High Five

by Janet Evanovich

  “What the hell?” she said.

  An old brown Dodge rolled to a stop beside us. Bunchy.

  Okay, who do we know who can open doors without keys? Who has a score to settle with Lula? And who has returned to the scene of the crime?

  “Not bad,” I said to Bunchy. “Sort of a sadistic sense of humor . . . but not bad.”

  He smiled at my comment and eyed the car. “You ladies got a problem?”

  “Someone took the wheels off my Firebird,” Lula said, looking like she'd figured it out, too. “Don't suppose you know who could've done something like this.”

  “Vandals?”

  “Vandals, my ass.”

  “I have to be getting along now,” Bunchy said, smiling ear to ear. “Toodles.”

  Lula hauled a small cannon out of her shoulder bag and pointed it at Bunchy. “You slime-​faced bag of monkey shit.”

  The smile was gone in a flash, and Bunchy laid rubber out of the lot.

  “Good thing I got auto club,” Lula said.

  An hour later, I was back in my Buick. I was running short on time, but I wanted to talk to Mabel.

  I almost zipped right past her house, because the '87 Pontiac station wagon wasn't parked at the curb. In its place was a new silver-​gray Nissan Sentra.

  “Where's the station wagon?” I asked Mabel when she answered the door.

  “Traded it in,” she said. “I never did like driving that big old boat.” She looked at her new car and smiled. “What do you think? Isn't it zippy-​looking?”

  “Yeah,” I said. “Zippy. I ran into someone today who said she might have seen Fred.”

  “Oh, dear,” Mabel said. “Don't tell me you've found him.”

  I blinked twice because she hadn't sounded like that would be happy news. “No.”

  She put her hand to her heart. “Thank goodness. I don't mean to sound uncaring, but you know, I just bought the car, and Fred wouldn't understand about the car.”

  Okay, now we know where Fred stacks up against a Nissan Sentra. “Anyway, this woman said she might have seen Fred on the day he disappeared. She said she thought she saw Fred talking to a man in a suit. Do you have any idea who the man might be?”

  “No. Do you?”

  Question number two. “It's very important that I know everything Fred did the day before he disappeared.”

  “It was just like all the other days,” Mabel said. “He didn't do anything in the morning. Puttered around the house. Then we ate lunch, and he went out to the store.”

  “Grand Union?”

  “Yes. And he was only gone about an hour. We didn't need much. And then he worked in the yard, cleaning up the last of the leaves. That was all he did.”

  “Did he go out at night?”

  “No . . . wait, yes, he went out with the leaves. If you have too many bags of leaves, you have to pay extra to the garbage company. So whenever Fred had more than his allotted number of bags, he'd wait until it was dark, and then he'd drive one or two bags to Giovichinni's. He said it was the least Giovichinni could do for him being that he always overcharged on his meat.”

  “When did Fred leave the house Friday morning?”

  “Early. Around eight, I guess. When he came home he was complaining because he had to wait for RGC to open.”

  “And when did he come back to the house?”

  “I don't remember exactly. Maybe around eleven. He was home for lunch.”

  “That's a long time just to go to RGC to complain about a bill.”

  Mabel looked thoughtful. “I didn't really pay much attention, but I guess you're right.”

  He didn't go to Winnie's because he was there in the afternoon.

  While I was in the neighborhood I cruised over to the Ruzicks'. The bakery was on the corner, and the rest of the houses on the street were duplexes. The Ruzick house was yellow brick with a yellow-​brick stoop in front and a front yard that was three feet deep. Mrs. Ruzick kept her windows clean and her porch swept. There were no cars in front of the house. The backyard was long and narrow, leading to an alley that was one lane wide. The duplexes were divided by double driveways, at the end of which sat single-​car garages.

  I toyed with the idea of talking to Mrs. Ruzick, but gave it up. She had a reputation for being outspoken and had always been fiercely protective of her two worthless sons. I went to Sandy Polan instead.

  “Wow, Stephanie!” Sandy said when she opened the door. “I haven't seen you in a long time. What's up?”

  “I need a snitch.”

  “Let me guess. You're looking for Alphonse Ruzick.”

  “Have you seen him?”

  “No, but he'll be around. He always comes to eat Saturday dinner with Mama. He is such a loser.”

  “Would you mind doing lookout for me? I'd do it myself, but I have to go to a wedding this afternoon.”

  “Oh my God. You're going to Julie Morelli's wedding! It's true about you and Joe.”

  “What about me and Joe?”

  “I heard you were living with him.”

  “I had a fire in my apartment, and I rented a room from him for a short time.”

  Sandy's face scrunched up in disappointment. “You mean you weren't sleeping with him?”

  “Well, yeah, I guess I was sleeping with him.”

  “Oh my God. I knew it! I just knew it! What's he like? Is he excellent? Is he . . . you know, big? He doesn't have a little twinkie, does he? Oh, God, don't tell me if he has a little twinkie.”

  I looked at my watch. “Gee, look at the time. I have to be going—”

  “Oh, you've got to tell me or I'll die!” Sandy said. “I had such a crush on him in high school. Everyone did. If you tell me, I swear I won't tell another soul.”

  “Okay, it's not a little twinkie.”

  Sandy looked at me expectantly.

  “That's it,” I said.

  “Did he tie you up? He always looked like the kind of guy who liked to tie women up.”

  “No! He didn't tie me up!” I gave her my card. “Listen, if you see Alphonse, give me a call. Try my cell phone number first, and if that doesn't work, try my pager.”

  Stephanie Plum 5 - High Five

  Stephanie Plum 5 - High Five

  Stephanie Plum 5 - High Five

  8

  I WAS SUPER late when I barreled through the back door to my apartment building. I quickly crossed to the bank of mailboxes on the far side of the lobby, spun the dial on my box, and grabbed my mail. A phone bill, a wad of junk mail, and an envelope from RangeMan Enterprises. My curiosity was stronger than my desire to be punctual, so I tore the RangeMan envelope open on the spot. RangeMan Enterprises is Ricardo Carlos Manoso. Better known as Ranger. Incorporated as RangeMan.

  It was a payroll check issued by Ranger's accountant, paying me for the two jobs I screwed up. I had a moment of guilt, but brushed it aside. I didn't have time to feel guilty right now.

  I rushed upstairs, hurled myself into the shower, and was out in record time. I went for the big soft curly look to my hair, natural frosted polish on my nails, and an extra sweep of mascara on my lashes. I tugged the little black dress into place, checked myself out in the mirror, and thought I looked pretty darn good.

  I transferred a few things to a small black beaded purse, hooked a pair of long, dangly rhinestone earrings into my ears, and slipped my faux-​diamond cocktail ring onto my ring finger.

  My apartment is on the parking-​lot side of the building, and my bedroom window opens to an old-​fashioned fire escape. More modern buildings have balconies instead of fire escapes. Those buildings charge twenty-​five dollars more a month than mine for rent, so I like my fire escape just fine.

  The only problem with the fire escape is that people can climb up as well as down. Now that Ramirez was back on the street, I checked my bedroom window fourteen times a day to make sure it was locked. And when I left the apartment, not only was the window locked, but the curtain was pushed open, so I could immediately see upon ente
ring the room if the window was broken.

  I went to the kitchen to say good-​bye to Rex. I gave him a green bean from my cache of leftovers and told him not to worry if I came home late. He watched me for a beat and then took the bean to his soup can. “Don't look at me like that,” I said to Rex. “I'm not going to sleep with him.”

  I looked down at the black dress with the low scoop neck and slinky little skirt. Who was I kidding? Morelli wouldn't waste any time getting me out of this dress. We'd be lucky if we got to the wedding at all. Is that what I wanted? Shit. I didn't know what I wanted.

  I ran back to the bedroom, kicked off the heels, and shimmied out of the black dress. I tried on a tan suit, a red knit dress, an apricot cocktail dress, and a gray silk suit. I ransacked my closet some more and came up with a tea-​length rayon dress. It was a soft teal color with a small pink rose print and a skirt that was soft and swirly. It wasn't hot like the little black dress, but it was sexy in an understated romantic way. I changed my pantyhose, junked the earrings, dropped the dress over my head, shoved my feet into low-​heeled shoes, and dumped the contents of the black purse into a small tan bag.

  I had just buttoned the last button on the dress when the doorbell rang. I grabbed a sweater and hustled to get the door. I threw the door open and didn't see anyone.

  “Down here.”

  It was Randy Briggs.

  “Why aren't you in jail?”

  “I made bail,” he said. “Again. And thanks to you I don't have anyplace to live.”

  “You want to run that by me again?”

  “You wrecked my door, and while I was in jail, thieves came in and ransacked my apartment. Stole everything and set fire to my couch. Now I don't have anyplace to live while they fix my apartment. And when your cousin wrote my bail he said I had to have an address. So here I am.”

  “Vinnie sent you here?”

  “Yeah. Isn't that a kick in the ass? You want to help me with this stuff I've got?”

  I stuck my head out the door. Briggs had a couple big suitcases propped against the wall.

  “You are not living here,” I told him. “You must be crazy to think for a single moment that I'd let you live here.”

  “Listen, Toots, I don't like it any more than you do. And believe me, I'll be out of here as soon as possible.” He pushed past me, wheeling one of the suitcases. “Where's my bedroom?”

  “You don't have a bedroom,” I said. “This is a one-​bedroom apartment. And that one bedroom is mine.”

  “Christ,” he said, “when was the last time you got laid? You need to relax a little.” He had the second suitcase by the handle.

  “Halt!” I said, blocking the doorway. “You are not living here. You aren't even visiting here.”

  “This is what it says on my bond agreement. Call your ratfaced cousin and ask. You want to violate my bond agreement? You want to come after me again?”

  I held my ground.

  “It's only for a couple days. They have to put down a new rug and put in a new door. And in the meantime I have a job to do. Which, by the way, thanks to you again, I'm behind schedule.”

  “I don't have time to stand here and argue. I'm going out, and there's no way I'm leaving you alone in my apartment.”

  He put his head down and pushed past me. “Don't worry about it. I'm not interested in hocking your silverware. I just want a place to work.” He flopped the suitcase on its back, unzipped it, took out a laptop computer, and set it on my coffee table.

  Shit.

  I dialed Vinnie at home. “What's the deal with Briggs?” I asked.

  “He needed a place to stay, and I thought if he stayed with you, you could keep an eye on him.”

  "Are you nuts?'

  “It's only for a couple days until they get a door on his apartment. Which, for your information, I took a lot of grief over. You destroyed that door.”

  “I don't baby-​sit FTAs.”

  “He's harmless. He's just a little guy. And besides, he threatened me with a civil liberties suit. And if he goes through with it, you're not gonna come out looking like roses. You beat the shit out of him.”

  “I didn't!”

  “Look, I gotta go. Just humor him, will you?”

  Vinnie disconnected.

  Briggs was on the couch, booting up his computer. He was sort of cute with his little legs sticking out. Kind of like a big, cranky doll with a bashed-​in face. He had a Band-​Aid across his broken nose, and a beauty of a black eye. I didn't think he could win a lawsuit, but I didn't want to put it to the test.

  “This comes at a bad time for me,” I said to him. “I have a date.”

  “Yeah, I bet that's a big event in your life. And just between you and me, that dress is a dud.”

  “I like this dress. It's romantic.”

  “Men don't like romantic, Sis. Men like sexy. Short and tight. Something you can get your hand up real easy. And I'm not saying I'm like that . . . I'm just telling you about men.”

  I heard the elevator doors open down the hall. Morelli was here. I snatched my sweater and handbag and ran for the door. “Don't touch anything,” I said. “When I get back I'm going to inspect this apartment, and it better be exactly the way I left it.”

  “I go to bed early, so be quiet if you get home late. Being that you're wearing that dress, I don't guess I have to worry about you spending the night with this guy.”

  I met Morelli in the hall. “Hmm,” Morelli said when he saw me. “Pretty, but not what I'd expected.”

  I couldn't say the same for him. He was exactly what I'd expected. He was edible. California-​cut charcoal silk gabardine suit, French-​blue shirt, very cool tie. Black Italian loafers.

  “What did you expect?” I asked.

  “Higher heels, shorter skirt, more breast.”

  Damn that Briggs. “I had another outfit,” I told him, “but I had to use my little black beaded purse with it, and it was too small to hold my cell phone and pager.”

  “This is a wedding,” Morelli said. “You don't need a cell phone and pager.”

  “You have a pager clipped to your belt.”

  “It's this job I'm on. We're close to wrapping it up, and I don't want to miss the takedown. I'm working with a couple Treasury guys who make me look like a Boy Scout.”

  “Dirty?”

  “Crazy.”

  “I got a break today with Uncle Fred. I found a woman who saw Fred talking to a man in a suit. And then they got in the man's car and drove away.”

  “You should call Arnie Mott and let him know what you've got,” Morelli said. “You don't want to withhold information on a possible kidnapping and murder.”

  HOLY ASCENSION CHURCH had a small lot that was already filled. Morelli parked a block and a half from the church and blew out a sigh. “I don't know why I agreed to do this. I should have pulled duty.”

  “Weddings are fun.”

  “Weddings suck.”

  “What don't you like about weddings?”

  “I have to talk to my relatives.”

  “Okay, I'll concede you that one. What else?”

  “I haven't been to church in a year. The Monsignor's going to assign me to Hell.”

  “Maybe you'll see Fred there. I don't think he went to church, either.”

  “And I have to wear a suit and tie. I feel like my uncle Manny.”

  His uncle Manny was a construction expediter. Manny could expedite the completion of a building project by insuring that no unexplained fires would take place during the construction process.

  “You don't look like your uncle Manny,” I said. “You look very sexy.” I felt the material in his trouser leg. “This is a beautiful suit.”

  His eyes softened. “Yeah?” His voice pitched low. “Why don't we skip the wedding. We could still go to the reception.”

  “The reception isn't for another hour. What would we do?”

  He slid his arm along the back of my seat and twirled a curl around his finger.
r />   “No!” I said, trying to get some conviction behind it.

  “We could do it in the truck. We've never done it in the truck.”

  Morelli drove a four-​wheel drive Toyota pickup. It was pretty nice, but it wasn't going to replace a queen-​size bed. And besides, my hair would get mussed. Not to mention I was afraid Bunchy might be watching. “I don't think so,” I said.