18 Explosive Eighteen (12 page)

“No one’s seen her. Grace Rizzo thinks Joyce was having an affair with the jeweler. Grace’s daughter works across the street at the nail salon, and she said Joyce would go into the jewelry store and wouldn’t come out for a long time. And once the closed sign got put up on the front door when Joyce was there.”

“Frank Korda was married. Hard to believe he’d press charges against Joyce and create controversy if he was sleeping with her.”

“I don’t know. Anyway, they released his body already,” Grandma said. “There’s a viewing scheduled at the funeral parlor for tomorrow night. It’s gonna be a ful house. Not everyone gets compacted at the junkyard. I heard the TV people might even be there.”

I felt a twitch run the length of my spine. I didn’t share Grandma’s enthusiasm for viewings.

“I got an appointment to get my hair and nails done tomorrow morning, so I look good,” Grandma said.

• • •

I sat in the parking lot to my apartment building with half a pizza on the seat next to me and my motor running. I didn’t see any Scions or Town Cars, so I felt safe from two-thirds of the people who wanted to kil me. I didn’t know what kind of car Razzle Dazzle drove, and that worried me. I had a stun gun that was low on juice, and a ful can of hair spray. That was pretty much my whole bag of tricks for self-defense.

I dialed Morel i, and this time he answered.

“Are you hungry?” I asked him. “I have half an extra-large Pino’s pizza.”

“Do I have to talk to you?”

“No.”

“Good, because I’m not ready to talk to you.”

“Understood. Are you stil working?”

“I’m home,” Morel i said. “I had to walk Bob and give him dinner.”

“So can you come over now?”

“Yeah.”

I was going to rot in hel . Did I love Morel i? Yes.

Did I miss him? Yes. Was that why I was inviting him over for pizza? No. I was inviting him over because I was afraid to go into my apartment alone. Morel i was big and strong and carried a gun that actual y had bul ets in it. Jeez, I was such a loser!

I cut the engine and made my way across the lot with the pizza box. I waited in the foyer until I saw Morel i’s SUV. I took the stairs and waited in the hal in front of my door. The elevator doors opened, Morel i walked out, and I smiled at him.

“Did you just get here?” he asked.

I bit into my lower lip. I couldn’t do it.

“No,” I said. “I’ve been waiting for you. I was afraid to go into my apartment.”

“So you lured me here with pizza?”

“No. I brought the pizza home for you. I just had a sort of panic attack when I drove into the lot.”

“Should I go in with gun drawn?”

“Your choice, but it might not be a bad idea.” Morel i looked at me. “Who do you think is in there?”

“Could be most anyone, the way things are going.

Could be Razzle Dazzle.”

“What’s a razzle dazzle?”

“According to Berger, he’s a kil er nutcase.” Morel i pul ed his gun out, unlocked my door, and pushed it open. He did a walk-through and came back to me. “No Razzle Dazzle.” He pul ed me into the apartment, closed and locked the door behind me, and holstered his gun.

“What kind of pizza is that?” he asked.

“Pepperoni with extra cheese.” I put the box on the counter and flipped the lid. “Sorry, I don’t have any beer.”

“Just as wel ,” Morel i said, folding a piece and biting in. “There’s a chance I’l have to go back to work tonight.”

“You’re always working.”

“If people would stop shooting, stabbing, and compacting each other, my hours would cut back.”

“Speaking of compacting …”

“No other bodies at the junkyard. Connie’s relatives make sure there’s a fast turnover of cars.

Smash ’em, and ship ’em out.”

“There’s a rumor that Joyce was doing the jeweler.”

“Joyce did everyone.”

“Did Joyce ever do you?” I asked Morel i.

“No,” he said. “She’s scary. Just so you know, you aren’t the only one looking for her. She’s wanted for questioning regarding the Korda murder.”

“Any leads?”

“No. How about you?”

“Nothing.”

Morel i took a second piece of pizza, and the doorbel rang. He moved to the door and looked out the peephole.

“It’s a woman,” Morel i said. “She’s holding a cake box.”

I sidled up next to him and looked out. It was Brenda Schwartz.

“You remember the guy who got kil ed and stuffed into a garbage can at LAX?”

“Richard Crick.”

“Yeah. And you know about the photograph?”

“Un-hunh.”

“And you know how there are fake FBI guys and real FBI guys and Razzle Dazzle, who al want the photograph?”

Morel i didn’t say anything, but the line of his mouth tightened ever so slightly.

“Wel , this is Brenda Schwartz,” I said. “She says she’s Crick’s fiancée, and she’s another photograph hunter.”

“So she brought you a cake?”

“Possibly. There could be a bomb in the box. She seems a little unstable.”

“Anything else I should know?” Morel i asked.

“She carries a gun, but it’s not very big.”

“This is why I have acid reflux,” Morel i said. And he opened the door.

“Oh cripes,” Brenda said, looking at Morel i. “Do I have the wrong apartment? I was looking for Stephanie Plum.”

I peeked around Morel i. “You have the right apartment. This is my boyfriend.”

“Maybe,” Morel i said. “Maybe not.”

“I figured we got off on the wrong foot earlier,” Brenda said to me. “What with threatening to shoot you and everything. Anyhoo, I got you a cake. I thought we could have a girl-to-girl over it.”

“That’s nice of you, but I don’t have the photograph,” I told her.

“Yeah, but you know where it is.”

“No, I don’t know where it is.”

She pinched her lips together for a second. “Then why do certain people think you got the photograph?”

“Misinformation,” I said. “Probably originating from your fiancé.”

“Richard Crick didn’t give out misinformation,” she said. “He was a
doctor
. May he rest in peace.”

“Why do you want the photograph?” Morel i asked her.

“None of your beeswax,” she said. “I just do. It’s sentimental. I was his fiancée.”

“You’re not wearing an engagement ring,” Morel i said.

“Honestly,” Brenda said, rol ing her eyes. “He’s dead. You don’t expect me to pine away forever, do you?” She looked back at me. “So are you going to give me the photograph, or what?”

I felt a vein start to throb in my temple. “I
don’t
have the photograph.”

“Fine. Have it your way,” Brenda said. “But I’m giving you warning. I’m going to get that photograph.

And you’re not getting any of this cake, either.” And she turned and sashayed down the hal to the elevator.

Morel i and I retreated into my apartment and closed and locked the door.

“Tel me the truth,” he said. “Do you have the photograph?”

I smacked the heel of my hand against my forehead so hard I almost knocked myself out.

“
Unh
!”

“Does that mean
no
or
yes
?” Morel i asked.

“It means NO! No, no, no, no, no.”

“Don’t get your panties in a bunch. I’m not exactly in the loop here.”

“You’re too busy to be in the loop.”

“No one could stay in the loop with you. You’re a disaster magnet. You suck it in. I used to think it was because of your job. But that’s too simple an explanation. You can’t even go on vacation without attracting kil ers. Not just one kil er, either. You have a whole gaggle of kil ers after you. Is Berger any help with this?”

“They’ve had budget cuts.”

He went to my brown bear cookie jar, removed the lid, and took my gun out.

“It’s not loaded,” he said.

“You don’t real y want me going around with a loaded gun, do you?”

He returned the gun to the cookie jar. “Good point.

I can’t believe I’m asking this, but is Ranger watching your back?”

“He monitors my car. Beyond that, it’s hard to tel what Ranger’s doing.”

Morel i’s phone buzzed with a text message. He read the message and gave up a sigh. “I have to go.

I’d like to help you, but I have no idea, short of handcuffing you to my furnace and locking the cel ar door, how to keep you safe. It’s not like you’re good at accepting advice.”

“Jeez, it’s not that bad.”

“Cupcake, you gotta be careful.” He pul ed me to him and kissed me. He broke from the kiss and cut his eyes to the pizza box. “Are you going to want that last piece of pizza?”

“It’s yours.”

He dropped a piece of crust into Rex’s cage and took the pizza, box and al . “Lock your door when I leave and don’t let anyone in.”

I watched Morel i walk down the hal and disappear into the elevator. This is unsettling, I thought. I had no clue where I actual y stood with him.

In some ways, he’d traded places with Ranger as the man of mystery.

I closed and locked my door and slouched in front of the television. After an hour, I was restless.

There’s a limit to how many sitcom reruns you can watch, and I was tired of
Cupcake Wars
on the Food Network. I was sleeping through a documentary on fire ants when my cel phone rang. It was nine o’clock, and I assumed it was Morel i.

Turned out it was Joyce Barnhardt.

“I need help,” Joyce said.

“There’s a rumor going around that you’re dead.”

“Not yet.”

This was only marginal y better than the fire ants.

“What’s going on?” I asked her. “Why the big disappearance?”

“People are looking for me.”

“And?”

“And I figure you can help me. If you help me out, I let you bring me in. You get your capture money.

Vinnie’s happy. It’s al good.”

“What do I have to do?”

“For starters, I need something from my town house.”

“Your town house is locked, and you have an alarm system.”

“I’m sure you can get around it.”

“Only if you give me a key and your code.”

“There’s a house key hidden in a fake rock to the right of the front door. The code is 6213.”

“What do you need?”

“I need a key. It looks like a little padlock key. It should be in my top dresser drawer in my bedroom.”

“What do I do with this key if I get it?”

“Hang on to it, and cal me. You’ve got my number in your cel now.”

“Where are you?”

She disconnected.

Here was a problem. I was dying to go out this very second and get the key. I’d total y had it with the fire ants, and I could use the money Joyce’s capture would bring me. Problem was getting back into my apartment. I’d already played my Morel i card, and he’d be drinking Pepto by the gal on if I asked him to help me again, much less told him I was in league with Barnhardt. If I asked Ranger for help, I’d end up naked. It had some appeal, but truth is, I was beginning to not like myself so much. The honest confusion of loving two men was giving way to something that felt a little like unhealthy self-indulgence.

I’m not an especial y introspective person. Mostly, I go day by day putting one foot in front of the other, hoping I’m moving forward. If I think weighty thoughts about life, death, and cel ulite, it’s usual y in the shower. And these thoughts are usual y cut short by lack of hot water in my decrepit apartment building.

Anyway, like it or not, I was presently caught in the throes of self-examination, and I was coming up short. And there was a voice, sounding a lot like Lula’s, in the back of my head, tel ing me I’d been loosey-goosey with my morals in Hawaii, and that’s what had messed up my juju.

THIRTEEN

I WENT TO BED EARLY, and I got up early. I showered, got dressed, and pul ed my hair back into a ponytail. I swiped on mascara and laced up my Chucks. This is a new day, I told myself. I was going to start out right. I was going to have a healthy breakfast, and I was going to charge ahead with a new, positive attitude. No more boinking in closets with Ranger. No more hiding behind Morel i’s muscle. I was a woman in charge this morning.

I was low on breakfast food and fruity things, so I made myself a sandwich and headed out. I stopped short in the parking lot, momentarily confused when I didn’t see the RAV. After a couple fast heartbeats, it al came back to me. I was driving a truck now.

Appropriate, I thought. Empowering. I’d practical y grown testicles.

I drove to Mercado Mews, parked in Joyce’s driveway, and went in search of the fake rock. I found the rock, got the key to the front door, opened the door, and decoded the alarm. I went straight to Joyce’s bedroom and rifled the top drawer to her dresser. I found the smal padlock key, slipped it into my jeans pocket, and left. I reset the alarm for her, locked her door, put the key back in the fake rock, and drove off. I pul ed into the parking area for the model home and cal ed Joyce. No answer. No way to leave a message.