Twisted Twenty-Six

by Janet Evanovich

  Tootie reached into her purse, someone yelled, “She’s got a gun!” and everyone hit the floor. Tootie pulled a bingo dauber out of her purse, and there was a collective sigh of relief.

  “I got a good feeling about today,” Grandma said, getting to her feet. “I feel lucky.”

  “You got firebombed!”

  “Yeah, but it didn’t burn the house down. And I’m wearing my lucky shoes. I was wearing these shoes when Jimmy hit the jackpot.”

  I assumed she was also wearing the shoes when he died, but no point mentioning it and ruining her lucky high.

  Marvina gave her bingo basket a spin, and there was a scramble for seats. Tootie and Rose settled on the opposite side of the room from Grandma. They set out their equipment, straightened their cards, and glared at Grandma.

  “They’re trying to put the hex on me,” Grandma said.

  “There’s no such thing as the hex.”

  “Maybe not, but I’m glad I’m wearing these shoes. I’m planning on getting that grand prize tonight. I heard Dittman put a rump roast in the basket.”

  After ten minutes of play, Ginny Barkalowski called out “Bingo!”

  “Dang,” Grandma said. “I’m not keeping up with my cards. I can’t concentrate with Tootie hexing me. She’s giving me the eye.”

  I glanced across the room at Tootie and saw that she was mumbling and had her finger pulling on her lower eyelid.

  “Ignore her,” I said to Grandma. “It’s all baloney.”

  Grandma slid her middle finger alongside her nose and stuck her tongue out at Tootie.

  “Are you giving her the finger?” I asked Grandma.

  “It’s just that my nose itched,” Grandma said. “Was I using my middle finger?”

  “Yes. And you were doing it on purpose.”

  “I got a bunch of slick moves like that,” Grandma said.

  “If you dial back the moves I’ll take you to the diner for rice pudding after bingo.”

  “I’ll do my best, but it’s hard when you keep getting provoked.”

  * * *

  —

  Morelli called at eight o’clock.

  “I can’t talk long,” I said, stepping outside the bingo hall. “I’m at bingo with Grandma. Tootie and Rose are here, and Grandma thinks they’re trying to put a hex on her.”

  “She’s probably right,” Morelli said. “I hear emotions are running high over Dittman’s rump roast.”

  “You know about the rump roast?”

  “I’m a cop. I know everything.”

  “How did it go with the guy who exploded himself? Did you find all his parts?”

  “Mostly,” Morelli said. “A cat ran off with something, and we couldn’t catch it. We think it might have been a finger. How’s your day going, aside from bingo?”

  “It’s been routine. I was offered a ride while I was walking Bob, but I declined. Black Cadillac sedan. Two morons inside. Said someone wanted to talk to me. Wouldn’t give me a name.”

  “Did you get a picture of their plate?”

  “No. I was a little flustered.”

  “Do you need a big strong guy to come over to protect you?”

  “Thanks, but I’ve already got two of those hanging out in the parking lot.”

  We exchanged a few more pleasantries and disconnected. I turned to go back inside and saw a black Cadillac sedan idling across the street. I gave it a little finger wave, and it drove away.

  * * *

  —

  At nine o’clock an argument broke out over the Dittman’s grand prize. Suzanne Blik was declared the winner, and Karen Barkley instantly accused her of cheating. The accusation had some merit because we all knew Suzanne cheated all the time. We also knew that almost everyone cheated all the time at bingo.

  “I won this fair and square,” Suzanne said.

  “You never won anything fair and square,” Karen said. “That Dittman’s basket belongs to the runner-up. And that would be me.”

  They both had a grip on the big wicker basket. Karen wrenched it away from Suzanne, and the basket went airborne. Cans of gravy and green beans, a loaf of rye bread, and the massive rump roast flew out of the basket. The empty basket hit Tootie square in the face, and Tootie sat down hard on the floor. Blood gushed out of her nose.

  Marvina panicked and hit the big red FIRE EMERGENCY button on the wall. Overhead sprinklers went off and gushed water, and everyone ran screaming for the door. A bunch of firefighters rushed in and carted Tootie out of the room.

  Grandma and I exited the building, and Grandma immediately took off for the parking lot.

  “Hurry up,” she said to me. “Where’s the car? I gotta get in the car.”

  The parking lot wasn’t well lit, but it’s easy to spot a powder blue and white ’53 Buick Roadmaster. I slid behind the wheel, and Grandma climbed in next to me. I looked over and realized she had the rump roast.

  “Omigod,” I said. “I can’t believe you took the rump roast.”

  “Someone had to take it,” Grandma said. “It wouldn’t be right to waste a good rump roast.”

  * * *

  —

  Ranger was waiting for me when I slogged into my apartment. He was dressed in the standard Rangeman uniform of full utility gun belt, black cargo pants, and long-sleeved shirt with the Rangeman emblem on the sleeve. He owned the company, but he still did the occasional shift when they were short on manpower.

  I was soaked to the skin, and I had two layers of mascara streaking my face. Water dripped off the hem of my jeans.

  “Babe,” Ranger said, “your lips are blue. We need to get you out of those wet clothes.”

  “I think my lips might be blue from my mascara.”

  The hint of a smile twitched at the corners of Ranger’s mouth. “Maybe, but I’d still like to get you out of your clothes.”

  I got rid of my shoes and peeled my socks off. “What are you doing here?”

  “Mental health check. I was ending a patrol shift and heard you were heading home after a bingo disaster.”

  “Marvina panicked when Tootie got hit in the face with the Dittman’s basket. She punched the button on the fire alarm and set the overhead sprinklers off. I imagine she thought she was hitting an emergency help button.”

  Ranger was lounging against my kitchen counter. Arms crossed over his chest. Watching me strip down to my sports bra and stretchy bikinis.

  “It’s been a while,” Ranger said. “I’ve missed you.”

  Ranger and I have had our moments in the past. It’s not like this was the first time he’s seen me in my undies. Or for that matter without them. And it’s not as if my sports bra and bikinis were all that revealing. Not any more revealing than my swimsuit. Maybe less. It was that Ranger emits a sexual pull that is hard to ignore. He enters my field of vision and I get a rush. If I’m at arm’s length and close enough to get a hint of his shower gel or feel his body heat, I’m in serious danger of turning into a slut. I want him. Bad. And that’s not good since Ranger is an opportunist, and I have an awesome boyfriend who doesn’t look kindly on sharing me. Yet another indication that my life isn’t on track.

  “As you can see, I’m perfectly okay,” I said to Ranger. “I just need to wash the bingo hall water out of my hair, and I’ll be good as new.”

  “We need to talk,” Ranger said. “We can talk while you shower.”

  Oh boy. Ranger watching me in the shower. Just the thought gave me heart arrhythmia and a massive dose of Catholic guilt. I’d pretty much lost my blind faith, but the guilt was still strong.

  “That doesn’t work for me,” I said. “We can talk after I shower.”

  Ranger checked his watch. “As long as you don’t take the hour shower. I have paperwork stacked up at Rangeman. I’ve been out all day.”

  Yay for me. The no-ch
eating stars must be in alignment. I took a fast shower, toweled off, and ran a comb through my hair. I wrapped a towel around myself and stepped out of the bathroom and into my bedroom. Ranger was sitting on the bed, checking his mail on his phone. He looked up and smiled at me.

  “Babe,” Ranger said.

  This time it was easy to guess what Babe implied. His voice was soft. His gaze traveled the length of me and settled on the towel.

  “No,” I said. “Don’t even think about it.”

  “Hard not to think about it when you’re in front of me in a towel.”

  “I just took a shower! What did you expect?”

  “I was hoping for naked.”

  “And I was hoping you’d wait in my living room.”

  “I tried that,” Ranger said. “Your couch is covered in dog hair.”

  I ratcheted up my grip on the towel. “Bob is a shedder.”

  “Babe,” Ranger said, “your knuckles are turning white, and I’m running out of time. Here’s the short version. The two errand boys who tried to get you into the Cadillac work for Benny the Skootch. He’s got his name on a La-Z-Boy at the Mole Hole, and I’m guessing he wants to talk to you about Grandma and the missing keys. You know about the keys, right?”

  “Only that they’re missing.”

  “I don’t know much more than that, but I know if the keys don’t turn up soon, things are going to get messy. These Mole Hole guys are old-school. They do things the old-fashioned way.”

  “Broken bones and blood everywhere?”

  “Yes. I don’t want it to be your blood, so try not to lose your Rangeman escort. And talk to Grandma about the keys. Make sure she doesn’t have them.”

  His cellphone buzzed, and he looked at the screen. “I have to go.” He pulled a packet out of a pocket on his cargo pants and tossed it onto my bed. “Be careful.”

  “What’s in the package?”

  “Ammo. Get your gun out of the cookie jar.”

  I watched him leave the room, and I heard the front door click closed. I was sort of disappointed that he hadn’t ripped the towel off me. There are times when Ranger doesn’t pay total attention to no. It might not have been so bad if this was one of those times, being that I was in a state.

  I opened the towel and looked down at myself. I didn’t have big boobs like Lula, but mine were sort of perky. I had a flat stomach and a nice, neat landing strip below that. Legs were okay. I needed a pedicure. Not bad since lately I’d put in minimal effort. Good thing I wasn’t actually fifty-six. I imagined I’d be a wreck by then.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  I STUMBLED INTO THE OFFICE a little after nine and went straight to the coffee machine.

  “You look terrible,” Lula said. “You got big bags under your eyes. I hope you’re not coming down with something. It’s Friday and I can’t afford to catch the flu for the weekend. I got a killer date coming up.”

  “I’m fine,” I said. “I just didn’t get a lot of sleep last night. I’ll be okay after coffee.”

  “You need more than coffee,” Lula said. “You look like you need the rest of the donut box.”

  I brought my coffee to Connie’s desk, poked around at the leftover donuts, and selected a maple glazed.

  “Anything new come in?” I asked Connie.

  “No, but I heard Charlie Shine is back in town. He was one of the La-Z-Boys until he jumped bail a year ago. It’s going around that he came back to pay his respects, but my Uncle Emilio says it’s about the keys.”

  “Does Uncle Emilio know what the keys look like? What they open? Why they’re so important?”

  “Only the La-Z-Boys know, and no one’s saying,” Connie said.

  “Does anyone know where we can find Shine?”

  “I bet he’s with his honey,” Lula said.

  Connie and I went raised eyebrows.

  “Shine has a honey?” I asked Lula.

  “Hell, yeah. Darlene Long. She’s been sitting pretty, living the good life the whole time he’s been away.”

  I got a refill on my coffee. “Isn’t Shine married?”

  “I don’t know about him being married,” Lula said. “I just know about Darlene, being that we used to work together until she lucked out and got her sugar daddy. She retired to a nice apartment with an elevator, and I retired to this sucky job.”

  I ate a second donut. “You know where she lives, right?”

  “I went to a lingerie party there once. Darlene and me aren’t that friendly, but we get along okay. She worked on the second block of Stark, and I was further up Stark with the hardworking ’hos.”

  “Shine was a mega-bucks bond,” Connie said. “There’s no guarantee that we’ll get it all back since it’s a year later, but it’s worth a shot.”

  I hiked my messenger bag higher on my shoulder. “Let’s boogie.”

  Lula and I went out to the sidewalk and stared at my car.

  “You got the Buick,” Lula said. “I’m sorry, but that’s a hardship car. It got no sound system or anything. We’re gonna have to take my car.” She cut her eyes to the Rangeman SUV parked behind me. “Hello! Who’s here?”

  “Ranger thinks I need protection.”

  “There’s two fine-looking men in that car. Maybe we should take that car.”

  “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

  “I can see their muscles from here,” Lula said. “They spend time in the gym. I wouldn’t mind seeing more of what they got, if you know what I mean.”

  “We’re supposed to be working. And they are definitely working.”

  “And?”

  “And they might be gay. You never know these days.”

  “They aren’t gay,” Lula said. “I could tell a gay man. They got wonderful complexions. These two are blotchy. They don’t know nothing about skin-care products. I’m guessing they don’t exfoliate.”

  “Well, I don’t want to ride with someone who doesn’t exfoliate.”

  “Say what?”

  “I’m not interested in Ranger’s men. I’m interested in Charlie Shine. Could we please get going?”

  “Hunh,” Lula said, “you’re Miss Cranky Pants today.”

  * * *

  —

  Darlene Long lived in a midrise condo building by the river. We parked in the condo lot and looked up at what we guessed were Darlene’s windows. Third floor, rear-facing unit. No balcony. Shine scrimped a little on his honey’s digs. Not that I should throw stones. At least she had digs.

  “Now what?” Lula asked.

  “Now we snoop around.”

  We got out of the Firebird, and I told the Rangeman guys who were parked behind us to stay. I gave them the same firm voice and hand signal that I use with Bob.

  “Does that work?” Lula asked.

  “Sometimes.”

  The building’s lobby was dated but clean and brightly lit. Tenant mailboxes were lined up in an alcove. Darlene’s name was on one of them. We took the elevator to the third floor and walked the length of the hallway.

  “This is her condo,” Lula said. “It’s a corner unit. 304.”

  We stood in front of the door for a couple beats and listened. We leaned in closer.

  “I don’t hear anything,” Lula said. “Maybe we should kick the door in.”

  “Maybe we should try ringing the doorbell and knocking first.”

  “Sure. That would be another way to go.”

  I rang the bell and Darlene came to the door.

  She looked past me to Lula. “Long time no see.”

  “I’ve been busy,” Lula said. “I’m in the law enforcement business. We got a lot to do.”

  “We represent Charlie Shine’s bail bondsman,” I said. “Charlie missed his court date, and we need to get him rescheduled. We thought he might be here.”

 
Darlene managed a small smile. “Sorry I can’t help you. I haven’t seen Charlie in ages.”

  “You don’t mind if we look around?” Lula asked her.

  “Go right ahead, but don’t move anything. My housekeeper is very picky about things being out of place.”

  “I have that problem too,” Lula said.

  Lula lives in a one-room apartment on the second floor of a lavender and pink house. It used to have a bedroom, but she converted it into a closet, so now she sleeps on her couch. Her kitchen consists of a half refrigerator and a hot plate.

  We checked out Darlene’s bedroom, bathroom, and kitchen. No Charlie Shine.

  “It’s not like we doubted you,” Lula said to Darlene. “It’s just no stone unturned.”

  “Of course,” Darlene said.

  We left Darlene and returned to Lula’s car.

  “Did you see how Darlene smiles at everything?” Lula asked. “Like she’s gracious, right? Real pleasant, even when she wants to stick a stake in your heart. That takes a certain talent. That’s how she got her honey. Always being nice.”

  “Hard to believe someone like that.”

  “You bet your ass. She was fibbing about not seeing Shine. That apartment reeked of old man.”

  I hadn’t personally picked up any reeking, but it seemed logical that Shine was staying with or at least visiting Darlene.

  I paged through Shine’s bond agreement. “He lists a house on Willet Street as his home address. Let’s take a look.”

  Willet Street is on the edge of the Burg. I grew up in the Burg and I know a lot of people there, but I don’t know Charlie Shine or his wife.

  Lula took State Street to Broad Street and left-turned into the Burg. “Do we know if there’s a Mrs. Shine?”

  “There was a Mrs. Loretta Shine a year ago when this bond was written. She put her house up as security for her husband’s get-out-of-jail card.”

  “So why doesn’t Vinnie take the house?” Lula asked.

  “It’s not healthy to confiscate property owned by a high-ranking member of the mob.”