched him leave, and I let myself into my apartment. Good God, I thought. I had a date. Just shoot me.

  At five-thirty I dragged myself over to my closet and tried to muster up some enthusiasm for dressing for dinner. I didn’t want to wear anything sexy or, for that matter, mildly attractive. I settled on black slacks, a simple white shirt, the red jacket, and flats. I was debating if this date was worth makeup when Gobbles called on my cellphone.

  “We’ve been watching Pooka,” Gobbles said. “He just went to Zeta and freaked. We weren’t even close to him, and we could hear him going apeshit. He was demanding to know who had violated his private space. That was his exact word. Violated.”

  “Were the police still there?”

  “No. From what I hear they cleaned the place out and have crime scene tape across the cellar door. Pooka was completely gonzo. He was waving his arms and ranting. He kept asking who was responsible. It’s possible that your name was mentioned. Like I said, we were at a distance and couldn’t hear everything, but you should be extra careful. He’s really nuts.”

  “Thanks. I’ll put my bulletproof vest on.”

  “Do you really have one?”

  “No.”

  “Too bad,” Gobbles said.

  I hung up and decided the night was worth one swipe of mascara and some lip gloss.


  A little before six someone rapped on my door. Kenny is early, I thought. And my guess is he was always early. He had premature ejaculator written all over him. I opened the door and Pooka burst in.

  “You!” he said. “You brought the police to my workroom. How dare you? You ruined everything. It was all in place. Justice was going to be served. And you destroyed it. Now I have to start over. It won’t be as spectacular, but I’ll succeed. And you’ll pay. You’re on the list. You’re at the top. I would kill you now but that would be too easy for you. I want you to live with fear. I want you to know a horrible death is in your future.”

  “They were just fireworks.”

  “Not just fireworks. Those fireworks were an elegant delivery system. They would have brought joy and then horror. You’ve delayed the inevitable, but my mission will go forward. This institution must be destroyed. It will be a symbol of the evil it represents. No one will set foot on this soil for a century. It will be the Chernobyl of academia.”

  “Is this about tenure?” I asked. “I could put in a good word for you.”

  “Really?” He shook his head. “No. I won’t be swayed. Tenure is the work of the devil.” His hand went to the amulet. “We won’t be tricked into passivity by empty promises.”

  “We? Let me take a wild guess here. Does the amulet talk to you?”

  “It guides me.”

  “Have you ever thought about seeing a healthcare professional? I could find someone who would help you better understand the power of the amulet.”

  “Healthcare is just another way of allowing employers and the government to control you. What’s the first thing they do when you step into a doctor’s office? They take your clothes. It’s a power grab. A naked man has no power.”

  Clearly he doesn’t know Ranger.

  “So what does the amulet think about all the fleas?” I asked him.

  “You know about the fleas? How could you know about the fleas?” He had a grip on the amulet, and red spots had popped out on his cheeks. “What else do you know?”

  “I know about Unit 731.”

  I was taking a winger here, but I thought why not? Throw it out and see if it goes somewhere.

  “A hideous misuse of scientific experiment,” Pooka said. “The primary function of that program was to satisfy the prurient needs of a man who couldn’t get an erection.”

  “I hadn’t heard about that part.”

  “It’s blatantly obvious. The program could have been brilliant, but it was mired in sadomasochistic gratification.”

  “Okay. Whatever.”

  “That wasn’t even the most egregious part. It was all so crude and unimaginative. And they had wonderful pathogens like the plague, and they disseminated it in clay pots. Clay pots! Shame on them. The plague deserves better.”

  “The plague deserves fireworks.”

  “Yes!”

  I was trying to look like I was really into this, but my skin had the creepy crawlies and had broken out in goosebumps.

  Kenny came up behind Pooka.

  “Here I am,” Kenny said. “Right on time. I’m very punctual.”

  Pooka turned to him. “Who is this?”

  “He’s sort of my date,” I said. “By the way, did you kill Harry Getz?”

  “There are no answers,” Pooka said. “There are only questions.”

  He whirled around and left, taking the stairs.

  “Who was that?” Kenny asked. “He was wearing pajamas.”

  “It’s complicated.”

  By eight o’clock Kenny and I decided we had nothing in common. He ordered an appletini and I had beer. He ate sushi and I had a burger. He watched PBS and I watched ESPN.

  He dropped me off at my door and asked if I’d stun gun him if he tried to kiss me. I said yes, and he shook my hand and left.

  TWENTY-TWO

  I WAS LYING in bed wondering if I should just stay there all day, and a text message came in. It was from Lula saying she thinks my doorbell must be broken, because she’s at my door, and I’m not opening it.

  I dragged myself out of bed and opened the door for her.

  “You look like you just woke up,” Lula said.

  “I had a horrible night. I couldn’t sleep. I kept thinking about fleas and plague. What time is it?”

  “It’s almost ten o’clock. I just came from church, and I thought I’d stop in and find out about yesterday’s events.”

  “You go to church?”

  “Of course I go to church. I gotta compensate for all the things I do that would otherwise send me straight to hell.”

  I went to the kitchen and got coffee going.

  “Do you believe in God?” I asked Lula.

  “Fuckin’ A I believe in God. Don’t you believe in God?”

  “I believe in something. It’s vague.”

  “You should come with me next week. I go to the Baptist church on State Street.”

  “I’m Catholic.”

  “That’s okay. We don’t care. Nobody’s perfect. Us Baptists say the more the merrier. We do some praying and singing and we praise the Lord. I’m all about the Lord. Especially on a Sunday morning.”

  I put two frozen waffles in the toaster.

  “That’s a new toaster,” Lula said.

  “Morelli gave it to me. He used to like to have toast in the morning.”

  “So tell me about yesterday. Last I saw you was when you were going over to see Ranger and you were all sexed up.”

  “Ranger got me into Pooka’s apartment and the Zeta cellar.”

  “How’d that go?”

  “Pooka’s apartment is disgusting. He’s breeding fleas in aquariums, and he’s got a bag of blood in his refrigerator.”

  “Say what?”

  “I have no proof but I think Pooka might have intended to load the fireworks up with fleas and drop the fleas on the Kiltman campus.”

  “Why’s he want to give everybody fleas?”

  “Not sure.”

  I couldn’t shake the possibility of plague, but I didn’t want to start a riot by telling Lula. I poured coffee for us, and we each took a waffle.

  “You got maple syrup for this?” Lula asked.

  “No.”

  “Strawberry compote?”

  “No.”

  “What do you put on it?”

  “I just eat it. I’m usually in a hurry.”

  Gobbles called on my cellphone. “I started watching Pooka at six o’clock this morning just like always. You could set your clock by him seven days a week. He comes out at seven and goes to his office. He stays there until noon. Only he didn’t come out today. And then ten minutes ago he parked in front of his house in a junker van. He went in and immediately came out carrying a cardboard box. He went back in and got two aquariums, loaded it all in the back of the van, and took off. I couldn’t follow him. I haven’t got a car. Do you think I should break into his apartment? I think he’s moving out.”

  “Wait for me. I’ll be right over.”

  “What’s up?” Lula asked.

  “It looks like Pooka is moving stuff out of his apartment.”

  “The one with the fleas?”

  “I need to get dressed. Put my coffee in a travel mug and give Rex a couple Cheerios. I’ll be right out.”

  We took Lula’s car and made good time going across town. Not a lot of traffic on Sunday morning. Pooka’s street was quiet. Gobbles stepped from the side of a building when we parked.

  “He hasn’t been back,” Gobbles said. “I went inside to take a look about five minutes ago and his door was locked.”

  “How did you break in last time?” I asked him.

  “I bumped the lock on the back door. I wouldn’t have done it, but I was hoping Becker was in there. I thought Pooka might have been holding Becker as a hostage. Or I guess I was half-afraid I’d find something awful.”

  “What made you suspect Pooka?”

  “Becker just had this feeling about Pooka. He spent more time with him than I d
id, and he thought he was creepy. And then when the lock got changed the second time, Becker was convinced there was something bad going on. When he disappeared I figured either he was afraid of Pooka or Pooka did something to him.”

  “Let’s do it,” Lula said. “Let’s scope this place out.”

  I didn’t totally share her enthusiasm. I was a teensy worried that there’d be fleas jumping around and they’d be shot full of bubonic plague. I was willing to peek inside and see if anybody was home, but at the first sign of a flea I was turning the project over to the hazmat team.

  We trudged up to the second floor and knocked on Pooka’s door. No answer. The door was locked.

  “Doesn’t look like much of a lock,” Lula said.

  She took a screwdriver out of her purse, inserted it into the lock, hit the screwdriver with the butt of her gun, and the door popped open.

  We cautiously looked inside.

  “Yoo-hoo,” Lula called. “Anybody home?”

  Nothing. We crept in and moved through the rooms. I didn’t see any fleas. Not on the floor. Not in aquariums. The aquariums were all gone. No blood or mice in the refrigerator. No dead rats in the sink.

  “I don’t think he’s coming back,” Lula said. “On account of he cleaned up. He’s got one of those bags that you see in the hospital holding blood and shit and it’s empty and in the garbage. It’s got writing on it. It says Yersinia pestis. Is that someone’s name?”

  I googled it on my iPhone. It was the bacteria responsible for bubonic plague.

  “Don’t touch it,” I said. “Everyone out. Now. Don’t stop until you’re on the sidewalk.”

  I stomped my feet and checked myself over to make sure I didn’t have any fleas on me, and I called Morelli.

  “I’m sorry to bother you,” I said. “I know it’s Sunday, and you’re not feeling great, but I think you’ll want to see this. And bring a hazmat suit.”

  “Seriously?”

  “Seriously.”

  I gave him the address and told him about the empty bag in the garbage.

  “I feel itchy all over,” Lula said. “I think I got a flea on me. And what if he’s got some of that Yersinia stuff in him? That can’t be good, right?”

  “Yeah,” I said. “It wouldn’t be good.”

  “Of course I just came from church, so I might still have some holy protection.”