Plum Spooky

  “Do you need help? Do you want me to hose you off in the parking lot?”

  “Jeez Louise,” I said. “I had a really crumby morning and I’ve got egg in my hair. Could I get a little sensitivity here?”

  Diesel smiled. “I could take a shot at it.” He gathered me into his arms, held me close, and leaned his head against mine. “You smell nice,” he said. “Like fruit salad.”

  __________________

  AN HOUR LATER, we were all in the Escalade. Carl had pitched a fit about being left alone, so we’d brought him along. He was in the backseat, strapped in by a seat belt, his hands folded in his lap, looking as if at any moment he was going to ask if we were there yet.

  “Is it me, or is this whole monkey thing getting a little Twilight Zone?” Diesel asked, checking Carl out in the rearview mirror.

  “You think it’s just getting Twilight Zone? You don’t think it’s always been Twilight Zone?”

  “Have you heard anything from his mother?”

  “No. Not a word.”

  “It’s like we’ve adopted a hairy little kid,” Diesel said. “There’s something about him sitting in the backseat that’s friggin’ spooky.”

  I looked over my shoulder at Carl, and he sent me a finger wave.

  “So if I wasn’t along for the ride, would you just pop yourself over to Philadelphia?” I asked Diesel.

  “No. It’s not that easy to get popped someplace.”

  “Wulf didn’t seem to have a lot of trouble with it. Is he more powerful than you?”

  “No. He’s just different.”

  “How so?”

  “For starters, he kills people.”

  Diesel crossed the Delaware River into Pennsylvania.

  “Do you know Wulf?”

  “Yes.”

  “Have you known him for a long time?”

  “I’ve known him forever,” Diesel said. “He’s my cousin.”

  That took my breath away. His cousin. He was hunting down a family member!

  “This must be hard on you,” I said to Diesel. “I would hate to be in that position.” And my mother would be in a state.

  “Someone has to disable Wulf, and I’ve been tapped. Even if it wasn’t my job, I would probably feel compelled to stop him.”

  “Has he always been bad?”

  “He’s always been different. Intense, melancholy, angry, obsessed with his power. And brilliant.”

  Diesel looked normal. He was the embodiment of the all-​American charismatic oaf. But he was from a gene pool closely related to Wulf. And Wulf wasn’t nearly normal. Wulf dominated his airspace and radiated unnatural energy. And God knows what else Wulf could do. So I had a few thoughts here about Diesel and his abilities that went beyond normal. Or heck, maybe I’ve just seen so much weird stuff since I became a bounty hunter that I’ll believe anything.

  Carl was making sounds in the backseat. “Puh, puh, puh.”

  Diesel looked at him in the rearview mirror. “What’s with the monkey?”

  “I think he’s amusing himself.”

  “Puh, puh, puh, puh, puh,” Carl said.

  Diesel turned the radio on and Carl made the sounds louder.

  “PUH, PUH, PUH, PUH.”

  Diesel shut the radio off and shot a black look at Carl. “If you keep making that sound, I’m going to set you out at the side of the road and not come back for you.”

  Carl blew out a sigh and went silent.

  “Feeling cranky?” I asked Diesel.

  “Not until a couple minutes ago.”

  “Chirrup,” Carl said. “Chirrup, chirrup, chirrup.”

  “Do you have your gun with you?” Diesel asked me.

  “Yeah, but there aren’t any bullets in it.”

  “Probably a good thing,” Diesel said.

  “Chirrup, chirrup, chirrup, chirrup, chirrup,” Carl said.

  Diesel exited the highway and hooked a right.

  “You aren’t really going to leave him on the side of the road, are you?” I asked him.

  “No. I saw a sign for Wal-​Mart. I’m making a pit stop.”

  He pulled into the lot and parked. “Stay here. I’ll be right back.”

  Carl sat up straight and looked out the window. “Eeee?”

  “No,” I said. “We’re not there yet. Pit stop.”

  Carl looked confused. He didn’t know pit stop.

  “Just go with it,” I told him. “Diesel will be back in a couple minutes.”

  “Chirrup.”

  Ten minutes later, Diesel jogged back to the SUV. Carl had gone from chirrup, to choo choo choo, to buhbuhbuhbuh, and I was on the verge of gonzo. Diesel angled behind the wheel, handed me a bag, and tossed a bag into the backseat.

  “Knock yourself out,” Diesel said to Carl.

  “What’s in his bag?”

  “Food and an electronic game. I got them to sell me the demo that was already charged.”

  “What’s in my bag?”

  “Food.”

  Carl selected a bag of chips, and I did the same.

  “That was pretty smart,” I said to Diesel.

  Diesel stuck his hand into the chip bag and took a fistful. “I have a highly developed sense of self-​preservation, and a low tolerance for monkey business.”

  “What do you expect to get from Scanlon’s sister?”

  “I don’t know. You throw the net out and see what you pull in.”

  “I hate intruding at a time like this. She just found out someone killed her brother.”

  “She’ll want that person brought to justice. And I’m sure you’re good at talking to a grieving woman.”

  “Me? What about you?”

  “I suck at it.”

  “You’re kidding! You’re going to make me do the interrogation?”

  “Yeah. This is one of those girl skills.”

  “That’s so sexist.”

  “And?”

  “What do you want me to ask her?”

  “I’m looking for real estate. I’m guessing Wulf and Munch are holed up somewhere in south Jersey within commuting distance to Trenton. I did property searches on Munch and Scanlon and nothing turned up. I looked for Wulf using known aliases and holding companies and got zero. I guess they could be under assumed names in a high-​roller suite at Caesars, but it would be impractical. Especially if they’re working with illegal technology. Munch was a complete loner with no Jersey ties that we know of. That leaves Scanlon. Ask about the missing sister.”

  “There could also be a third person involved. Someone we haven’t discovered yet.”

  “It’s possible.”

  Carl was examining the hand held game. He shook it and smelled it. He bit it. He looked forward to me. I leaned over the seat and showed Carl how to turn the game on and push the buttons.

  A castle appeared on the screen. Blue sky. Clouds. Music. Birds flying. A little man ran into the center of the screen. The little man was joined by a pretty girl in a pink gown. Lightning struck the castle. The castle exploded.

  “Eep,” Carl said.

  The man and the pink-​gowned girl returned and Carl hunkered in, eyes narrowed, concentrating.

  Diesel was back on the road, the big Escalade rolling south like a cruise ship under full power. Farms flew by the window, and in the backseat Carl was barely breathing as his fingers twitched on the game buttons and the happy sounds of Super Mario Bros. drifted up to us.

  _________________

  ROBERTA SCANLON LIVED in a brick row house in a blue-​collar section of north Philadelphia. According to Diesel’s research, she had never married, and she worked out of her house doing Web site design and maintenance. We sat at the curb for a couple minutes, watching the house, getting a sense of the neighborhood. It was quiet at this time of the day. No traffic. No kids playing outdoors. No dogs barking. Only Carl the Monkey making Mario music in the backseat.

  “Okay, cutie-​pie,” Diesel said to me. “Go do your thing.”

  I blew out a sigh
and heaved myself out of the SUV. I hated this part of my job. I hated prying into people’s private lives and intruding on their grief. I understood that it was sometimes necessary, but that didn’t make it any more palatable. I trudged up the sidewalk and rang the bell, thinking I wouldn’t mind if Roberta wasn’t home. No such luck. Roberta Scanlon opened the door and looked out at me.

  “Yes?” Roberta said.

  I apologized for the intrusion, introduced myself, and asked if I could speak with her.

  “I suppose,” she said, “but I’ve already spoken to the police. I just don’t know what more I can tell you.”

  “Did your brother own property in south Jersey?”

  “Not that I know about, but he didn’t tell me much. It’s not like we were a close family. I couldn’t even tell you when I talked to him last.”

  Roberta was in her forties but looked older. Her brown hair was shot with gray; her face was lined and makeup-​free. Her clothes were shapeless, designed for comfort and not for fashion.

  “I couldn’t find any information on your sister, Gail,” I said to Roberta. “I couldn’t find an address.”

  “Gail’s a free spirit. She doesn’t exactly have an address, although she obviously lives somewhere. Everyone lives somewhere, right? Even street people live somewhere.”

  “How do you get in touch with her? Does she have a cell phone?”

  “She has a post office box in Marbury. I sent her a letter about Eugene, but I haven’t heard anything back.”

  “When was the last time you saw her?”

  “Years ago. She came for our father’s funeral. She flitted in and flitted out. She said she had to get back to her animals. I don’t know what kind of animals she was talking about. Gail always has some sort of cause. She left home after she graduated from high school so she could live in a tree and save a habitat for owls. After that it was wood ducks. And I think at one time she had a collection of rabbits that she’d rescued from a cosmetics lab.”

  “But she always gets her mail in Marbury?”

  “So far as I know. I guess she could have it forwarded somewhere.”

  “And what’s her last name?”

  “Scanlon. She never married. None of us ever married.”

  I left my card with Roberta and asked her to call if she heard from Gail.

  “Well?” Diesel wanted to know when I buckled myself in next to him.

  “Not much. Her sister doesn’t have an address, but she has a post office box in Marbury. And it sounds like she’s made a career of saving owl habitats and rabbit eyelids.”

  “That’s it? That’s all you got?”

  “Yep.”

  “Where’s Marbury?” he asked.

  I got a map out of the side-​door pocket and found Marbury. “It’s on the way to Atlantic City” I said. “Give or take a bunch of miles.”

  Carl tapped me on the shoulder. “Eep.”

  “What?”

  “Eep.”

  “I don’t speak monkey” I told him. “I don’t know eejs”

  He pointed to his crotch and crossed his legs.

  “I think he has to go to the bathroom,” I said to Diesel.

  Diesel powered a back window down. “Go to it,” he said to Carl.

  Carl looked out the window and looked up and down the street and shook his head.

  Diesel cut his eyes to Carl. “Dude, you’re a monkey. You can do it anywhere.”

  Carl shrugged.

  “I think he might have some species confusion,” I said to Diesel.

  Diesel put the car into gear and drove back to the main street. He cruised two blocks, found a McDonald’s, and parked. Carl jumped out the window and scampered to the door to McDonald’s. He grabbed the handle with both hands, but he couldn’t get the door to open.

  “I’ll get it,” I said to Diesel. “I could use a milk shake. Do you want anything?”

  “Double cheeseburger, fries, Coke.”

  I opened the door for Carl, and he rushed off. I put my order in, paid the cashier, and was about to leave with my food when there was a muffled scream from the ladies’ rest-​room. A door banged open, and a woman stormed out with Carl in tow.

  “Who owns this monkey?” she asked. “It was in the ladies’ room, looking under all the stall doors.”

  Carl pointed to me.

  “You need to teach your monkey some manners,” the woman said.

  I looked down at Carl. “Are you done?” I asked him.

  He shrugged, and we quickly walked back to the SUV. I sucked down my milk shake, Diesel ate his burger, and Carl ate his box of cookies.

  “Your monkey was looking under the stall doors in the ladies’ room,” I told Diesel.

  “That’s my boy,” Diesel said.

  Stephanie Plum 14.5 - Plum Spooky

  TEN

  IT WAS ALMOST four o’clock when we rolled into Marbury. Diesel nosed the SUV into a parking space in front of the post office and unbuckled his seat belt.

  “My turn,” he said. “This shouldn’t take long. It sounds like Gail Scanlon’s had a post office box here for years. I’m hoping someone knows her.”

  I watched Diesel walk away and I enjoyed the view. I had no intention of getting involved, but that didn’t mean I was blind to the masterpiece in front of me. Diesel was a big, solid guy who moved with seemingly effortless efficiency. Everything about him was in perfect proportion. And from where I was sitting, his ass looked like Little Bear’s bed . . . not too hard, and not too soft, but just right.

  Diesel disappeared into the building, and I turned to Carl. “So,” I said, “how’s it going?”

  Carl looked at me, shrugged, and went back to his game. A pickup rumbled past us. An old man shuffled out of the post office and walked down the street. I went to my cell phone to call Morelli, but we were in the middle of the Jersey Pine Barrens, and there wasn’t cell ser vice.

  The Pine Barrens is a heavily forested area covering a little over a million acres of coastal plain across south Jersey. The soil is sandy and the trees are pine mixed with oaks that have managed to survive the occasional fire. Hundreds of acres are uninhabited, unless you count blueberries, and cranberries, and the stubborn, hardscrabble folks known as Pineys who live and work there. There are also hundreds of antique shops, bed and breakfasts of varying quality, and dirt roads that go nowhere. Plus, there’s the Jersey Dev il. The Pacific Northwest has Sasquatch. Loch Ness has Nessie. And the Pine Barrens has the Jersey Dev il.

  Diesel left the post office, walked to the car, and slid in behind the wheel.

  “Well?” I asked.

  “Gail Scanlon comes in on no fixed schedule and gets her mail. Sometimes she’s in once a week. Sometimes they don’t see her for six months. Her box was emptied yesterday, but no one saw her come in. The post office boxes are around a corner from the counter.”

  “Did you get a description?”

  “Slim, average height, long black hair, early forties, eccentric.”

  “What does ‘eccentric’ mean?”

  “They didn’t elaborate. But she must really be out there for them to call her eccentric. This isn’t exactly the center of sane.”

  “Did they know where she lived?”

  “No. One of the guys said she was a citizen of the world. And the woman next to him said she was a nymphomaniac.”

  “Sounds like your kind of woman.”

  “Yeah, she has potential.”

  “Now what?” I asked.

  “Now we go home and regroup.”

  DIESEL WAS REGROUPING on the couch, watching Seinfeld reruns, and Carl was sitting beside him.

  “This is going too slow,” I said to Diesel. “You’re supposed to be the big-​deal super bounty hunter. Why aren’t you doing something?”

  “I am doing something. I’m waiting.”

  “Waiting isn’t good. I hate waiting. Waiting feels like doing nothing.”

  “I have Flash watching the Sky Social Club. And every ten minute
s, I go to the window to see if the cloud of doom has rolled over Trenton, signifying Wulf’s presence.”

  “Nothing personal, but I don’t care about Wulf I need to find Martin Munch.”