Takedown Twenty: A Stephanie Plum Novel

by Evanovich, Janet

  “Oh yeah, I like that,” Lula said. “I got my iPhone all ready to record. Prune-face volunteer in old people’s home has big and beautiful black woman arrested for wanting to help her friend’s granny. That’s going viral on YouTube. I bet I get famous. I could get a model contract from that.”

  “Oh, honestly,” the woman said. “Here! Take the list and get out of here.”

  I took the list from her, told her we appreciated her help, and we scurried out of the building.

  “I can’t believe you played the race card in there,” I said to Lula.

  “I didn’t just play the race card,” Lula said. “I played the race card and the fat card. BAM! My thinking is you gotta use what you got. God didn’t make me a big beautiful black woman for nothing. I got cards to play. You see what I’m saying? And take you, for instance. You got no cards.”

  “I’m at a disadvantage,” I said.

  “Fuckin’ A,” Lula said.

  I plugged the key into the ignition and we rumbled out of the lot. “I thought we’d check out all of the businesses on the list and see if anything strikes us as odd.”

  “You mean like some fool standing behind the counter, counting out his newfound money, holding a Venetian blind cord?”

  “Yeah,” I said. “Like that.”

  “Okay, then,” Lula said. “I’m on it.”

  I didn’t stop at the gas station, as most of the dead women hadn’t had cars. And I didn’t bother stopping at Randy’s deli. Been there, done that. Plus I was afraid he’d make me slice up a pig brain or monkey gonads.

  Morton’s Bakery on Third Street was part bakery and part convenience store. By now it was midmorning and the store was packed with people buying bagels, donuts, babkas, and cannoli, plus the odd emergency carton of milk, jar of peanut butter, or roll of toilet paper.

  I was familiar with this bakery, but I didn’t often shop here. Tasty Pastry was a short walk from the bonds office on Hamilton, and it was my bakery of choice. There were three women working the counter at Morton’s, and a swarthy mustached guy was at the register. I didn’t know any of them. I would have liked to ask about the murdered women, but the store was too busy. Lula bought a bagel with veggie cream cheese and we left.

  Next on the list was the liquor store. There were several people milling around debating the virtues of Grey Goose and Ketel One, pondering the price of Macallan single malt scotch, and filling their carts with cheap gin. I recognized the man at the checkout. He’d been my high school algebra teacher.

  “Mr. Newcomb,” I said. “I didn’t know you worked here.”

  “It’s a part-time job. Friday nights and all day Saturday. It’s a nice break to sell legal addictive depressants to adults after five days of staring into the blank faces of illegally anesthetized juveniles.”

  “I guess I could see that,” I said, and I introduced him to Lula.

  “Mr. Newcomb was my high school algebra teacher,” I said. “He gave me a C.”

  “It was a gift,” Mr. Newcomb said.

  “I didn’t have algebra when I went to school,” Lula said. “I studied beauty culture.”

  “Did you get a job as a cosmetician when you graduated?” Mr. Newcomb asked.

  “No. I went to work as a ’ho. It was one of them tradition things. All the women in my family’s ’hos. Except I’m not a ’ho no more. Well, actually I tried some ’hoing the other night, but I didn’t have no luck at it. The industry just isn’t what it used to be.”

  “I understand this liquor store is part of the Senior Discount Club program,” I said to Mr. Newcomb.

  “Some of our best customers belong to that program. They go to the cooking demonstrations next door, and then they come in here and load up on booze.”

  “Did you know Rose Walchek?”

  “She was just murdered, right? I didn’t know her, but she shopped here. I saw her picture in the paper, and I recognized her. She used to come in after the Saturday demonstration.”

  “There were three other women murdered. Did they shop here too?”

  “You’re talking about the women who were found in the Dumpsters? I’ve seen them here. Lois Fratelli was a regular. She mostly bought wine. Bitsy Muddle was another regular. She bought wine and an occasional bottle of gin.”

  “What about Melvina Gillian?”

  “She came in just before she was killed. She asked for help. She was having a dinner guest, and she didn’t know what to serve.”

  “Do you remember what she got?”

  “I suggested a pinot noir. It’s my go-to wine for beginners.”

  “I bet she served that wine to the killer,” Lula said. “What kind of man comes and drinks your pinot noir, and then throws you in a Dumpster? This man has no manners.”

  Mr. Newcomb and I agreed. The killer had no manners.

  “Were the women alone? Or did they usually shop with a friend?” I asked Mr. Newcomb.

  “Rose was alone, that I remember. And the Gillian woman was alone. I couldn’t really say for the others.”

  Victory Hardware was next on the list. It was a hole-in-the-wall store that was crammed with lightbulbs, boxes of nails, shelf paper, claw hammers, electric screwdrivers, flashlights, Elmer’s Glue, birdseed, tape measures, batteries, cans of Raid, bait boxes, trash bags, toasters, sandpaper, Buck knives, various toilet parts, umbrellas, DustBusters, plungers, bags of charcoal, and replacement cords for Venetian blinds. The store was owned and run by Victor Birch. Victor was as old and cracked as the linoleum on the floor. Both Victor and the linoleum looked like they’d been around for two hundred years, but probably it was more like eighty. Victor had been on the job seven days a week for as long as I could remember, chain smoking and hacking and ranting about the way the world was going to hell in a handbasket. The store reeked of cigarette smoke, and yellow streaks of tar stained the walls and Victor’s fingers and teeth. Victor was both horrible and amazing. He was a living testament to the ravages of tobacco and the determination of the body and soul to survive under ugly conditions.

  I knew the store by heart, but this was Lula’s first time inside.

  “Whoa,” she said. “This is like walking into the lung cancer ride at the theme park from hell. Does anyone actually shop here?”

  “Everyone shops here. Victor has washing machine parts that went out of stock twenty years ago. He’s got shower heads without water savers, incandescent lightbulbs, cheap rat poison, a machine that will duplicate keys that say do not duplicate, and he’s got a bottle of homemade hooch under the counter that he’ll share with you for free or sell to you for four dollars.”

  “Does anyone work here besides him?”

  “Various relatives and homeless sorts. There’s a guy named Snoot who’s been with Victor for a bunch of years. He’s not the sharpest tack on the corkboard, but he manages to get the garbage out on time.”

  “Would Snoot kill old ladies?”

  “Probably. If he could find them.”

  Footsteps shuffled toward us, and Victor popped out from behind one of the floor-to-ceiling racks of organized junk.

  “What can I do for you girls?” he asked, cigarette stuck to his lower lip.

  “I need a flashlight,” I told him.

  “Big or little?”

  “Medium.”

  “Is this a fashion accessory, or do you want to be able to see something with it? I got some pretty red and blue ones, but they aren’t worth snot.”

  “I’m thinking Maglite.”

  “That’s serious flashlighting.”

  We followed him to the back of the store and waited while he sorted through bins and boxes.

  “Did you know Lois Fratelli?” I asked him.

  “Sure. Her whole family shops here. She was in just before she was murdered. She was looking for a shower curtain liner.”

  “That’s pretty good that you’d remember that,” Lula said.

  Victor dragged on his cigarette. “Girlie, I got a mind like a steel trap.”


  “You shouldn’t be smoking,” Lula said. “It’s bad for you. What’s your doctor say about your smoking?”

  Victor moved a box to get to another box. “My doctor’s dead.”

  “How about the other women who were murdered?” I asked him. “Did they shop here too?”

  “I expect so. We give a discount.” He opened a box and pulled out a Maglite. “How’s this?”

  “It’s perfect,” I told him.

  “What are you going to do with it? Hit someone over the head?”

  “If I have to.”

  Victor gave a bark of laughter that brought on a fit of coughing and wheezing.

  “Twelve bucks,” he finally said. “Special price for you.”

  I paid him in cash. “Do you sell a lot of Venetian blind cord?”

  “Yep. A fair amount. There’s a lot of Venetian blinds out there.”

  “All those women were strangled with Venetian blind cord,” I told him.

  “I heard that.” He shook his head. “Terrible. Just terrible.”

  “Do you think the cord could have been bought here?”

  “I thought about it, but I couldn’t see it.”

  “Good to know,” I said. “Thanks for finding me the right flashlight.”

  “Anytime,” Victor said. “Always a pleasure to have a pretty young lady in the store.”

  “He’s charming,” Lula said, buckling herself into the Buick. “It’s a shame he’s all yellow and wrinkled. Now where we going?”

  “Gene’s Pharmacy,” I said. “It’s at the corner of Broad and Mayweather.”

  SIXTEEN

  I PARKED IN the small lot, and Lula and I walked through the drugstore to the counter where prescriptions were filled. There was a time when Gene himself was back there counting out pills, but that time was long gone. Now Gene was living the good life in a retirement community in Scottsdale, and his daughter Sue was running the pharmacy. I’d gone to school with Sue’s little sister, and I’d briefly dated her brother.

  “Hey, look who’s here,” Sue said. “Haven’t seen you in a while. How’s it going? How’s Joe doing?”

  “Joe’s managing,” I said. “He’s trying to stay away from the pain pills. He said he couldn’t feel his fingertips or his tongue.”

  Sue nodded. “He was prescribed some heavy-duty stuff.” She put a label on a little plastic vial and looked back at me. “What can I do for you?”

  “I’m doing some legwork for a friend, looking into the Dumpster murders. I’m guessing the women all shopped here.”

  “You guess right.”

  “Do you have any thoughts on this?”

  “Obviously they came here because we were part of the discount program. Even if their meds were paid for by insurance they still used the discount for other stuff. Cosmetics, magazines, over-the-counter drugs.”

  “Did you know any of them? Did they come in alone? Were they always here on a certain day?”

  “I knew Lois Fratelli. She lived a short distance from my parents’ house. The others were faces in a crowd. When something as horrific as a murder happens you look back and realize the victim was a customer, but beyond that I don’t have anything.” She went to her computer. “Let me check something.”

  Lula wandered off to look at magazines, and I waited for Sue.

  “Here it is,” Sue said. “Saturday. With the exception of Lois Fratelli, they all came in on a Saturday. I guess they could have come in on other days too, but they always filled their prescriptions on a Saturday.”

  “Thanks,” I said. “I appreciate the help.”

  Lula came back to the Buick with a copy of People magazine and some new lip gloss. “I’m thinking this investigating and detecting business is better than the bounty hunting business,” she said. “So far no one’s shot at us today. And we’re talking to people that don’t hate us.”

  “True, but the day isn’t over.”

  “So what else is on the list?”

  Cluck-in-a-Bucket was on the discount list, but I knew it would be a waste of time. The staff was transient and there was no room for personal contact beyond the thirty seconds it took to order a Clucky Burger and fries. The multiplex was on the list. Another waste of time. Ironically, the funeral home on Hamilton was also on the list.

  “We’re done,” I said to Lula.

  “Just as well,” Lula said. “It’s almost lunchtime, and I only work half day on Saturday unless there’s something special going on. I got an appointment with Jolene for a manicure, and then I’m changing my hair color, being that pink was yesterday.”

  “What’s tomorrow?”

  “I’m feeling sparkly. I gotta talk to Latisha about it. She’s my colorist.”

  I looked in the rearview mirror at my hair. It was brown.

  “I like to coordinate my hair and my nails,” Lula said. “I think of them as accessories, and you know how I feel about the importance of correctly accessorizing.”

  I dropped Lula off at the bonds office and continued down the street to Giovichinni’s. The businesses we’d just visited were relatively convenient for Lois Fratelli, but the other women had to go out of their way to get to them, which was even more difficult for them because none of them had a car. So maybe this was why the women seemed to run their errands on Saturday. They relied on others to take them shopping, and those others could only help out on Saturday.

  Tina Giovichinni was working the deli counter, her white butcher’s apron smudged with mustard and ketchup and other unidentifiable stains. “What’s up?” she said. “You want your usual turkey club?”

  “No. I’m going with ham and cheese on rye and a side of the homemade coleslaw.”

  “You got it.”

  “Are you going to the viewing tonight?”

  “You mean for Rose Walchek? No, but my mother’s going. She knew Rose from Bingo.”

  “Did Rose ever shop here?”

  Tina shook her head. “Not that I can remember.” She wrapped my sandwich and put it into a white paper bag. “I’m surprised you’re not walking around in a disguise. I hear the whole Sunucchi family is looking for you.”

  “I didn’t shoot him.”

  “Too bad. I would have thrown in the coleslaw for free.”

  I felt my eyebrows go up an inch. I leaned forward and lowered my voice. “You’re not in love with Uncle Sunny?”

  “He wasn’t nice to my brother, Gino. He’s not nice to a lot of people.”

  “I don’t suppose you know where he’s hiding.”

  “When Sunny shops here he buys blood sausage and fresh fusilli. We carry the blood sausage just for him. No one else wants it. Yesterday Bella came in and bought blood sausage and fresh fusilli.”

  Bella mostly lived with Joe’s mom. When Joe’s mom needed a break she shipped Bella off to one of the other relatives, but Bella always came back.

  “Thanks,” I said to Tina.

  “Don’t thank me,” Tina said. “I didn’t tell you anything.”

  I parked on a side street around the corner from the Morelli house and ate my lunch. If Sunny was holing up there, he was effectively off-limits to me. I was never Joe’s mom’s first choice for a daughter-in-law. If I barreled into her house with guns drawn and took down her houseguest, I could kiss any future with Joe goodbye. And I couldn’t begin to guess what Bella would do. I suspected it would involve conjuring zombies and evil spirits, and shooting handheld missiles into my living room.

  I called Morelli.

  “What?” Morelli said.

  “Are you in a bad mood?”

  “I’m not in a good mood.”

  “Because?”

  “Bob horked up last night’s dinner on the rug.”

  “What did you feed him?”

  “Hot dogs.”

  “Duh. Anything else?”

  “My television isn’t working.”

  “And?”

  “That’s it.”

  “That’s not much. I bet I can put you in a real
ly bad mood.”

  “Don’t do me any favors.”

  “I think there’s a good possibility your mom is hiding Uncle Sunny.”

  “Hiding?”

  “In her house.”

  “Are you kidding me?”

  “No. I’m serious. I think he’s sitting there on a rubber donut, scarfing down blood sausage and pasta, watching Ghost Hunters episodes with Bella.”

  “That’s ridiculous.”

  “Have you been there lately?”

  “No. Not since I was shot.”

  “Maybe you should go over and check it out.”

  “No way. I don’t want to know. This conversation never happened. If I found him at my mother’s house I’d have to accuse her of harboring a fugitive.”

  “That would be awkward. Do you think I should go in and root him out?”

  “No! I think you should go to the beach. Get some frozen custard.”

  “Do you want to come with me?”

  “I can’t. The cable company is supposed to come fix my television. If you’re not here when they come they never come again.”

  “There’s only a one percent chance that they’ll show up anyway.”

  Morelli mumbled something about God and vengeance and the cable company, and hung up.

  I couldn’t see his mother’s house from where I was parked, but I could see cars coming and going down the street. I was sitting there thinking the beach would be a terrific idea if I had a car that got more than three miles to a gallon when Ranger pulled up behind me in his 911 Turbo. He got out and walked over.

  “Either you ran out of gas or else you’re trying to execute a stakeout in this blue elephant,” Ranger said.

  “I think Sunny might be holed up with Joe’s mom and Grandma Bella.”

  “That would be awkward.”

  “My exact words! Did you come to rescue me again?”

  “Among other things. I kept waking up last night thinking about the giraffe. Why is there a giraffe running loose on Fifteenth Street?”

  “I don’t know. The first time Lula and I saw him there was a black SUV chasing him. They both turned the corner, there was gunfire, and when Lula and I went to investigate there was a guy lying in the road with a dart stuck in him. The guy died at the hospital.”