Four to Score

  We left through the front door, and I noticed the van parked across the street.

  “Grossman,” Morelli said.

  “He have a Duc in that van?”

  “No. He's got a two-​way radio, a crossword puzzle book, and a jelly jar.”

  I had my eye on the Porsche and the butter-​soft leather seats. And I knew I'd look very cool in the Porsche.

  “Forget it,” Morelli said. “Take the Buick. If you get into trouble the Buick is built like a tank.”

  “I'm going to the beauty parlor,” I said. “I'm not going to get into trouble.”

  “Cupcake, your middle name is trouble.”

  Sally was standing between the Porsche and the Buick. “So, like, what's it gonna be?” he asked.

  “The Porsche,” I said. “Definitely the Porsche.”

  Sally buckled himself in. “This car does zero to a hundred in a fucking second.” He cranked the engine over and catapulted us off the curb.

  “Yow!” I said. “This is a family neighborhood. Slow down!”

  Sally looked at me from behind reflector shades. “I like speed, man. Speed is good.”

  I had my hands braced on the dashboard. “Stop street! Stop street!”

  “Stops on a dime,” Sally said, stomping on the brake.

  I jerked against the shoulder harness. “Ulk.”

  Sally lay an affectionate hand on the steering wheel. “This car is like a total engineering experience.”

  “Are you on drugs?”

  “No way. Not this early in the day,” Sally said. “What do I look like, a bum?”

  He turned onto Hamilton and lead-​footed it to Clip and Curl. He parked and looked at the shop over the tops of his glasses. “Retro.”

  Dolly had converted the downstairs part of her two-​story house into a beauty parlor. I'd come here as a little girl to get my bangs cut, and nothing had changed since then. If it was midday or Saturday, the place would be packed. Since it was early morning only two women were under dryers. Myrna Olsen and Doris Zayle.

  “Ommigod,” Myrna said, shouting over the noise of the dryer. “I just heard the news about you marrying Joseph Morelli. Congratulations.”

  “I always knew you two would get married,” Doris said, pushing the dryer off her head. “You were made for each other.”

  “Hey, I didn't know you dudes were married,” Sally said. “Way to go.”

  Everyone gaped at Sally. Men didn't come into the Clip and Curl. And Sally pretty much looked like a man today . . . with the possible exceptions of his lip gloss and two-​inch dangly rhinestone earrings.

  “This is Sally,” I told them.

  “Chill,” Sally said, giving them a rapper fist kind of greeting. “Thought maybe I'd get a manicure. My nails are like trashed.”

  They looked confused.

  “Sally's a drag queen,” I said.

  “Isn't that something,” Myrna said. “Imagine.”

  Doris leaned forward. “Do you wear dresses?”

  “Mostly skirts,” Sally said. “I'm too long-​waisted for dresses. I don't think they're flattering. Of course, I have a couple gowns. Gowns are different. Everyone looks good in a gown.”

  “Being a drag queen must be so glamorous,” Myrna said.

  “Yeah, well, it's okay until they start to throw beer bottles at you,” Sally said. “Getting hit with beer bottles is a fucking bummer.”

  Dolly examined my hair. “What on earth happened to you? It looks like someone cut big chunks out of your hair.”

  “I got egg stuck in it, and it got hard, and it had to get cut out.”

  Myrna and Doris rolled their eyes at each other and went back under the dryers.

  An hour later Sally and I slid back into the Porsche. Sally had cherry-​red nails, and I looked like Grandma Mazur. I looked at myself in the visor mirror and felt tears pooling behind my eyes. My naturally curly hair was cut short, and perfect Tootsie Roll curls covered my head.

  “Massive,” Sally said. “They look like fucking dog turds.”

  “You should have told me she was doing this!”

  “I couldn't see. I was drying my nails. Excellent manicure.”

  “Take me to Joe's house. I'm going to get my gun and kill myself.”

  “It just needs to be a little mussed,” Sally said. He reached over. “Let me fix it up for you. I'm good at this.”

  I looked in the mirror when he was done. “Eeeeek!” I looked like Sally.

  “See,” he said. “I know just how to do it. I have naturally curly hair, too.”

  I took another look. I guessed it was better than the dog turds.

  “Maybe we should cruise over to north Trenton,” I said. “Check out Eddie Kuntz. Make sure he isn't sitting in his kitchen having lunch.”

  Sally stepped on the gas, and my head snapped back.

  “Jackrabbit start,” he said.

  “How long have you had this car?”

  “Three weeks.”

  My radar was tingling. “You have a license?”

  “Used to.”

  Oh boy.

  * * * * *

  THE LINCOLN TOWN CAR was in front of the Glick half of the house. Of course, Kuntz's half was without car.

  “This doesn't feel good,” I said to Sally.

  “Like maybe ol' Eddie Kuntz is fish food.”

  I imagined, now that Eddie's car had been found abandoned, his aunt and uncle would be wringing their hands. Maybe they'd be distraught enough to let me into Eddie's apartment to snoop around.

  Leo Glick opened his front door before I had a chance to knock.

  “Saw you drive up,” he said. “What kind of cockamammy car is that anyway? Looks like a big silver egg.”

  “It's a Porsche,” Sally said.

  Leo squinted at him. “What's with the earrings?”

  “I felt like being pretty today, man,” Sally said, shaking his head to give Leo the full effect. “See how they sparkle in the sun? Fucking awesome, huh?”

  Leo backed up a step, as if Sally might be dangerous. “What do you want?” he asked me.

  “I don't suppose you've heard from Eddie?”

  “Don't suppose I have. And I gotta tell you I'm getting sick of people asking about him. First the cops come this morning to tell us about his car. Big deal. He left his car somewhere. Then some bimbo comes around asking about him. And now here you are on my doorstep with Miss America.”

  “What kind of bimbo? Do you remember her name?”

  “Joyce.”

  Great. Just what I need. More Joyce.

  “Who is it?” Betty called from inside the house. She looked around Leo's shoulder. “Oh, it's you. Why do you keep bothering us? Why don't you just mind your own business?”

  “I'm surprised you aren't more worried about your nephew. What about his parents? Aren't his parents worried?”

  “His parents are in Michigan. Visiting. We got relatives there,” Leo said. “And we aren't worried, because Eddie's a bum. He does this all the time. The only reason we put up with him is because he's blood. We give him cheap rent, but that don't mean we have to baby-​sit him.”

  “You mind if I look around?”

  “Damn right I mind,” Leo said. “I don't want no one creeping around my house.”

  “As it is, I've had the phone ringing ever since the police were here. Everyone wanting to know what's going on,” Betty said.

  “Next thing you know there'll be TV trucks pulling up, and I'll be on the evening news because her nephew's a bum.”

  “He's your nephew, too,” Betty said.

  “Only by marriage, and that don't hardly count.”

  “He's not so bad,” Betty said.

  “He's a bum. A bum!”

  Stephanie Plum 4 - Four To Score

  Stephanie Plum 4 - Four To Score

  Stephanie Plum 4 - Four To Score

  14

  SALLY AND I stood at the curb by the Porsche and watched the Glicks making shooing motions at us. br />
  “They're like . . . lame people,” Sally said.

  “When I first met them I had the feeling they liked Kuntz. At least Betty. In the beginning she was inviting me in for pound cake. And she was warm. Sort of motherly.”

  “Maybe they're the ones who offed of Eddie. Maybe he didn't pay his rent. Maybe he insulted Betty's pound cake.”

  I didn't think they offed Eddie Kuntz, but I did think they were acting odd. If I had to pin down emotions I'd say they were scared and angry. They definitely didn't want me sticking my nose into their business. Which meant either they had something to hide or else they didn't like me. Since I couldn't imagine anyone not liking me, I was going to assume they had something to hide. And the most obvious thing they would have to hide would be knowledge of Eddie Kuntz. Like maybe whoever snatched him had gotten in touch with Uncle Leo and Aunt Betty and had scared the beejeebers out of them.

  Or here's another thought. Maybe Kuntz's mixed up with the counterfeit stuff and has gone underground. Maybe the note passed through the bartender was to warn him. And maybe Kuntz told Uncle Leo that he's okay and that Leo should keep his mouth shut and not let anybody come snooping . . . or else. Jesus, maybe his closets are filled with stacks of twenties!

  Betty was still making the shooing sounds, but now she was mouthing the word go.

  “How about I drive,” I said to Sally. “I've always wanted to drive a Porsche.” Also, I've always wanted to live.

  My pager went off, and I looked at the number. It wasn't familiar. I hauled my cell phone out of my shoulder bag and dialed.

  The voice at the other end was excited. “Jeez, that was fast!”

  I squinted at the phone. Like squinting would help me to think better. “Who is this?”

  “Bernie! You know, the vegetable guy. And I got news for you. Francine Nowicki just came in. She wanted some special produce, if you get my drift.”

  Yes! “Is she there now?”

  “Yeah. I was real smart. I told her I couldn't get anything for her until I went on my break, and then I called you right away. I figured your friend said she'd be grateful and all.”

  “I'm on my way. Make sure Mrs. Nowicki stays there until I arrive.”

  “Your friend's with you, right?”

  I disconnected and jumped into the car. “We just got a break!” I said, buckling myself in, plugging the key into the ignition. “Mama Nowicki's shopping for fruit.”

  “Far out,” Sally said. “Fruit is cosmic.”

  I didn't want to tell him what sort of fruit Bernie was selling. I was afraid he'd clean Bernie out and there wouldn't be any left for Maxine's mother.

  I took off from the curb with my foot to the floor.

  “Wow! Warp speed, Mr. Sulu,” Sally said. “Excellent.”

  Ten minutes later, give or take a few seconds, I cruised into the supermarket lot and parked. I wrote a note to Bernie telling him to give Francine Nowicki enough “produce” for only one day, and instructed him to tell her she'd have to come back tomorrow for the rest. Just in case I lost her today. I signed it “Love and kisses, your new friend, Stephanie.” And then I added that Lula sent her love, too.

  “There's a little guy in the produce department who looks like R2D2,” I told Sally. “Give him this note and take off. If you see Maxine's mother, don't go near her. Just give Bernie the note and come back here, so we can follow her when she leaves.”

  Sally loped across the lot on his long legs, earring glittering in the sunlight, rat's nest hair bobbing as, he walked. He swung through the big glass doors and turned toward Produce. I lost sight of him for a moment and then he was back in my line of vision, heading out.

  “She was there,” he said, folding himself into the little car. “I saw her standing by the apples. You can't miss her with that big bandage on her head. She's got it covered with a scarf, but you can still see it's a bandage underneath.”

  I'd chosen a spot off to the side, next to a van so we'd be less visible. We fell into silence, watching the door.

  “There!” Sally yelped. “She's coming!”

  We scrunched down in our seats, but it wasn't necessary. Mrs. Nowicki was parked in the front on the other side of the lot. And she wasn't being careful. Just another day in the life of a housewife. Out to do the marketing, scoring some dope from Businessman Bernie.

  She was driving an old, beat-​up Escort. If she was flush with funny money, she sure wasn't spending it on transportation. I let her get some space on me, and then I crept out of the lot after her. After a half mile I had a depressing feeling about her destination. After another half mile I was sure. She was going home. Maxine wasn't Albert Einstein, but I also didn't think she was dumb enough to hide out at her mother's house.

  Mrs. Nowicki parked in front of her house and shuffled inside. If I thought Maxine was on the premises I had the right as a bounty hunter to break down the door and go in guns drawn. I wasn't going to do this because, first off, I didn't have a gun with me. And secondly, I'd feel like an idiot.

  “Guess it wouldn't hurt to talk to her,” I said.

  Sally and I knocked on the door and Mrs. Nowicki stepped into view. “Look what the cat drug in,” she said.

  “How's your head?” This was my friendly approach, designed to throw drunken, pothead Mrs. Nowicki off guard.

  She drew on her cigarette. “My head's peachy. How's your car?”

  So much for friendly. “The insurance company felt sorry for me, so they gave me this Porsche.”

  “Yeah, up your ass,” she said. “The Porsche belongs to the freak.”

  “Seen Maxine lately?”

  “Not since she took off at the beach.”

  “You left the house early.”

  “Got tired of sand,” Maxine said. “What's it to you?”

  I moved past her, into her living room. “You don't mind if I look around?”

  “You got a search warrant?”

  “Don't need one.”

  Her eyes followed me as I moved through the house. “This is harassment.”

  It was a small bungalow. All on one floor. Easy to see Maxine wasn't there. “Looks like you're packing.”

  “Yeah, I'm cleaning out my Dior stuff. I decided I was only wearing Versace from now on.”

  “If you see Maxine . . .”

  “Right. I'm gonna call you.”

  There was an end table and chair by the door. A .38 had been placed on the end table.

  “You think you need that?” I asked.

  Mrs. Nowicki stubbed her cigarette out in the ashtray by the gun. “Doesn't hurt to be careful.”

  We got back in the car and my pager beeped, displaying my mother's number.

  Grandma answered my callback. “We just wanted to know if you'll be home for dinner,” Grandma said.

  “Probably.”

  “And what about Sally?”

  “Sally, too.”

  “I saw he was wearing rhinestones when he went out today. You think I should get dressed up for supper?”

  “Not necessary.”

  I took off and drove back to the supermarket. I had one last detail to check out with Bernie.

  Sally and I staggered through the heat into the air-​conditioned store. Bernie was ripping leaves off heads of lettuce when he saw us. His eyes got round, and by the time we got up to him, he was jiggling around, unable to stand still.

  “Oh man,” Bernie said, “you're back! Holy cow!” He was beaming at Sally, and he was wringing his hands. “I thought I recognized you, but I wasn't sure. And then when I saw you just now I knew! You're Sally Sweet! Jeez, I'm a big fan. A big fan! I go to the club all the time. I love that all-​girl revue. Boy, you guys are great. And that Sugar. She's the best. I could really go for her. She's the most beautiful woman I've ever seen.”

  “Sugar's a guy,” I said.

  “Get out!”

  “Hey,” I said. “I know about these things.”