Explosive Eighteen

  “Yoohoo,” Lula called from the front door. “I’m here with my honey.”

  Grandma, Annie, my mom, and I traipsed out to see the honey.

  “This is my big stud muffin, Buggy,” Lula said, her arms partially wrapped around him.

  “Yuh,” Buggy said.

  My father was in the living room, watching television, reading the paper. He glanced over at Buggy, grimaced, and returned to the paper.

  My mother and grandmother scurried off to the kitchen to get the food, and we all took our seats at the table.

  “Have you and Buggy known each other long?” Annie asked Lula.

  “About a week,” Lula said.

  Annie turned to Buggy. “And what do you do?”

  “I’m a purse snatcher,” Buggy said.

  Lula looked over at Buggy. “He’s a good one, too. He’s real intimidating on account of he’s so big.”

  My mother set a full rump roast in front of my father, and my grandmother came in with a cauldron of mashed potatoes. My father carved up the roast, and my mother and grandmother brought green beans, gravy, and applesauce to the table.

  Buggy’s eyes were darting from dish to dish. He was sitting next to my father, and he had a good grip on his fork, waiting for a signal that he could dig in, keeping close watch on my father, who still held the big carving knife.

  My father selected a piece of meat and placed the knife on the table.

  “Buggy,” my mother said. “Help yourself.”

  “Yuh!” Buggy said, lunging for the meat platter, forking slabs of it onto his plate.

  In seconds he had a mountain of meat and potatoes, beans, and applesauce. He poured gravy over the mountain until it slopped over his plate and ran onto the tablecloth. He shoveled the food into his mouth, chewing, swallowing, grunting, smacking his lips. Gravy oozed out of his mouth and dripped off his chin. Everyone sat in frozen horror watching Buggy eat.

  “Isn’t he adorable,” Lula said. “Don’t you just love a man who enjoys his food?”

  “Get the antidote potion for Stephanie,” Annie said to Grandma. “The one I gave you. The little bottle with the pink liquid.”

  “Okay,” Grandma said, “but don’t let him eat my food while I’m gone.”

  “What antidote is that?” Lula asked.

  “I gave Stephanie a love potion a couple days ago,” Annie said, “but I found out it’s defective, so I prepared an antidote.”

  Grandma came with the little pink bottle. “Here it is,” she said, putting it on the table.

  “I was the one who drank Stephanie’s love potion,” Lula said. “How was it defective?”

  Annie went blank. She didn’t have an answer.

  Grandma jumped in. “It’ll give you worms,” she said. “If you don’t drink the antidote soon enough, you get worms and all your hair falls out.”

  “What about finding true love?” Lula asked.

  “You gotta make a choice between true love and worms,” Grandma said.

  Lula did a shiver. “I don’t want worms. Do you think it’s too late? Will the antidote work on me?”

  “Only one way to find out,” Grandma said.

  Lula chugged the bottle and felt her hair. “Anyone notice if I’ve been losing hair? Do I look like I got worms? I think I might feel some crawling around inside me.”

  “Anything else?” Annie asked. “Do you feel a little chilly?”

  “Yeah, maybe a little,” Lula said.

  “That’s a sign that the antidote is working,” Annie told her.

  Lula sat perfectly still. “I don’t feel nearly so wormy anymore.”

  Buggy took a slice of beef off Lula’s plate and shoved it into his mouth.

  “Say what?” Lula said to Buggy. “You just took my pot roast.”

  “Honey Pot’s hungry,” Buggy said.

  “Shrek wouldn’t never have taken Princess Fiona’s pot roast,” Lula said.

  “Well, I’m not Shrek,” Buggy said. “I’m Honey Pot.”

  “You’re no honey pot, either,” Lula told him. “Who the heck said you’re a honey pot?”

  “You did.”

  “I don’t think so,” Lula said. “You must be mistaken.”

  “I want dessert,” Buggy said.

  “How is that to act?” Lula said. “That’s just plain rude. You don’t go to someone’s house and ask for dessert. What’s the matter with you, anyways? I’m beginning to see you in a whole new light. Didn’t your mama ever teach you manners?”

  “I don’t need manners on account of I’m cute,” Buggy said.

  “You been operating under a delusion,” Lula said.

  “Huh, well I’m going home if I can’t have dessert. Give me the keys to your car.”

  Lula crinkled up her nose and squinted at him. “Excuse me?”

  “I’m driving home. I want your car.”

  “Are you smokin’ funny stuff or something? I’m not giving you my car. You’re lucky I don’t give you my foot up your ass.” Lula looked around the table. “Excuse me. I meant to say up your behind.”

  My father was smiling. Usually he ate fast, with his head down, tuning out my grandmother’s ramblings. Tonight he was enjoying Lula giving the what-for to Buggy.

  Buggy looked at my mother. “Is there dessert?”

  “I made a pie,” my mother said.

  Buggy sat up straight. “I like pie a lot.”

  “You’re a oaf, and you don’t deserve no pie,” Lula said.

  “You didn’t think I was a oaf this afternoon when you were doing nicky nacky on me,” Buggy said.

  My father gave a snort of laughter, and my mother knocked back a tumbler of whiskey.

  “That was before I took the antidote,” Lula told everyone. “I was under the influence of a potion.”

  “I like nicky nacky,” Buggy said, “but it’s not as good as pot roast.”

  My mother looked down the table at him, her eyes unfocused. “Thank you, dear.”

  “Maybe you should leave,” I said to Buggy.

  “Not until I get some pie.”

  “Will you leave if I give you half the pie?” I asked.

  “Yuh.”

  Minutes later, he was out the door with his pie, walking toward his parents’ house.

  “I’m worried about them worms,” Lula said. “I’m pretty sure I’ve still got them.”

  TWENTY-TWO

  “I DON’T KNOW how I could have thought I liked that idiot Buggy,” Lula said. “I tell you, you gotta be careful what you’re drinking these days.”

  I was cruising around the casino parking garage looking for a spot close to the elevator. I’d taken the time to lose Lancer and Slasher before driving south, but I still had to worry about Raz, and possibly others.

  I found something acceptable, and Lula and I took the elevator to the casino floor. I’m not much of a gambler, but I love being in a casino. I like the flash of lights, the bells ringing, the energy of the people, the theme park–fantasyland atmosphere. I’m willing to throw a small amount of money into the slots, but I have no illusion about winning. I can’t count fast enough to play blackjack, I’m like death at a roulette table, and I’m the world’s worst poker player.

  “First off, I gotta play some slots,” Lula said, taking it all in.

  “We’re working,” I told her. “And you always lose all your money when you play slots.”

  “Yeah, but I feel lucky today.”

  “You always say that.”

  “It’s on account of I’m a positive person. My glass is half full. You’re one of them half-empty-glass people.”

  “Knock yourself out,” I said. “I’ll call you if I need you.”

  This was my first time in this particular casino. It was located at the far end of the boardwalk, and it offered no good reason why anyone should walk the distance. I wandered around, getting the lay of the land, paying attention to security. Like every other casino, this one had uniformed guards and plainclothes guys who stoo
d flat-footed, eyes glazed over from tedium. An earbud plugged them into some central command, and the promise of a stiff drink at the end of their shift kept them from shooting themselves in desperation.

  I picked out a suit who looked like he’d rather be cleaning kennel cages than standing his shift, and I moved into his field of vision.

  “Hey,” I said. “How’s it going?”

  “Slow.”

  “Yeah, not a lot of people here. I guess it picks up on weekends. I haven’t been here in a while. Lately, I’ve been going to the other end of the boardwalk.”

  “You and everyone else.”

  “I used to talk to one of the security people here. He was real nice, but I don’t see him here tonight. His name is Mortimer Lancelot.”

  “Morty,” the guy said. “He doesn’t work here anymore. Budget cuts.”

  “Bummer. What’s he doing now? Is he at one of the other casinos?”

  “No. None of the casinos are hiring. He went outside. I heard a rumor he got a job as a night watchman for one of the vendors. Real crap job. He was a senior guy here, too.”

  Progress!

  “So who hired him? What’s he guarding? Slot machines? Liquor? Vending machines?”

  “I don’t know. Are you interested in Morty?”

  “Just making conversation.”

  “I get off in a couple hours. We could make conversation then if you want.”

  “Sure. That would be great. I’ll be around.”

  I crossed to the other side of the casino and climbed onto a barstool. There were two guys working behind the bar. One was keeping the cocktail waitresses supplied, and the other was servicing the bar customers. At the moment, there weren’t a lot of bar customers. Mostly me. I ordered a Cosmo and smiled when it was delivered.

  “Not a lot going on,” I said to the bartender.

  He studied me for a minute. “You were looking for action?”

  “No. I was looking for an old friend. I used to work with this guy years ago, and someone told me he worked here now, but I don’t see him. Morty Lancelot.”

  “You’re about six months late. Morty and a bunch of others got caught in a budget crunch, and it was adios.”

  “That sucks.”

  “Yeah, they got rid of everyone at the top of the pay scale. I’m still here because I work for peanuts. Literally.”

  He took a little glass dish, scooped peanuts into it from a tub under the bar, and set them in front of me.

  “I used to have a more balanced diet when they had wasabi peas, but the peas got cut with Morty,” he said.

  “Do you know where Morty is now?”

  “I heard he got a job with Billings.”

  “What’s Billings?”

  “Food purveyor. I see the truck at the loading dock every morning when I work days.”

  I finished my Cosmo and left a generous tip so the bar guy could get himself some peas. I roamed around a little more and eventually made my way back to the slots, where Lula was still feeding money into a machine.

  “How are you doing?” I asked her.

  “I won twenty dollars.”

  “How much have you spent?”

  “Seventy. These machines are rigged. This is a crooked casino.”

  “I accomplished my purpose,” I said. “I think I have a lead on the guys following me. Are you ready to leave?”

  “Yeah, I’m broke. This was a exhausting day. At least I got a grip on the worms before I left your mama’s house.”

  • • •

  It was close to midnight when I pulled into the Burg. If it had been a little earlier, I would have gone to the cemetery looking for Magpie. As it was, Lula was asleep, and I was wearing four-inch heels. Not great for chasing a guy down through grass and gravestones. I eased to a stop at my parents’ house and watched while Lula got into her Firebird and took off. I drove to my apartment building and did a scan of the parking lot. No Lincoln Town Car. No toaster car. No odd van. The big surprise was Morelli’s SUV. I parked next to it, got out, and looked up at my apartment. Lights were on. Morelli had a key, left over from more committed times.

  At least I didn’t have to worry about walking in and finding Raz hiding out in my kitchen, I thought. Or Joyce. So how did I feel about finding Morelli hiding out in my kitchen? Warm. Nice and warm. How scary is that?

  I let myself in, and Bob rushed to greet me. I gave him hugs and scratched behind his ears. I said hello to Rex, and went into the living room. The television was on, and Morelli was asleep on the couch. He was in jeans and T-shirt and socks. He was seven hours past a five o’clock shadow. He should have gotten a haircut a month ago. And he was incredibly sexy and cuddly as hell. I got the extra quilt from the closet and tucked him in. I shut the television and lights off. And I went to bed.

  • • •

  I woke up with Morelli’s arm draped over me, and I didn’t have to look under the covers to know he was naked. I ran my hand along the length of him, and his eyes half-opened.

  “Surprise,” he murmured.

  A half hour later, Morelli was in my shower and I was in the kitchen pulling breakfast together. Morning sex with Morelli is fun and satisfying, but never stretches into marathon territory. Morelli has other things to do in the morning. Morelli has murders to solve.

  I measured kibble into Bob’s bowl, gave him fresh water, and told him Morelli would be out any minute to take him for a walk. I got coffee brewing and plated a babka my mom had given me the night before.

  Morelli strolled into the kitchen the moment the coffee was done. He kissed me and poured himself a glass of juice.

  “I stopped in last night to tell you we made an arrest on the Korda case,” he said. “Where were you?”

  “Atlantic City. I was looking for a lead on the two guys who’ve been following me.”

  “And?”

  “I didn’t have a chance to follow through, but I think they might be working for a food purveyor that services the casino. Billings.” I took a chunk of babka. “Tell me about the arrest. Who’s the suspect?”

  “Carol Baumgarten. You probably don’t know her. She’s from Lawrenceville. We brought her in, and she totally cooperated. Claimed she never intended to kill anyone. She got tossed aside for Barnhardt, and she wanted to teach them a lesson. Her idea was to put them in the trunk, leave the car at the junkyard, and call Korda’s wife to retrieve him. Problem was, Korda’s wife never picked the message up on her cell phone, and Korda had a heart attack. By the time Baumgarten got worried and returned to the junkyard to rescue Korda, he’d already been compacted. So she panicked and started going through Stoli like it was water.”

  “How did you find her?”

  “Cab records. She called a cab to take her back to her car at the jewelry store. I guess she followed Korda for days, waiting for the right time.”

  “I’m surprised you’re sharing this with me.”

  “We have a taped confession and tons of physical evidence. Her prints were all over Joyce’s car. And I’m sure there are DNA matches. The woman sheds hair like a cat. And with the way things operate in this town, every detail will be circulated at Mabel’s Hair Salon and Giovichinni’s Market today. I don’t know how it gets leaked out, but it always does.”

  “Did you talk to Berger?”

  “No. We’ve been playing phone tag. I’ll try to hook up today.”

  Morelli left, and I went to my computer to get information on Billings. I found the company and scrolled through a bunch of pages. It looked like they distributed gourmet prepared food, specialty items, and premium meat and poultry. The warehouse and central offices were just north of Bordentown. It was a private company owned by Chester Billings. He wasn’t exactly squeaky clean. He’d been charged with income-tax evasion three years ago, but he’d settled up and nothing more had come of it. He’d also been charged with possession of stolen goods, but nothing had come of that, either.

  I plugged Chester Billings into a new search program that woul
d give me some personal history. He was born in New Brunswick. Parents were Mary and William Billings. Sister Brenda. Holy cow. Brenda.

  I put Brenda Schwartz into the same search program and read down. There it was … Brenda Billings. Brother Chester.

  Okay, so I had finally made a connection. And it was interesting. But I still had no idea why the photograph was important. Or, for that matter, what I had to do to get everyone off my back.

  I shut my computer down, took a shower, got dressed, and headed out. Lancer and Slasher fell in line behind me on Hamilton and followed me all the way. We parked in front of the bonds office, and I walked back to talk to them.

  “I know who you work for,” I said to Lancer.

  “I didn’t tell you,” he said.

  “No. I found out on my own.”

  “I guess it’s okay then.”

  “You don’t seem especially motivated to beat information out of me,” I said.

  “We’re following orders,” Lancer said. “We keep our eye on you and report back where you go and who you talk to.”

  “Razzle Dazzle is more aggressive.”

  Lancer snorted. “He’s a freak. He used to hang out at the casino until they kicked him out. He had a way of getting the slots to pay out. Works for some Somali nutcase. Used to brag about how he could cut off a finger with a single slash of his knife.”

  • • •

  Connie, Lula, and Vinnie were standing at silent attention when I walked into the office.

  “What’s going on?” I asked.

  “We’re listening,” Connie said. “Do you hear that?”

  I cocked my head and listened. “What am I supposed to be hearing?”

  “They’re squeaking,” Connie said. “They’re having a meeting.”

  “Who?”

  “The rats.”

  Oh boy.

  “I don’t hear them no more,” Lula said. “I’m not sure I ever heard them. I think the squeaking might have been Vinnie wheezin’.”

  “I don’t wheeze,” Vinnie said. “I’m the picture of health.”

  “Things to do. People to see,” I said. “There’s a warehouse I need to check out by Bordentown.”