Fearless Fourteen

  “And you told this to the psychiatrist and he still let you run around loose?”

  Lula said.

  “I'm not considered dangerous.” he said. “Just: annoying.”

  “Here's the deal,” I said to him. “I promise to keep my eyes open for the big pizza, if you'll go away.”

  “How about if I just keep a distance?”

  “Sure. But it has to be out of sight.”

  “Okay. And I'll let you know right away if I get any more messages.”

  “Deal,” I said.

  I walked him out of the kitchen, past Grandma and the ladies, and into the hall. I watched him leave, and then I locked and bolted the front door.

  When I got back to the kitchen, my mother had the spray bottle of bleach in hand and she was disinfecting the counters and the stalker's chair. “Marion Zajak's daughter doesn't have stalkers. Catherine Bargalowski's daughter doesn't have stalkers. Why do I have to be the one with the daughter who has stalkers? Isn't it enough that my mother kills griefers? I mean, what kind of a woman kills griefers? Can she go to jail for that? Am I an accomplice?”

  Grandma came into the kitchen. “That no-good son of a peach basket ganked me. I had my bitches here and I still got ganked.”

  “You didn't kill the griefer, did you?” my mother asked.

  “No. Aren't you listening? He ganked me.”

  My mother and I had no clue what happened when someone got ganked, but it didn't sound good.

  “Thank heaven,” my mother said. And she made the sign of the cross.

  “I got big news,” Lula said, flashing the ring. “Notice anything new?”

  “Wow, that's a pip of a ring,” Grandma said.

  “I'm engaged to my big sweet potato, Tank,” Lula said. “I'm thinking of a June wedding.”

  “You can't go wrong with a June wedding,” Grandma said. “Do you have the hall?”

  “No,” Lula said. “I only just got started.”

  “What about flowers?” Grandma asked.

  “I was thinking little pink sweetheart roses.”

  “You could put them on the cake, too. Only make them out of icing,” Grandma said. “And then you need table decorations, and what color were you gonna use for bridesmaids?”

  “Pink,” Lula said. “Everything could be pink, like the roses. It could be my theme. I read in one of the magazines the best weddings have themes.”

  “They're more memorable that way,” Grandma said.

  Lula's eyes got wide. “I just got the best idea. We could put Tank in a pink tuxedo.”

  “I've never seen a groom in a pink tuxedo,” Grandma said. “It might make the news. You could be on television.”

  “It would look real good with his skin tone,” Lula said. “We might have to get it made special, though. I should get started right away.”

  I wasn't a Tank expert, but I was pretty sure he'd drive his car off a bridge before he'd be seen in a pink tuxedo.

  “I'm going back online, and I'm gonna get my chameleon going,” Grandma said.

  “I might even raise my sneak level and go invisible. I got a feeling about the griefer. There's something familiar about him.”

  Connie called on my cell. “Good news,” she said. “Dom just bailed Loretta out. He got their mother to use her house as collateral.”

  “I thought her mother was in rehab.”

  “She is. I didn't look too hard at the signature. Here's the problem. I can't leave the office, and I need someone to spring Loretta and drive her home. Dom won't go anywhere near the jail.”

  Stephanie Plum 14 - Fearless Forteen

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  “I JUST want to go home and take a shower and get into clean clothes,” Loretta said. “And for the rest of my life, I don't want to ever see a Tom Collins.”

  I turned down her street, and a block away we could see the disaster. There was a mound of furniture and assorted junk at the curb in front of her house.

  “Shit,” Loretta said. “It's that bastard slum lord who owns my house. He's evicted me.”

  I parked and looked at Loretta's front door. It had a board nailed across it and an eviction notice tacked to the board.

  “You had to know this was coming,” I said to Loretta.

  “I was behind on my rent, but I was hoping he'd give me another month. We're coming into wedding season, and the firehouse is booked solid with showers and receptions. I could have caught up this month.”

  She wrenched the passenger-side door open and got out and stood staring at all her worldly possessions.

  “Is this everything?” I asked her.

  “Yeah,” she said. “Pathetic, isn't it? Most of the big furniture pieces, like the beds and the couch, came with the rental.”

  “You need to get this trucked out of here. There's not that much. You could haul it in a pickup and store it in your mom's garage.”

  “I don't have a phone,” she said. “My phone went dead in jail.”

  I gave her my phone, and she called Dom.

  Forty minutes later, Dom rolled in driving a rattletrap truck. He pulled to the curb, and I took off. I didn't want another confrontation with crazy Dom, and I was due at the hotel at eleven. I was wearing black slacks and black boots, a stretchy white T-shirt, and a fitted black leather jacket. I was ready to represent Rangeman.

  Tank was on guard in front of Brenda's suite when I stepped out of the elevator. I tried to imagine him in a pink tuxedo, but the picture wouldn't come together.

  “How's it going?” I asked him.

  “Good,” he said.

  “No trouble with Brenda?”

  “No.”

  So much for conversation.

  At precisely eleven o'clock, Ranger arrived, walked straight to Brenda's door, and knocked.

  Nancy opened the door a crack and looked out at Ranger.

  “The car is here,” Ranger said.

  Nancy grimaced. “She can't get her eyelashes on.”

  “And?”

  “She can't do television without eyelashes.”

  Ranger looked over at me. “You want to step in here and translate?”

  “False eyelashes,” I told him. “Doesn't the station have someone doing makeup?” I asked Nancy.

  “No. Budget cuts. We have hair and makeup coming in from New York for the concert, but there was a scheduling screwup and they won't arrive in time for this television show.”

  “Good grief,” I said. “This isn't rocket science.” I pushed past Nancy and found Brenda in the bathroom, fiddling with her hair. She was wearing a white stretch wraparound shirt that tied in the front and showed a lot of cleavage and a lot of skin between the bottom of the shirt and the top of her jeans.

  She had her hair in two ponytails. She looked like Daisy Duke.

  I looked at the mess of makeup spread out on the bathroom counter. She had individual lashes, which would take an hour to get on, and she had strip lashes, which any idiot could glue to her lids in ten seconds.

  “I can do this,” I told her. “We'll go with the strip lashes. You don't have time for the individuals.”

  “Are you a professional?” she asked.

  “Even better. I'm from the Burg. I was putting lashes on my Barbie doll when I was seven. Close your eyes.”

  I glued the lashes to her eyes and swiped on liquid eyeliner. I looked at my watch. Ten minutes late. Could be worse.

  We maneuvered Brenda through the lobby to a side exit, where three black Rangeman SUVs idled. Ranger, Nancy, Brenda, and I got into the middle car, and we all cruised off into traffic.

  I was in the backseat, and I was thinking I should be sort of excited to be part of Brendas entourage. After all, she was a star. And she was going to be on television. And I was going to be a backstage insider for the concert.

  That's a big deal, right? Problem was, she didn't look like a star up close.

  She looked like she sold real estate to people with more money than brains.

  It was a
short ride to the station. We signed in at the front desk and followed an intern through a maze of shabby corridors to the green room, which turned out to be painted tan. Some pastries and fruit and coffee had been set out. There were some dog-eared magazines on a side table. The upholstered couch and chairs were leather and slightly shabby. The carpet was the color of dirt.

  We all took a seat and watched the television set that was tuned to the station. This was midday news and the anchors and guests were wearing conservative suits. Brenda looked like she was ready to get raffled off at a hoedown.

  “How do I look?” Brenda asked Nancy. “Do I look okay? Is my hair okay?” She reached in and rearranged her breasts. “Are the girls okay?”

  “Remember to plug the concert tonight,” Nancy said. “We need to sell tickets.”

  The producer popped in with the soundman, and they hooked a mic to Brenda and led her away.

  “I don't have to do this,” Nancy said. “I could get lots of good jobs. I could sell shoes at Macy's, or I could clean kennel cages.”

  Ranger was on his cell phone, conducting business. His eyes were on me, but his thoughts were elsewhere. Nancy and I, smelling disaster, nervously scarfed down doughnuts.

  A man and a woman were anchoring the news. They talked a little about the concert, and they introduced Brenda. And then Brenda was suddenly onstage, in a chair next to the female anchor. Brenda's legs were demurely crossed and her bulging breasts looked like polished marble. She was all smiles and white teeth and sparkling eyes. Brenda was stunning. Something happened between Brenda and the camera. Even the whole Daisy Duke thing was working.

  Nancy had her fingers in her ears and her eyes squinched shut. “Tell me when its over.”

  “It's good,” I told her. “You have to see this. She's beautiful.”

  Nancy opened one eye. “Really?”

  “It's magic,” I said to her.

  “I just love it here,” Brenda said to the anchor. “I'm in Trenton, right?”

  The anchors laughed. Brenda was adorable.

  “Everyone is wondering about your love life,” the anchor said. “There's a rumor that you're engaged... again.”

  Brenda clapped her hands over her eyes. “Good Lord,” she said. “No way!”

  She took her hands away and a feathery black object dropped onto her cheek.

  Nancy leaned forward. “What is that?”

  Brenda's eyes crossed as she focused on the thing on her face, and hysteria jolted her out of her chair. “Spider,” she shrieked, jumping around, slapping at her face. “Spider, spiderl”

  Nancy and I were mouths open, eyes wide, watching the television. Even Ranger turned his attention from his phone call to the show.

  A stagehand rushed onto the set, tackled Brenda, and dragged her back to her chair.

  “What was that?” Brenda asked. “Is it gone? Is it dead?”

  One of the anchors picked the thing off the floor and looked at it. “It's a strip of eyelashes.”

  Brenda blinked and put a finger to her eye. “Oh shit!”

  Nancy's face went white. “She just said shit on television. And if that isn't awful enough, she looks ridiculous. She's only got lashes on one eye.”

  “It's not my bad,” I said. “I swear. She rubbed her eyes! Everyone knows you don't rub your eyes when you've got lashes glued on!”

  “I wouldn't worry about it,” Ranger said. “No one looks at her eyes.”

  Five minutes later, Brenda stormed into the room. “That was so hideous,” she said, teeth clenched. “My eyelash fell off. Did you see it? I thought it was a spider.” She looked around the room, finally finding me. “You!” she said, pointing her finger. “This is all your fault. You're the one who glued the eyelash. You said you knew what you were doing, but obviously that was a lie.”

  “You rubbed your eye. The eyelash would have been fine if you hadn't rubbed your eye.”

  “I'm leaving now,” Brenda said, head high. “And I don't want this horrible liar in my car. Does everybody understand that?”

  “She's part of your security detail, and she's going in your car,” Ranger said.

  “Then I'm not going.”

  “No problem,” I said. “I'll ride in one of the other cars, and we'll sort this out later.” Hallelujah! With any luck, I'd get fired.

  Ranger's men stayed with the cars at the hotel's side entrance. Ranger, Nancy, and Brenda had taken the elevator to Brenda's floor. And I was waiting in the lobby. Ranger's orders. Hard to tell what would happen next, but I suspected I wouldn't be seeing the concert.

  I saw the stalker coming at me from across the room. He was smiling and waving like we were old friends.

  “Hi,” he said. “Remember me?”

  “Of course, I remember you. You're the stalker.”

  “I just wanted to tell you everything seems to be okay, cosmically speaking.”

  “Good to know.”

  “I saw Brenda on television this morning. She did fabulous. And the eyelash bit was funny. Tell her I liked the eyelash bit.”

  “Okeydokey. I'll pass it on.”

  The elevator binged, Ranger stepped out, and the stalker scurried away. Ranger crossed over to me, his eyes on the stalker, who was now hiding behind a big potted plant.

  “Is he bothering you?” Ranger asked.

  “No. He's harmless.”

  “Let me know if that changes. Tank is on hall duty. Nancy is in the suite with Brenda. You're off the hook for a couple hours, but you need to be back here to get Brenda to her sound check at four. They'll run through the show, and then Brenda will stay there for makeup and wardrobe. Don't let her out of your sight. I won't be able to go to the sound check, so you're in charge until I get there.”

  “What? You aren't serious! I was counting on being fired.”

  “Why would I fire you?”

  “The eyelash.”

  “Babe, you've gotta do a lot better than that to get fired.”

  “I can't get Brenda to the sound check. She hates me. She won't listen to me.”

  “You'll figure it out,” Ranger said. “I have to go. I'll see you tonight.”

  I blew out a sigh and hiked to my car. Easy to find it these days with Zook written in Day-Glo paint all over it. I drove to the office and parked at the curb.

  Lula was on the phone when I walked into the office. “What do you think about having fireworks go off after the ceremony?” she asked me. “It's part of the package if you have the reception at the VFW hall. They ring the church bells, and then they shoot off fireworks.”

  “I guess that could be fun,” I said.

  “Yeah, we'll consider the fireworks,” Lula said into the phone. “And maybe while the fireworks are going off, you could serve some of them pigs in a blanket. I love them little things.” She listened for another minute and disconnected. “That went real good,” she said. “They had a cancellation on a baby shower, and I was able to sneak in.”

  “Isn't all this going to come to a lot of money?” I asked her. “The gown, the cake, the flowers, the hall, the pigs in a blanket, the fireworks?”

  “A wedding is priceless. A girl only gets married once.”

  “Not the girls in this room,” Connie said. “Have you thought about a prenup?”

  Lula's eyes widened. “A prenup? You think I need one?”

  “He could end up getting your Firebird.”

  “No way! Not my Firebird.”

  “And what about your house?”

  “I just rent an apartment. I own the couch, though. He better not try to take my couch or my TV.”

  “You need a lawyer,” Connie said.

  Lula took a pad out of her purse. “I'll put it on my list. Now that I'm getting married, I'm more detail-oriented. I'm keeping track of things in my pad.”

  “How's the Brenda job going?” Connie asked. “What's she like?”

  “She's just like she is on television, but she's prettier on television. I need someone to help me get her to
a sound check at four. Any takers?”

  “Is there money in it?” Lula asked.

  “Yeah. You'll be on Ranger's payroll.”

  “I never been on Ranger's payroll before,” Lula said. “I'll do it.”