Hardcore Twenty-Four

  I hustled down the stairs and out to Big Blue. I had a dilemma now. Where should I go? I didn’t want to go to my parents’ house if I was being stalked by a brain eater. They had enough problems managing Grandma. No reason to add some pseudo-zombie sneaking around, trying to get into their house.

  I needed to show the picture to Morelli, but I didn’t want to ruin his Sunday. I was afraid he’d feel compelled to abandon Anthony and go over every square inch of my hall with CSI. I also didn’t want to hang out in Morelli’s house all by myself. I supposed I could spend the day at Anthony’s, watching the bathtub get installed, but, honestly, I’d rather have my brain sucked out by one of the zombies.

  I had no idea how to get in touch with Diesel. He came and went like the wind. He gave me cellphone numbers that never worked. His cars had phony license plates. And I wasn’t sure what he could do for me anyway.

  That left the Holiday Inn or Ranger’s. I didn’t have money for the Holiday Inn, so it was going to be Ranger’s. He lived in a one-bedroom apartment on the seventh floor of his high-security office building. I’ve stayed there before when I needed a safe haven.

  I called Ranger, and he answered with his usual “Babe.”

  “I’ve got a situation here,” I said. “I was wondering if Rex and I could hang out at Rangeman for a short time.”

  “How short?”

  “Anywhere from a couple hours to a couple days.”

  “I’m in North Carolina with a client. I probably won’t be back in town until midweek or later, but I’ll notify the control room that you’re on your way. You know the drill.”

  “I do. Thanks.”

  I drove into the center of the city and turned onto a side street that was mostly residential. Ranger’s building is a discreet redbrick midrise that blends in with the rest of the neighborhood. The underground parking is gated and patrolled.

  I flashed my card at the gate, watched it roll away, and drove through. Ranger’s reserved parking is at the back, next to the elevator. The rest of the garage houses employee vehicles and the Rangeman fleet. I parked in one of Ranger’s spaces, hauled Rex out of the back seat, and stepped into the elevator. I looked up at the security camera and smiled hello. I slid my card into a slot by the door, and the elevator took me to Ranger’s private floor.

  His apartment is professionally decorated in blacks and browns. Walls are white. It’s uncluttered to the point of being impersonal. The furniture is sleek and comfortable. His sheets are two hundred thread count. His bathroom has fluffy white towels and Bulgari shower gel. His kitchen is small but well stocked. His housekeeper sees to it all.

  I let myself in and walked down the short hall to the kitchen. I put Rex on a section of countertop and gave him fresh water, a shelled walnut from a bag in the cupboard, and fruit salad from the fridge. Ranger eats healthy.

  I felt comfortable knowing everyone was safe. Rex was safe. Morelli and Bob were safe. My parents and Grandma were safe. I’d removed myself from all those places. If a zombie was out there looking for me and my brain, he’d have no reason to disturb anyone I loved.

  I watched Rex take his food out of his food cup and put it into his soup-can nest. After he had all his food stored away, he burrowed into his bedding material and disappeared. Okay, that was fun, but now I had nothing to do. I could go to the mall. I could go to the shore. I could take a nap.

  I was leaning toward the nap when my mom called.

  “Your grandmother is missing,” she said. “I came home from church, and no one was home.”

  “Where’s Dad?”

  “He’s at the lodge working a pancake breakfast. The man won’t butter his own bread at home, but he’s all about making pancakes at the lodge.”

  “Grandma goes out all the time.”

  “She left me a note. She said she was going to see her honey. And her suitcase isn’t in the attic with the rest of the suitcases. I think she’s going to Florida. I tried calling her, but she won’t answer.”

  Oh boy. Grandma and the swingers.

  “I was only gone for an hour and a half,” my mother said. “You might be able to catch her at the airport.”

  “Which airport? What airline?”

  “The one that goes to Florida,” my mother said.

  “The Trenton airport has flights to Florida, but they’re limited. If Grandma is trying to get to Florida, she’ll probably fly out of Newark. So how will she get to Newark?”

  “Myra Rulach or Ester Nelley. All her other friends have had their licenses confiscated.”

  “Call them and see if they took Grandma to the airport.”

  Ten minutes later my mom called back. “Ester Nelley took her to Newark Airport and dropped her off at United. You have to go get her.”

  “Why me?”

  “If I send your father he’ll personally put her on the plane. And I can’t go because I already took two Valium and had a calming cocktail.”

  “It’s not even noon! And no one’s died.”

  “Special circumstances,” my mother said. “I felt a migraine coming on. Anyway, you don’t have to live with this woman. You don’t know what it’s like. Last month she ran up a seventy-five-dollar bill on adult television. She said she was doing research on monkeys spanking fraternity men.”

  Sick and yet disturbingly intriguing.

  “Okeydokey then,” I said, “I’ll see if I can find Grandma.”

  I drove Big Blue out of Ranger’s garage and took Route 1 to the turnpike. There wasn’t a lot of traffic at this time on a Sunday, but even with light traffic it wasn’t a great drive. Needless to say, I was the only one on the road in a powder blue and white Buick Roadmaster. I took the turnoff to the airport and parked in short-term parking. I ran into the United terminal and didn’t see Grandma.

  I called my mom. “I’m at the airport, and I don’t see her,” I said. “A plane left for Miami twenty minutes ago. Call Ester back and see if Grandma was planning on taking that plane.”

  I sat in one of the waiting areas and cringed when my mom called back.

  “Ester said your grandmother was hoping to make the plane that just left. And then she was making connections for Key West.”

  Great. Key West. It might as well be the moon.

  I went to the ticket counter and got a ticket on the next flight out. It left at four-thirty and got into Miami at seven-thirty. The connecting Key West flight was at eight o’clock. Personally, I felt like Grandma was capable of taking care of herself, and if she wanted to go to Key West she should go to Key West. On the other hand, my mom was popping Valium and swilling down whiskey. And the spanking monkeys were troublesome. There was a small fear that Grandma would be romping around on a nude beach doing nooners with the swingers. I was no one to judge, but there were diseases to worry about.

  I walked around the airport, ate a turkey wrap for lunch, and called Morelli.

  “Did you get the bathtub in?” I asked him.

  “Yeah. It looks good. Rooney came over and hooked up the plumbing.”

  “And now?”

  “Now we’re grilling burgers and sausages. You should come over.”

  “Rain check. I’m in Newark Airport. Grandma decided to go to Florida to hook up with Mr. Wrong, so I’ve been dispatched to bring her back. I’m one flight behind her.”

  “How do you know it’s Mr. Wrong?”

  “I ran a background on him. He’s married, and he belongs to a swingers club.”

  “There are still swingers clubs? I thought they went the way of the phone booth.”

  “This one is in Key West.”

  “I guess that explains some of it,” Morelli said. “How long do you expect to be in Florida?”

  “No longer than necessary. My hope is that I’ll catch up with Grandma at the connecting flight. If I get to her in time we might be able to make a ni
ne o’clock plane back to Newark. If I don’t get to her in time, I’ll have to hunt her down in Key West.”

  “What if Grandma doesn’t want to come home?”

  “I’ll bribe her with a puppy.”

  “Sounds like a plan,” Morelli said. “Good luck.”

  I checked my email and Facebook page, ate a bag of M&M’s, and dozed in the waiting area until my plane boarded. There were a lot of strange people in the airport, but none that looked like a zombie. So it was all good.

  The flight was uneventful, and we landed on time. I went to the gate for the Key West connection and found Grandma on a bench in the lounge.

  “For goodness’ sakes,” she said when she saw me. “This is a surprise. Are you going to Key West? I didn’t know you were planning a trip.”

  “Mom was worried about you and sent me to make sure you were okay.”

  “Of course, I’m okay. I’m just dandy. My Key West boyfriend invited me to a party at his seniors club.”

  Eeeek. “I need to talk to you about that club.”

  “He said they had some fun activities, and I figured since Willie Kuber turned out to be a dud I might as well see what Roger Murf is about.”

  “I got the background check on Murf. He’s married. And the seniors club is for swingers.”

  “The married part is a disappointment,” Grandma said. “Did you get a picture?”

  I pulled the photo out of my messenger bag and handed it over to her. “The woman is his wife, Miriam.”

  Grandma studied the photo. “He’s no George Hamilton.”

  “Only George Hamilton is George Hamilton.”

  Grandma nodded. “George Hamilton is a good-looking man. This Roger Murf isn’t doing it for me. And since Roger Murf is one of those swingers, I’m thinking he only wanted me for my body,” Grandma said.

  “He wanted you for Mom’s body.”

  “Technically that’s true, but a senior citizens’ swingers club might not be too picky. I bet I could pull it off. I might have to get one of them Brazilian wax jobs. I hear they’re painful. And when they’re done with you, you’re bald down there.”

  “How about a puppy? Why don’t we go home and get a puppy?”

  “That would beat the heck out of a swingers party,” Grandma said.

  “Okay, it’s settled. If we hurry, we can get back to United in time for a flight to Newark and then we can get the puppy first thing in the morning.”

  “I’m going to name him Henry,” Grandma said.

  • • •

  It was after midnight when we deplaned in Newark. The airport shops and restaurants were closed, and the corridors were mostly empty. Grandma had a small carry-on bag, and I had nothing other than my messenger bag. We bypassed the checked baggage carousels and walked through the terminal directly to short-term parking. I found Big Blue and was confronted with the reality that I’d parked in short-term all day. Between the airfare and the parking, it had been a costly night. And tomorrow I was going to have to buy Grandma a puppy!

  It was a long, quiet drive in the dark back to Trenton. I’d texted my mom and told her I was bringing Grandma home. I didn’t tell her about the puppy.

  Lights were still on in my parents’ house when I pulled to the curb. My mom was waiting up for Grandma.

  “Thanks for going all that ways to tell me about the Murfs,” Grandma said. “It’s probably just as well I didn’t go to the party. I don’t know if I want to look at a bunch of naked old people. It would be different if it was those Chippendales men.”

  I waited until Grandma was safely inside, and then I headed over to Morelli’s neighborhood. I drove down his street and idled in front of his house. It was dark. I hadn’t called him, and he wasn’t expecting me. Not that it mattered. I had a key. I parked Big Blue at the curb, let myself in, and started to tiptoe up the stairs when Bob came bounding down and slammed into me. So much for my stealth entrance.

  Morelli was at the head of the stairs. He was naked, and he had a gun.

  “I wasn’t expecting you,” Morelli said.

  “I see you’re armed and dangerous.”

  He looked down at himself. “It’s going to get a lot more dangerous now that you’re here.”

  TWENTY-TWO

  I HEARD MORELLI calling me through the fog of sleep. His hand was on my bare shoulder. I think he kissed me on the forehead. Or maybe I was dreaming.

  “Steph!”

  I opened my eyes. “Again?”

  “No,” Morelli said. “I have to go to work, but I need to show you something first.”

  “What time is it?”

  “Six o’clock.”

  “In the morning?” I sat up and swung my legs over the side of the bed. “This better be good. I hope you’re not going to show me the same stuff you showed me last night.”

  Morelli grinned. “You liked it last night.”

  “Yes, but that was last night. I’m not a morning person.” I looked around for my clothes. “Should I get dressed?”

  Morelli grabbed a robe from the closet, stuffed me into it, and tied the belt. “This will only take a minute,” he said. “And then you can go back to bed.”

  I followed him down the stairs to the front door and stared at the words scratched into it: NEED BRAIN. Below it was the stick figure of a woman with curly hair. A half-empty take-out container and plastic fork had been left in the middle of Morelli’s sidewalk.

  “What’s with the trash?” I asked.

  “Zombie late-night snack,” Morelli said. “The deli label says ‘calf brains,’ and I’m not sure, but it looks like it was doused with hot sauce.”

  He took a plastic evidence bag from his pocket and gingerly dropped the take-out container and fork into it.

  “How could the zombie have known I was here?” I asked.

  “Maybe it didn’t. Maybe this was random.”

  “I don’t think it was random. When I went back to my apartment yesterday, ‘brains’ and ‘die’ had been scratched into my door. There was a smear of something that looked like blood. And the elevator smelled like carnations.”

  “You didn’t tell me.”

  “I didn’t want to ruin your day.”

  “Nice of you, but misguided.”

  “It would be good if you could figure this out and get rid of the zombies.”

  “I should start to get the lab reports back today. Plus, I’m going back to Diggery’s woods with a search team. In the meantime, you need to be careful. Keep the doors locked. And I can’t believe I’m saying this, but put some bullets in your gun.”

  “Did the zombie write anything on my car?”

  “It looks like it tried but couldn’t scratch through the paint.”

  “If you’re going back to Diggery’s woods, I’d appreciate it if you’d feed Ethel. She’ll eat almost anything. Pizza, burgers, rotisserie chicken, roadkill.”

  Morelli grimaced, kissed me goodbye, and waited for me to go inside and lock the door. I watched him drive away, and I looked down at Bob.

  “No way am I going back to bed,” I said. “I’m not taking a shower here, either. I’m moving out.”

  I picked my clothes up off the bedroom floor and put them on. I made the bed. And I made a fast stop in the kitchen for a bag of dog food.

  “Don’t worry,” I said to Bob, hooking him up to his leash. “I’m not leaving you here. Bob brain isn’t going to be on the zombie menu.”

  We piled into Big Blue, and I drove to the office. It was a little after seven o’clock, and no one was there. The office didn’t open until eight o’clock.

  “No problem,” I said to Bob. “We need breakfast anyway.”

  I drove past the office to the Cluck-in-a-Bucket drive-thru. I ordered two Clucky Lucky Breakfast Meals and a large coffee. I picked up the food and parked in the lot. T
he breakfast meal included an egg and cheese sandwich on an English muffin, home fries that had been compressed into something resembling a deck of cards, and a mystery pastry.

  Bob snarfed his food down in about fifteen seconds. I ate at a slightly more leisurely pace, but even at that, I still had some time to kill. I returned to the bonds office, parked the car, and walked Bob until Connie showed up and unlocked the front door. Lula was minutes behind her.

  “What’s with Bob?” Lula asked. “You don’t usually hang with him.”

  “It’s complicated,” I said. “The short version is that I don’t feel comfortable leaving him in Morelli’s house alone.”

  “What about your house?” Connie asked. “What about your parents’ house?”

  “Even worse.”

  “Is this about the zombies?” Lula asked. “Are they eating dog brains now? I’ve been doing research, and zombies can’t see real good with their red eyes, but they got a class A nose . . . unless it’s been rotted away. I don’t know what zombies do when their nose rots away. Anyway, if they have a nose, they can track you down by your scent, so all you have to do is smell different. I’m thinking about going into business making anti-zombie stink spray. It would be a combination of smells to confuse a zombie. Like cucumber and cat pee. Or maybe cow sweat and licorice. Stuff like that, you see what I’m saying? I bet I could clean up on stink spray.”

  “No one is going to want to smell like cucumber and cat pee,” I said.

  “Well, I guess people gotta make up their mind if they want their brains sucked out by a zombie, or if they want to smell like one of my designer stink sprays,” Lula said. “I’m going into production as soon as I can find the right spray nozzle. I already got a source for cucumbers and cat pee.”

  “If you come into the office smelling like cucumber and cat pee you’re out of a job,” Connie said.