Ranger raised an eyebrow. “I make you nervous?”
“Yes.” Damn.
He sat in the rocker in the corner. He slouched slightly, elbows on the arms of the chair, fingers steepled against each other.
“Well?” I asked.
“You can relax. I'm not here to collect on the deal.”
I blinked. “You're not? Then why did you drop your gun belt?”
“I'm tired. I wanted to sit and the belt is uncomfortable.”
“Oh.”
He smiled. “Disappointed?”
“No.” Liar, liar, pants on fire.
The smile widened.
“So what's the unfinished business?”
“The hospital is holding DeChooch overnight. He'll be transferred out first thing tomorrow morning. Someone should be present during the transfer to make sure the paperwork is handled correctly.”
“And that would be me?”
Ranger looked at me over his steepled fingers. “That would be you.”
“You could have called with this information.”
He picked the gun belt off the floor and stood. “I could have, but it wouldn't have been as interesting.” He kissed me lightly on the lips and walked to the doorway.
“Hey,” I said, “. . . about the deal. You were kidding, right?”
It was the second time I'd asked, and I got the same answer. A smile.
And now, here we were weeks later. Ranger still hadn't collected his fee, and I was in the undesirable position of negotiating more assistance. “Do you know about child custody bonds?” I asked him.
He inclined his head a fraction of an inch. This was the equivalent to intense nodding for Ranger. “Yes.”
“I'm looking for a mother and a little girl.”
“How old is the little girl?”
“Seven.”
“From the Burg?”
“Yes.”
“It's difficult to hide a seven-year-old,” Ranger said. “They peek out windows and stand in open doorways. If the child is in the Burg, word will get around. The Burg isn't good at keeping a secret.”
“I haven't heard anything. I have no leads. I have Connie running a computer check, but I won't get that back for a day or two.”
“Give me whatever information you have, and I'll ask around.”
I looked past Ranger and saw the Cadillac in the distance, cruising toward us. Bender was still behind the wheel. He slowed when he reached us, gave me the finger, and rolled away around the corner, out of sight.
“A friend of yours?” Ranger asked.
I opened the driver's side door to the CR-V. “I'm supposed to be capturing him.”
“And?”
“Tomorrow.”
“I could help you with that, too. We could run a tab for you.”
I sent him a grimace. “Do you know Eddie Abruzzi?”
Ranger removed a slice of pepperoni from my hair and picked some crushed potato chip crumbs off my T-shirt. “Abruzzi's not a nice guy. You want to stay away from Abruzzi.”
I was trying to ignore Ranger's hands on my chest. On the surface it seemed like innocent grooming. In the pit of my stomach it felt like sex. “Stop fondling me,” I said.
“Maybe you should get used to it, considering what you owe me.”
“I'm trying to have a conversation here! The missing mother is renting a house owned by Abruzzi. I sort of ran into him this morning.”
“Let me guess—you rolled on his lunch?”
I looked down at my shirt. “No. Lunch belongs to the guy who gave me the finger.”
“Where did you meet up with Abruzzi?”
“At the rental house. This is the weird thing . . . Abruzzi didn't want me in the house, and he didn't want me involved with Evelyn. I mean, what's it to him? This isn't even a significant property for him. And then he got really freaky about this being a military campaign and a war game.”
“Abruzzi makes his money primarily through loan sharking,” Ranger said. “Then he invests it in legitimate ventures like real estate. His hobby is war gaming. Do you know what that is?”
“No.”
“A war gamer studies military strategy. When it first started it was a bunch of guys in a room, pushing toy soldiers around on a map on the table. Like the board game Risk, or Axis and Allies. Imaginary battles are constructed and fought. A lot of war gamers play by computer now. It's Dungeons and Dragons for adults. I'm told Abruzzi takes it seriously.”
“He's crazy.”
“That's the general consensus. Anything else?” Ranger asked.
“Nope. That's about it.”
Ranger angled into his car and drove away.
So much for the part of my day where I actually tried to earn some money. I still had Laura Minello, grand theft auto, but I was feeling discouraged and I didn't have any handcuffs. Probably I needed to get back to the kid search, anyway. If I went back to the house now chances were good that Abruzzi wouldn't be there. He probably left in a huff after threatening me and went home to shove some toy soldiers around.
I drove back to Key Street and parked in front of Carol Nadich's half of the house. I rang her bell and scraped some pizza cheese off my breast while I waited.
“Hey,” Carol said, opening the door. “Now what?”
“Did Annie play with any kids in the neighborhood? Did she seem to have a best friend?”
“Most of the kids on this street are older, and Annie stayed inside a lot. Is that pizza in your hair?”
I put my hand to my head and felt around. “Any pepperoni?”
“No. Just cheese and tomato sauce.”
“Well,” I said, “as long as there aren't any pepperonis.”
“Hold on,” Carol said. “I remember Evelyn telling me that Annie had a new friend at school. Evelyn was worried about it because the little girl thought she was a horse.”
Mental head slap. My niece, Mary Alice.
“Sorry, I don't know the horse kid's name,” Carol said.
I left Carol and drove two blocks to my parents' house. It was midafternoon. School would be out, and Mary Alice and Angie would be in the kitchen, eating cookies, getting grilled by my mother. One of my early lessons was that everything has a price. If you want an after-school cookie, you have to tell my mother about your day.
When we were kids, Valerie always had lots to report. She made glee club. She won the spelling contest. She was chosen for the Christmas pageant. Susan Marrone told her Jimmy Wizneski thought she was pretty.
I had lots to report, too. I didn't make glee club. I didn't win the spelling contest. I wasn't chosen for the Christmas pageant. And I accidentally knocked Billy Bartolucci down the stairs, and he ripped the knee out of his pants.
Grandma met me at the door. “Just in time to have a cookie and tell us about your day,” she said. “I bet it was a pip. You've got food all over you. Were you after a killer?”
“I was after a guy wanted for domestic violence.”
“I hope you kicked him where it hurt.”
“I didn't actually get to kick him, but I ruined his pizza.” I sat down at the table with Angie and Mary Alice. “How's it going?” I asked.
“I made the glee club,” Angie said.
I stifled the urge to scream and took a cookie. “How about you?” I asked Mary Alice.
Mary Alice took a drink of milk and wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. “I'm not a reindeer anymore on account of I lost my antlers.”
“They fell off on the way home from school, and a dog went to the bathroom on them,” Angie said.
“I didn't want to be a reindeer anyway,” Mary Alice said. “Reindeers don't got nice tails like horses.”
“Do you know Annie Soder?”
“Sure,” Mary Alice said, “she's in my class. She's my best friend, except she's never in school lately.”
“I went to see her today, but she wasn't home. Do you know where she is?”
“Nope,” Mary Alice said. “I guess sh
e's gone. That happens when you get divorced.”
“If Annie could go anywhere she wanted . . . where would she go?”
“Disney World.”
“Where else?”
“Her grandma's.”
“Where else?”
Mary Alice shrugged.
“How about her mom? Where would her mom want to go?”
Another shrug.
“Help me out here,” I said. “I'm trying to find Annie.”
“Annie is a horse, too,” Mary Alice said. “Annie is a brown horse, only thing, she can't gallop as fast as me.”
Grandma moved to the front door, driven there by Burg radar. A good Burg housewife never missed anything happening on the street. A good Burg housewife could pick up street sounds not ordinarily heard by the human ear.
“Look at this,” Grandma said, “Mabel's got company. Somebody I never saw before.”
My mother and I joined Grandma at the door.
“Fancy car,” my mother said.
It was a black Jaguar. Brand new. Not a splatter of mud or a speck of dust on it. A woman emerged from behind the wheel. She was dressed in black leather pants, high-heeled black leather boots, and a short form-fitting black leather jacket. I knew who she was. I'd run into her once before. She was the female equivalent of Ranger. My understanding was that, like Ranger, she did a variety of things including but not limited to bodyguarding, bounty hunting, and private investigating. Her name was Jeanne Ellen Burrows.
Stephanie Plum 8 - Hard Eight
4
“MABEL'S VISITOR LOOKS like Catwoman,” Grandma said. “Except she hasn't got pointy cat ears and whiskers.”
And the cat suit was by Donna Karan.
“I know her,” I said. “Her name is Jeanne Ellen Burrows, and she's probably connected to the child custody bond, somehow. I need to talk to her.”
“Me, too,” Grandma said.
“No. Not a good idea. Stay here. I'll be right back.”
Jeanne Ellen saw me approach and paused on the sidewalk. I extended my hand to her. “Stephanie Plum,” I said.
She had a firm handshake. “I remember.”
“I assume you've been hired by someone connected to the bond.”
“Steven Soder.”
“I've been hired by Mabel.”
“I hope we won't have an adversarial relationship.”
“That would be my hope, too,” I said.
“Would you like to share any information with me?”
I took a beat to think about it and decided I didn't have any information to share. “No.”
Her mouth curved into a small, polite smile. “Well, then.”
Mabel opened her door and peered out at us.
“This is Jeanne Ellen Burrows,” I told Mabel. “She's working for Steven Soder. She'd like to ask you some questions. I'd prefer you didn't answer them.” I was getting strange vibes on Evelyn and Annie's disappearance, and I didn't want Annie given up to Steven until I heard Evelyn's reason for leaving.
“It would be in your best interest to talk to me,” Jeanne Ellen said to Mabel. “Your great-granddaughter could be in danger. I could help find her. I'm very good at finding people.”
“Stephanie's good at finding people, too,” Mabel said.
Again, the small smile returned to Jeanne Ellen's mouth. “I'm better,” she said.
It was true. Jeanne Ellen was better at finding people. I relied more on dumb luck and blind persistence.
“I don't know,” Mabel said. “I don't feel comfortable going against Stephanie. You look like a perfectly nice young woman, but I'd rather not talk to you about this.”
Jeanne Ellen gave Mabel her card. “If you change you mind, you can reach me at one of these numbers.”
Mabel and I watched Jeanne Ellen get into her car and drive off.
“She reminds me of someone,” Mabel said. “I can't put my finger on it.”
“Catwoman,” I said.
“Yes! That's it, except for the ears.”
I left Mabel, filled my mother and grandmother in on Jeanne Ellen, took a cookie for the road, and headed for home, making a fast stop at the office first.
Lula pulled in behind me. “Wait until you see the boots I got. I got myself a pair of biker boots.” She tossed her bag and her jacket on the couch and opened the shoe box. “Look at this. Are these hot, or what?”
They were black with a high stacked heel with an eagle stitched onto the side. Connie and I agreed. The boots were hot.
“So what have you been up to?” Lula asked me. “I miss anything interesting?”
“I ran into Jeanne Ellen Burrows,” I said.
Connie and Lula did a double mouth drop. Jeanne Ellen wasn't seen a lot. She mostly worked at night and was as elusive as smoke.
“Tell me,” Lula said. “I gotta know everything.”
“Steven Soder hired her to find Evelyn and Annie.”
Connie and Lula exchanged glances. “Does Ranger know about this?” Connie asked.
There were a lot of rumors about Ranger and Jeanne Ellen. One rumor had them secretly living together. One rumor had them as mentor and mentee. Clearly there'd been some sort of relationship at some point. And I was pretty sure it no longer existed, although it was hard to know anything for sure with Ranger.
“This is going to be good,” Lula said. “You and Ranger and Jeanne Ellen Burrows. If I was you, I'd go home and do my hair and put some mascara on. And I'd stop at the Harley store and get a pair of these cool boots. You need a pair of these boots just in case you need to walk over Jeanne Ellen.”
My cousin Vinnie stuck his head out of his office. “Are you talking about Jeanne Ellen Burrows?”
“Stephanie ran into her today,” Connie said. “They're working a case together, from opposite sides.”
Vinnie grinned at me. “You're going up against Jeanne Ellen? Are you nuts? This isn't one of my FTAs, is it?”
“Child custody bond,” I said. “Mabel's great-granddaughter.”
“The Mabel next door to your parents? The old-as-dirt Mabel?”
“That's the one. Evelyn and Steven got a divorce and Evelyn took off with Annie.”
“So Jeanne Ellen is working for Soder. That makes sense. Sebring probably wrote the bond, right? Jeanne Ellen works for Sebring. Sebring can't go after Evelyn, but he can recommend that Soder hires Jeanne Ellen. Just the sort of case Jeanne Ellen would take, too. A missing kid. Jeanne Ellen loves to have a cause.”
“How do you know so much about Jeanne Ellen?”
“Everybody knows about Jeanne Ellen,” Vinnie said. “She's a legend. Cripes, you're gonna get your ass kicked.”
This Jeanne Ellen thing was starting to annoy me.
“Gotta go,” I said. “Things to do. I just stopped in to borrow a pair of cuffs.”
Everyone's eyebrows rose a couple inches.
“You need another pair of cuffs?” Vinnie asked.
I gave him my PMS look. “You got a problem with that?”
“Hell no,” Vinnie said. “I'm gonna go with S and M. I'm gonna pretend you got a man chained up naked somewhere. It's more comforting than thinking one of my FTAs is running around with your bracelet attached.”
I PARKED IN the back of the lot, next to the Dumpster, and walked the short distance to my apartment building's rear entrance. Mr. Spiga had just docked his twenty-year-old Oldsmobile in one of the coveted handicapped slots, close to the door, his handicapped sign proudly affixed to his windshield. He was in his seventies, retired from his job at the button factory and, with the exception of his addiction to Metamucil, was in perfect health. Lucky for him, his wife is legally blind and lame from a hip replacement gone bad. Not that it cuts a lot of slack in this lot. Half the people in the building have poked out an eye and run over their foot to get handicapped status. In Jersey, parking is often more important than sight.
“Nice day,” I said to Mr. Spiga.
He grabbed a grocery bag from the backseat. “Ha
ve you bought ground chuck lately? Who decides these prices? How can people afford to eat? And why is the meat so red? You ever notice it's only red on the outside? They spray it with something, so you think it's fresh. The food industry's going to hell.”
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