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Chapter One

Lately, I've been spending a lot of time rolling on the ground with men who think a stiffy represents personal growth. The rolling around has nothing to do with my sex life. The rolling around is what happens when a bust goes crapolla and there's a last ditch effort to hog tie a big, dumb bad guy possessing a congenitally defective frontal lobe.

My name is Stephanie Plum, and I'm in the fugitive apprehension business …bond enforcement, to be exact, working for my cousin Vincent Plum. It wouldn't be such a bad job except the direct result of bond enforcement is usually incarceration ?and fugitives tend to not like this. Go figure. To encourage fugitive cooperation on the way back to the pokey I usually persuade the guys I capture to wear handcuffs and leg shackles. This works pretty good most of the time. And if done right, cuts back on the rolling around on the ground stuff.

Unfortunately, today wasn't most of the time. Martin Paulson, weighing in at 350 pounds and standing 5'8" tall, was arrested for credit card fraud and for being a genuinely obnoxious person. He failed to show for his court appearance last week, and this put Martin on my Most Wanted List. Since Martin is not too bright, he hadn't been too hard to find. Martin had, in fact, been at home engaged in what he does best …stealing merchandise off the internet. I'd managed to get Martin into cuffs and leg shackles and into my car. I'd even managed to drive Martin to the police station on North Clinton Avenue. Unfortunately, when I attempted to get Martin out of my car he'd tipped over and was now rolling around on his belly, trussed up like a Christmas goose, unable to right himself.

We were in the parking lot adjacent to the municipal building. The back door leading to the docket lieutenant was less than fifty feet away. I could call for help, but I'd be the brunt of cop humor for days. I could unlock the cuffs or ankle shackles, but I didn't trust Paulson. He was royally pissed-off, red-faced and swearing, making obscene threats and horrifying animal sounds.

I was standing there, watching Paulson struggle, wondering what the hell I was going to do, because anything short of a fork-lift wasn't going to get Paulson up off the pavement. And just then, Joe Juniak pulled into the lot. Juniak is a former police chief and is now mayor of Trenton. He's a couple years older than me and about a foot taller. Juniak's second cousin, Ziggy, is married to my cousin-in-law Gloria Jean. So we're sort of family …in a remote way.

The driver side window slid down, and Juniak grinned at me, cutting his eyes to Paulson. "Is he yours?"

"Yep."

"He's illegally parked. His ass is over the white line."

I toed Paulson, causing him to start rocking again. "He's stuck."

Juniak got out of his car and hauled Paulson up by his armpits. "You don't mind if I embellish this story when I spread it all over town, do you?"

"I do mind! Remember, I voted for you," I said. "And we're almost related."

"Not gonna help you, cutie. Cops live for stuff like this."

"You're not a cop anymore."

"Once a cop, always a cop."

Paulson and I watched Juniak get back into his car and drive away.

"I can't walk in these things," Paulson said, looking down at the shackles. "I'm gonna fall over again. I haven't got a good sense of balance."

"Have you ever heard the bounty hunter slogan bring ëem back --dead or alive?"

"Sure."

"Don't tempt me."

Actually, bringing someone back dead is a big no-no, but this seemed like a good time to make an empty threat. It was late afternoon. It was spring. And I wanted to get on with my life. Spending another hour coaxing Paulson to walk across the parking lot wasn't high on my list of favored things to do.

I wanted to be on a beach somewhere with the sun blistering my skin until I looked like a fried pork rind. Okay, truth is at this time of year that might have to be Cancun, and Cancun didn't figure into my budget. Still the point was, I didn't want to be here in this stupid parking lot with Paulson.

"You probably don't even have a gun," Paulson said.

"Hey give me a break. I haven't got all day for this. I have other things to do."

"Like what?"

"None of your business."

"Hah! You haven't got anything better to do."

I was wearing jeans and a T-shirt and black Caterpillar boots, and I had a real urge to kick him in the back of his leg with my size seven Cat.
 

"Tell me," he said.

"I promised my parents I'd be home for dinner at six."

Paulson burst out laughing. "That's pathetic. That's fucking pathetic." The laughter turned into a coughing fit, Paulson leaned forward, wobbled side to side and fell over. I reached for him, but it was too late. He was back on his belly, doing his beached whale imitation.*    *    *

My parents live in a narrow duplex in a chunk of Trenton called the Burg. If the Burg was a food, it would be pasta --penne rigate, ziti, fettuccine, spaghetti, and elbow macaroni, swimming in marinara, cheese sauce or mayo. Good, dependable, all-occasion food that puts a smile on your face and fat on your butt. The Burg is a solid neighborhood where people buy houses and live in them until death kicks them out. Backyards are used to run a clothesline, store the garbage can and give the dog a place to poop. No fancy backyard decks and gazebos for Burgers. Burgers sit on their small front porches and cement stoops. The better to see the world go by.

I rolled in just as my mother was pulling the roast chicken out of the oven. My father was already in his seat at the head of the table. He stared straight ahead, eyes glazed, thoughts in limbo, knife and fork in hand. My sister Valerie, who had recently moved back home after leaving her husband, was at work whipping potatoes in the kitchen. When we were kids Valerie was the perfect daughter. And I was the daughter who stepped in dog poo, sat on gum, and constantly fell off the garage roof in an attempt to fly. As a last ditch effort to preserve her marriage, Valerie had traded in her Italian-Hungarian genes and turned herself into Meg Ryan. The marriage failed, but the blond Meg shag persists.
Valerie's kids were at the table with my dad. The nine year old, Angie, was sitting primly with her hands folded, resigned to enduring the meal, an almost perfect clone of Valerie at that age. The seven year old, Mary Alice, the kid from hell, had two sticks poked into her brown hair.

"What's with the sticks?" I asked.

"They not sticks. They're antlers. I'm a reindeer."

This was a surprise because usually she's a horse.

"How was your day?" Grandma asked me, setting a bowl of green beans on the table. "Did you shoot anybody? Did you capture any bad guys?"
Grandma Mazur moved in with my parents shortly after my Grandpa Mazur took his fat clogged arteries to the all-you-can-eat buffet in the sky. Grandma's in her mid-seventies and doesn't look a day over ninety. Her body is aging, but her mind seems to be going in the opposite direction. She was wearing white tennis shoes and a lavender polyester warm-up suit. Her steel gray hair was cut short and permed to within an inch of its life. Her nails were painted lavender to match the suit.

"I didn't shoot anybody today," I said, "but I brought in a guy wanted for credit card fraud."

There was a knock at the front door, and Mabel Markowitz stuck her head in and called, "Yoohoo".

My parents live in a two family duplex. They own the south half, and Mabel Markowitz owns the north half, the house divided by a common wall and years of disagreement over house paint. Out of necessity, Mabel's made thrift a religious experience, getting by on social security and government surplus peanut butter. Her husband, Izzy, was a good man but drank himself into an early grave. Mabel's only daughter died of uterine cancer a year ago. The son-in-law died a month later in a car crash.

All forward progress stopped at the table, and everyone looked to the front door, because in all the years Mabel had lived next door, she'd never once yoohooed while we were eating.

"I hate to disturb your meal," Mabel said. "I just wanted to ask Stephanie if she'd have a minute to stop over, later. I have a question about this bond business. It's for a friend."

"Sure," I said. "I'll be over after dinner." I imagined it would be a short conversation since everything I knew about bond could be said in two sentences.

Mabel left and Grandma leaned forward, elbows on the table. "I bet that's a lot of hooey about wanting advice for a friend. I bet Mabel's been busted."

Everyone simultaneously rolled their eyes at Grandma.

"Okay then," she said. "Maybe she wants a job. Maybe she wants to be a bounty hunter. You know how she's always squeaking by."

My father shoveled food into his mouth, keeping his head down. He reached for the potatoes and spooned seconds onto his plate. "Christ," he mumbled.

"If there's anyone in that family who would need a bail bond, it would be Mabel's ex-grandson-in-law," my mother said. "He's mixed up with some bad people these days. Evelyn was smart to divorce him."

"Yeah, and that divorce was real nasty," Grandma said to me. "Almost as nasty as yours."

"I set a high standard."

"You were a pip," Grandma said.

My mother did another eye roll. "It was a disgrace."

*    *    *

Mabel Markowitz lives in a museum. She married in 1943 and still has her first table lamp, her first pot, her first chrome and Formica kitchen table. Her living room was newly wallpapered in 1957. The flowers have faded but the paste has held. The carpet is dark oriental. The upholstered pieces sag slightly in the middle, imprinted with asses that have since moved on …either to God or Hamilton Township.

Certainly the furniture doesn't bear the imprint of Mabel's ass as Mabel is a walking skeleton who never sits. Mabel bakes and cleans and paces while she talks on the phone. Her eyes are bright, and she laughs easily, slapping her thigh, wiping her hands on her apron. Her hair is thin and grey, cut short and curled. Her face is powdered first thing in the morning to a chalky white. Her lipstick is pink and applied hourly, feathering out into the deep crevices that line her mouth.

"Stephanie," she said, "how nice to see you. Come in. I have a coffee cake."

Mrs. Markowitz always has a coffee cake. That's the way it is in the Burg. Windows are clean, cars are big and there's always a coffee cake.

I took a seat at the kitchen table. "The truth is, I don't know very much about bond. My cousin Vinnie is the bond expert."

"It's not so much about bond," Mabel said. "It's more about finding someone. And I fibbed about it being for a friend. I was embarrassed. I just don't know how to even begin telling you this."

Mabel's eyes filled with tears. She cut a piece of coffee cake and shoved it into her mouth. Angry. Mabel wasn't the sort of woman to comfortably fall victim to emotion. She washed the coffee cake down with coffee that was strong enough to dissolve a spoon if you let it sit in the cup too long. Never accept coffee from Mrs. Markowitz.

"I guess you know Evelyn's marriage didn't work out. She and Steven got a divorce awhile back, and it was pretty bitter," Mabel finally said.

Evelyn is Mabel's granddaughter. I've known Evelyn all my life, but we were never close friends. She lived several blocks away, and she went to Catholic school. Our paths only intersected on Sundays when she'd come to dinner at Mabel's house. Valerie and I called her The Giggler because she giggled at everything. She'd come over to play board games in her Sunday clothes, and she'd giggle when she rolled the dice, giggle when she moved her piece, giggle when she lost. She giggled so much she got dimples. And when she got older, she was one of those girls that boys love. Evelyn was all round softness and dimples and vivacious energy.

I hardly ever saw Evelyn any more, but when I did there wasn't much vivacious energy left in her.

Mabel pressed her thin lips together. "There was so much arguing and hard feelings over the divorce that the judge made Evelyn take out one of these new child custody bonds. I guess he was afraid Evelyn wouldn't let Steven see Annie. Anyway, Evelyn didn't have any money to put up for the bond. Steven took the money that Evelyn got when my daughter died, and he never gave Evelyn anything. Evelyn was like a prisoner in that house on Key Street. I'm almost the only relative left for Evelyn and Annie now, so I put my house here up for collateral. Evelyn wouldn't have gotten custody if I didn't do that."

This was all new to me. I'd never heard of a custody bond. The people I tracked down were in violation of a bail bond.

Mabel wiped the table clean of crumbs and dumped the crumbs in the sink. Mabel wasn't good at sitting. "It was all just fine until last week when I got a note from Evelyn, saying she and Annie were going away for awhile. I didn't think much of it, but all of a sudden everyone is looking for Annie. Steven came to my house a couple days ago, raising his voice and saying terrible things about Evelyn. He said she had no business taking Annie off like she did, taking her away from him and taking her out of first grade. And he said he was invoking the custody bond. And then this morning I got a phone call from the bond company telling me they were going to take my house if I didn't help them get Annie back."

Mabel looked around her kitchen. "I don't know what I'd do without the house. Can they really take it from me?"

"I don't know," I told Mabel. "I've never been involved in anything like this."

"And now they all got me worried. How do I know if Evelyn and Annie are okay? I don't have any way of getting in touch. And it was just a note. It wasn't even like I talked to Evelyn."

Mabel's eyes filled up again, and I was really hoping she wasn't going to flat-out cry because I wasn't great with big displays of emotion. My mother and I expressed affection through veiled compliments about gravy.

"I feel just terrible," Mabel said. "I don't know what to do. I thought maybe you could find Evelyn and talk to her …make sure her and Annie are all right. I could put up with losing the house, but I don't want to lose Evelyn and Annie. I've got some money set aside. I don't know how much you charge for this sort of thing."

"I don't charge anything. I'm not a private investigator. I don't take on private cases like this." Hell, I'm not even a very good bounty hunter!

Mabel picked at her apron, tears rolling down her cheeks, now. "I don't know who else to ask."

Oh man, I don't believe this. Mabel Markowitz, crying! This was at about the same comfort level as getting a gyno exam in the middle of Main Street at high noon.

"Okay," I said. "I'll see what I can do …as a neighbor."

 

Mabel nodded and wiped her eyes. "I'd appreciate it." She took an envelope from the sideboard. "I have a picture for you. It's Annie and Evelyn. It was taken last year when Annie turned seven. And I wrote Evelyn's address on a piece of paper for you, too. And her car and license plate."

"Do you have a key to her house?"

"No," Mabel said. "She never gave me one."

"Do you have any ideas about where Evelyn might have gone? Anything at all?"

Mabel shook her head. "I can't imagine where she's taken off to. She grew up here in the Burg. Never lived any place else. Didn't go away to college. Most all our relatives are right here."

"Did Vinnie write the bond?"

"No. It's some other company. I wrote it down." She reached into her apron pocket and pulled out a folded piece of paper. "It's True Blue Bonds, and the man's name is Les Sebring."

My cousin Vinnie owns Vincent Plum Bail Bonds and runs his business out of a small storefront office on Hamilton Avenue. A while back when I'd been desperate for a job I'd sort of blackmailed Vinnie into taking me on. The Trenton economy has since improved, and I'm not sure why I'm still working for Vinnie, except that the office is across from a bakery.
Sebring has offices downtown, and his operation makes Vinnie's look like chump change. I've never met Sebring but I've heard stories. He's supposed to be extremely professional. And he's rumored to have legs second only to Tina Turner.

I gave Mabel an awkward hug, told her I'd look into things for her, and I left.

My mother and my grandmother were waiting for me. They were at my parent's front door with the door cracked an inch, their noses pressed to the glass.

"Pssst," my grandmother said. "Hurry up over here. We're dying."

"I can't tell you," I said.

Both women sucked in air. This went against the code of the Burg. In the Burg, blood was always thicker than water. Professional ethics didn't count for much when held up to a juicy piece of gossip among family members.

"Okay," I said, ducking inside. "I might as well tell you. You'll find out anyway." We rationalize a lot in the Burg, too. "When Evelyn got divorced she had to take out something called a child custody bond. Mabel put her house up as collateral. Now Evelyn and Annie are off somewhere, and Mabel is getting pressured by the bond company."

"Oh my goodness," my mother said. "I had no idea."

"Mabel is worried about Evelyn and Annie. Evelyn sent her a note and said she and Annie were going away for a while, but Mabel hasn't heard from them since."

"If I was Mabel I'd be worried about her house," Grandma said. "Sounds to me like she could be living in a cardboard box under the railroad bridge."

"I told her I'd help her, but this isn't really my thing. I'm not a private investigator."

"Maybe you could get your friend Ranger to help her," Grandma said. "That might be better anyway, on account of he's hot. I wouldn't mind having him hang around the neighborhood."

Ranger is more associate than friend. Although, I guess friendship is mixed in there somehow, too. Plus a scary sexual attraction. A few months ago we made a deal that has haunted me. Another one of those jumping off the garage roof things, except this deal involved my bedroom. Ranger is Cuban-American with skin the color of a mocha latte, heavy on the mocha, and a body that can best be described as yum. He's got a big-time stock portfolio, an endless inexplicable supply of expensive black cars, and skills that make Rambo look like an amateur. I'm pretty sure he only kills bad guys, and I think he might be able to fly like Superman. Although, the flying part has never been confirmed. Ranger works in bond enforcement, among other things. And Ranger always gets his man.

My black Honda CRV was parked curbside. Grandma walked me to the car. "Just let me know if there's anything I can do to help," she said. "I always thought I'd make a good detective on account of I'm so nosey."

"Maybe you could ask around the neighborhood."

"You bet. And I could go to Stiva's tomorrow. Charlie Shleckner is laid out. I hear Stiva did a real good job on him."

New York has Lincoln Center. Florida has Disney World. The Burg has Stiva's Funeral Parlor. Not only is Stiva's the premier entertainment facility for the Burg, it's also the nerve center of the news network. If you can't get the dirt on someone at Stiva's, then there isn't any dirt to get.

*    *    *

It was still early when I left Mabel's, so I drove past Evelyn's house on Key Street. It was a two family house very much like my parents. Small front yard, small front porch, small two story house. No sign of life in Evelyn's half. No car parked in front. No lights shining behind drawn drapes. According to Grandma Mazur, Evelyn had lived in the house when she'd been married to Steven Soder and had stayed there with Annie when Soder moved out. Eddie Abruzzi owns the property and rents out both units. Abruzzi owns several houses in the Burg and a couple large office buildings in downtown Trenton. I don't know him personally, but I've heard he's not the world's nicest guy.

I parked and walked to Evelyn's front porch. I rapped lightly on her door. No answer. I tried to peek in the front window, but the drapes were drawn tight. I walked around the side of the house and stood on tippy toes, looking in. No luck with the side windows in the front room and dining room, but my snoopiness paid off with the kitchen. No curtains drawn in the kitchen. There were two cereal bowls and two glasses on the counter next to the sink. Everything else seemed tidy. No sign of Evelyn or Annie. I returned to the front and knocked on the neighbor's door.

The door opened, and Carol Balog looked out at me.

"Stephanie!" she said. "How the hell are you?"

I went to school with Carol. She got a job at the button factory when we graduated and two months later married Lenny Balog. Once in a while I run into her at Giovichinni's Deli but beyond that we've lost touch.

"I didn't realize you were living here," I said. "I was looking for Evelyn."

Carol did an eyeroll. "Everyone's looking for Evelyn. And to tell you the truth, I hope no one finds her. Except for you, of course. Those other jerks I wouldn't wish on anyone."

"What other jerks?"

"Her ex-husband and his friends. And the landlord, Abruzzi and his goons."

"You and Evelyn were close?"

"As close as anyone could get to Evelyn. We moved here two years ago, before the divorce. She'd spend all day popping pills and then drink herself into a stupor at night."

"What kind of pills?"

"Prescription. For depression, I think. Understandable, since she was married to Soder. Do you know him?"

"Not well." I met Steven Soder for the first time at Evelyn's wedding, nine years ago, and I took an instant dislike to him. In my brief dealings with him over the following years I found nothing to change my original bad impression.

"He's a real manipulative bastard. And abusive," Carol said.

"He'd hit her?"

"Not that I know. Just mental abuse. I could hear him yelling at her all the time. Telling her she was stupid. She was kind of heavy, and he used to call her the cow. Then one day he moved out and moved in with some other woman. Joanne Something. Evelyn's lucky day."

"Do you think Evelyn and Annie are safe?"

"God, I hope so. Those two deserve a break."

I looked over at Evelyn's front door. "I don't suppose you have a key?"

Carol shook her head. "Evelyn didn't trust anyone. She was real paranoid. I don't think her grandma even has a key. And she didn't tell me where she was going, if that's your next question. One day she just loaded a bunch of bags into her car and took off."

I gave Carol my card and headed for home. I live in a three story brick apartment building about ten minutes from the Burg …five if I'm late for dinner and I hit the lights right. The building was constructed at a time when energy was cheap and architecture was inspired by economy. My bathroom is orange and brown, my refrigerator is avocado green and my windows were born before Thermopane. Fine by me. The rent is reasonable, and the other tenants are okay. Mostly the building is inhabited by seniors on fixed incomes. The seniors are, for the most, part nice people …as long as you don't let them get behind the wheel of a car.

I parked in the lot and pushed through the double glass door that led to the small lobby. I was filled with chicken and potatoes and gravy and chocolate layer cake and Mabel's coffee cake, so I bypassed the elevator and took the stairs as penance. All right, so I'm only one flight up, but it's a start, right?

My hamster, Rex, was waiting for me when I opened the door to my apartment. Rex lives in a soup can in a glass aquarium in my kitchen. He stopped running on his wheel when I switched the light on and blinked out at me, whiskers whirring. I like to think it was welcome home but probably it was who put the damn light on? I gave him a raisin and a small piece of cheese. He stuffed the food into his cheeks and disappeared into his soup can. So much for room mate interaction.

In the past, Rex has sometimes shared his room mate status with a Trenton cop named Joe Morelli. Morelli's two years older than I am, half a foot taller, and his gun is bigger than mine. Morelli started looking up my skirt when I was seven, and he's just never gotten out of the habit. We've had some differences of opinion lately, and Morelli's toothbrush is not currently in my bathroom. Unfortunately, it's a lot harder to get Morelli out of my heart and my mind than out of my bathroom. Nevertheless, I'm making an effort.

I got a beer from the fridge and settled in front of the television. I flipped through the stations, hitting the high points, not finding much. I had the photo of Evelyn and Annie in front of me. They were standing together, looking happy. Annie had curly red hair and the pale skin of a natural redhead. Evelyn had her brown hair pulled back. Conservative make-up. She was smiling, but not enough to bring out the dimples.

A mom and her kid …and I was supposed to find them.*    *    *

Connie Rosolli had a doughnut in one hand and a cup of coffee in the other when I walked into the bail bonds office the next morning. She pushed the doughnut box across the top of her desk with her elbow and white powdered sugar sifted off her doughnut, down onto her boobs. "Have a doughnut," she said. "You look like you need one."

Connie is the office manager. She's in charge of petty cash and she uses it wisely, buying doughnuts, file folders, and financing the occasional gaming trip to Atlantic City. It was a little after eight, and Connie was ready for the day, eyes lined, lashes mascaraed, lips painted bright red, hair curled into a big bush around her face. I, on the other hand, was letting the day creep up on me. I had my hair pulled into a half-assed pony tail and was wearing my usual stretchy little T-shirt, jeans and boots. Waving a mascara wand in the vicinity of my eye seemed like a dangerous maneuver this morning, so I was au naturel.

I took a doughnut and looked around. "Where's Lula?"

"She's late. She's been late all week. Not that it matters."

Lula was hired to do filing, but mostly she does what she wants.

"Hey, I heard that," Lula said, swinging through the door. "You better not be talking about me. I'm late on account of I'm going to night school now."

"You go one day a week," Connie said.

"Yeah, but I gotta study. It's not like this shit comes easy. It's not like my former occupation as a 'ho helps me out, you know. I don't think my final exam's gonna be about hand jobs."
Lula's a couple inches shorter and a lot of pounds heavier than me. She buys her clothes in the petite department and then shoehorns herself into them. This wouldn't work for most people, but it seems right for Lula. Lula shoehorns herself into life.

"So what's up?" Lula said. "I miss anything?"

I gave Connie the body receipt for Paulson. "Do you guys know anything about child custody bonds?"

"They're relatively new," Connie said. "Vinnie isn't doing them yet. They're high risk bonds. Sebring is the only one in the area taking them on."

"Sebring," Lula said. "Isn't he the guy with the good legs? I hear he's got legs like Tina Turner." She looked down at her own legs. "My legs are the right color but I just got more of them."

"Sebring's legs are white," Connie said. "And I hear they're good at running down blondes."

I swallowed the last of my doughnut and wiped my hands on my jeans. "I need to talk to him."

"You'll be safe today," Lula said. "Not only aren't you blonde, but you aren't exactly decked-out. You have a hard night?"

"I'm not a morning person."

"It's your love life," Lula said. "You aren't getting any, and you got nothing to put a smile on your face. You're letting yourself go, is what you're doing."

"I could get plenty if I wanted."

"Well, then?"

"It's complicated."

Connie gave me a check for the Paulson capture. "You aren't thinking about going to work for Sebring, are you?"

I told them about Evelyn and Annie.

"Maybe I should talk to Sebring with you," Lula said. "Maybe we can get him to show us his legs."

"Not necessary," I said. "I can manage this myself." And I didn't especially want to see Les Sebring's legs.

"Look here. I didn't even put my bag down," Lula said. "I'm ready to go."

Lula and I stared at each other for a beat. I was going to lose. I could see it coming. Lula had it in her mind to go with me. Probably didn't want to file. "Okay," I said, "but no shooting, no shoving, no asking him to roll up his pants leg."

"You got a lot of rules," Lula said.

We took the CRV across town and parked in a lot next to Sebring's building. The bonds office was on the ground floor, and Sebring had a suite of offices above it.

"Just like Vinnie," Lula said, eyeballing the carpeted floor and freshly painted walls. "Only it looks like humans work here. And check out these chairs for people to sit in …they don't even have stains on them. And his receptionist don't have a mustache either."

Sebring escorted us into his private office. "Stephanie Plum. I've heard of you," he said.

"It wasn't my fault that the funeral parlor burned down," I told him. "And I almost never shoot people."

"We heard of you, too," Lula said to Sebring. "We heard you got great legs."

Sebring was wearing a silver gray suit, white shirt and red, white and blue tie. He reeked of respectability, from the tips of his shined black shoes to the top of his perfectly trimmed white hair. And behind the polite politician smile he looked like he didn't take a lot of shit. There was a moment of silence while he considered Lula. Then he hiked his pants leg up. "Get a load of these wheels," he said.

"You must work out," Lula said. "You got excellent legs."

"I wanted to speak to you about Mabel Markowitz," I said to Sebring. "You called her on a child custody bond."

He nodded. "I remember. I have someone scheduled to visit her again today. So far, she hasn't been helpful."

"She lives next door to my parents, and I don't think she knows where her granddaughter or her great-granddaughter have gone."

"That's too bad," Sebring said. "Do you know about child custody bonds?"

"Not a lot."

"PBUS, which as you know is a professional bail bonds association, worked with the Center for Missing and Exploited Children to get legislation going that would discourage parents from kidnapping their own kids.

"It's a pretty simple idea. If it looks like there's a good chance one or both parents will take off with the child for parts unknown, the court can impose a cash bond."

"So this is like a criminal bail bond, but it's a child who's bonded," I said.

"With one big difference," Sebring said. "When a criminal bond is posted by a bail bondsman and the accused fails to appear in court, the bondsman forfeits the bond amount to the court. Then the bondsman can hunt down the accused, return him to the system and hopefully be reimbursed by the court. In the case of a child custody bond, the bondsman forfeits the bond to the wronged parent. The money is then supposed to be used to find the missing child."

"So if the bond isn't enough of a deterrent to kidnapping, at least there's money to hire a professional to search for the missing child," I said.

"Exactly. Problem is, unlike a criminal bond, the child custody bondsman doesn't have the legal right to hunt down the child. The only recourse the child custody bondsman has to recoup his loss is to foreclose on property posted at the time of the bond signature.

"In this case, Evelyn Soder didn't have the cash on hand for the bond. So she came to us and used her grandmother's house as collateral. The hope is that when you call up the grandmother and tell her to start packing she'll divulge the location of the missing child."

"Have you already released the money to Steven Soder?"

"The money gets released in three weeks."

So I had three weeks to find Annie.

 

"That Les Sebring seemed like a nice guy," Lula said when we were back in my CRV. "I bet he don't even do it with barnyard animals."

Lula was referring to the rumor that my cousin Vinnie had once been involved in a romantic relationship with a duck. The rumor's never been officially confirmed or denied.

"Now what?" Lula asked. "What's next on the list?"

It was a little after ten. Soder's bar and grill, The Foxhole, should be opening for the lunch trade. "Next we visit Steven Soder," I said. "Probably it'll be a waste of time but it seems like something we should do anyway."

"No stone unturned," Lula said.

Steven Soder's bar wasn't far from Sebring's office. It was tucked between Carmine's Cut-rate Appliances and a tattoo parlor. The door to the Foxhole was open. The interior was dark and uninviting at this hour. Still, two souls had found their way in and were sitting at the polished wood bar.

"I've been here before," Lula said. "It's an okay place. The burgers aren't bad. And if you get here early, before the grease goes rancid, the onion rings are good too."

We stepped inside and paused while our eyes adjusted. Soder was behind the bar. He looked up when we entered and nodded an acknowledgment. He was just under six foot. Chunky build. Reddish blonde hair. Blue eyes. Ruddy complexion. Looked like he drank a lot of his own beer.

We bellied up to the bar, and he found his way over to us. "Stephanie Plum," he said. "Haven't seen you in a while. What'll it be?"

"Mabel is worried about Annie. I told her I'd ask around."

"Worried about losing that wreck of a house is more like it."

"She won't lose the house. She has money to cover the bond." Sometimes I fib just for practice. It's my one really good bounty hunter skill.

"Too bad," Soder said. "I'd like to see her sitting on the curb. That whole family is a car crash."

"So you think Evelyn and Annie just took off?"

"I know they did. She left me a fucking letter. I went over there to pick the kid up and there was a letter for me on the kitchen counter."

"What did the letter say?"

"It said she was taking off and next time I saw the kid would be never."

"Guess she don't like you, hunh?" Lula said.

"She's nuts," Soder said. "A drunk and a nut. She gets up in the morning and can't figure out how to button her sweater. I hope you find the kid fast because Evelyn isn't capable of taking care of her."

"Do you have any idea where she might have gone?"

He made a derisive grunt. "Not a clue. She didn't have any friends, and she was dumb as a box of nails. So far as I can figure she didn't have much money. They're probably living out of the car somewhere in the pine barrens, eating from dumpsters."

Not a pretty thought.

I left my card on the bar. "In case you think of something helpful."

He took the card and winked at me.

"Hey," Lula said. "I don't like that wink. You wink at her again, and I'll rip your eye outta your head."

"What's with the fat chick?" Soder asked me. "The two of you going steady?"

"She's my body guard," I told him.

"I'm not no fat chick," Lula said. "I'm a big woman. Big enough to kick your nasty white ass around this room."

Soder locked eyes with her. "Something to look forward to."

I dragged Lula out of the bar, and we stood blinking on the sidewalk, in the sunlight.

"I didn't like him," Lula said.

"No kidding."

"I didn't like the way he kept calling his little girl the kid. And it wasn't nice that he wanted an old lady kicked out of her house."

I called Connie on my cell phone and asked her to get me Soder's home address and car information.

"You think he got Annie in his cellar?" Lula asked.

"No, but it wouldn't hurt to look."

"What's next?"

"Next we visit Soder's divorce lawyer. There had to be some justification for setting the bond. I'd like to know the details."

"You know Soder's divorce lawyer?"

I got in the car and looked over at Lula. "Dickie Orr."

Lula grinned. "Your ex? Every time we visit him he throws you out of the office. You think he's going to talk to you about a client?"

I had the shortest marriage in the history of the Burg. I'd barely finished unpacking my wedding presents when I caught The Jerk on the dining room table with my arch enemy, Joyce Barnhardt. Looking at it in retrospect I can't imagine why I married Orr in the first place. I suppose I was in love with the idea of being in love.

There are certain expectations of girls from the Burg. You grow up, you get married, you have children, you spread out some in the beam and you learn how to set a buffet for forty. My dream was that I would get irradiated like Spiderman and be able to fly like Superman. My expectation had been that I'd marry. I did the best I could to live up to the expectation, but it didn't work out. Guess I was stupid. Swayed by Dickie's good looks and education. My head turned by the fact that he was a lawyer.

 I didn't see the flaws. The low opinion Dickie has of women. The way he can lie without remorse. I guess I shouldn't fault him so much for that since I'm pretty good at lying, myself. Still, I don't lie about personal things … like love and fidelity.

"Maybe Dickie's having a good day," I said to Lula. "Maybe he'll be feeling chatty."

"Yeah, and it might help if you don't leap across the desk and try to choke him like you did last time."

Dickie's office was on the other side of town. He'd left a large firm and gone off on his own. From what I could tell he was having some success. He was now located in a two room suite in the Carter Building. I'd been there, briefly, once before and had sort of lost control.

"I'll be better this time," I said to Lula.

Lula rolled her eyes and got into the CRV.

I took State Street to Warren and turned onto Sommerset. I found a parking space directly across from Dickie's building and took it as a sign.

"Unh uh," Lula said. "You just got good parking karma. It don't count for interpersonal relationships. You read your horoscope today?"

I looked over at her. "No. Was it bad?"

"It said your moons weren't in a good spot, and you need to be careful about making money decisions. And not only that, you're going to have man trouble."

"I always have man trouble." I had two men in my life, and I didn't know what to do with either of them. Ranger scared the bejeezus out of me, and Morelli had pretty much decided that unless I
change my ways I was more trouble than I was worth. I hadn't heard from Morelli in weeks.

"Yeah, but this is going to be big trouble," Lula said.

"You're making that up."

"Am not."

"You are."

"Well, okay, maybe I made some of it up, but not the part about the man trouble."

I fed the meter a quarter and crossed the street. Lula and I entered the building and took the elevator to the third floor. Dickie's office was at the end of the hall. The sign beside the door read, Richard Orr, attorney. I resisted the urge to write asshole below the sign. I was after all, a woman scorned, and that carried certain responsibilities. Still, best to write asshole on the way out.

The reception area of Dickie's office was tastefully done up in industrial chic. Blacks and grays and the occasional purple upholstered chair.  If the Jetsons had hired Tim Burton to decorate it would turn out like this. Dickie's secretary was seated behind a large mahogany desk. Caroline Sawyer. I recognized her from my last visit. She looked up when Lula and I entered. Her eyes widened in alarm, and she reached for the phone.

"If you come any closer I'm calling the police," she said.

"I want to talk to Dickie."

"He isn't here."

"I bet she's fibbing," Lula said. "I got a knack for knowing when people are fibbing." Lula shook her finger at Sawyer. "The Lord don't like when people fib."

"Honest to god, he isn't here."

"Now you're blaspheming," Lula said. "You're in big trouble now."

The door to Dickie's inner office opened, and Dickie stuck his head out. "Oh shit," he said, spotting Lula and me. He pulled his head back and slammed his door shut.

"I need to talk to you," I yelled.

"No. Go away. Caroline, call the police."

Lula leaned on Caroline's desk. "You call the police and I'll break one of your fingernails. You'll need a new manicure."

Caroline looked down at her nails. "I just got them done yesterday."

"They did a good job," Lula said. "Where'd you go?"

"Kim's Nails on Second Street."

"They're the best. I go there, too," Lula said. "I got mine detailed this time. See, I got little bitty stars painted on them."

Caroline looked over at Lula's nails. "Awesome," she said.

I scooted around Sawyer and knocked on Dickie's door. "Open up. I promise I won't try to choke you. I need to talk to you about Annie Soder. She's missing."

The door opened a crack. "What do you mean … missing?"

"Evelyn apparently took off with her, and Les Sebring is enforcing the child custody bond."

The door opened all the way. "I was afraid this would happen."

"I'm trying to help find Annie. I was hoping you could give me some background information."

"I don't know how helpful I can be. I was Soder's attorney. Evelyn was represented by Albert Kloughn. There was so much acrimony during the divorce process, and so many threats were made on both sides, that the judge imposed the bonds."

"Soder had to post a bond, too?"

"Yes. Although, Soder's was relatively meaningless. Soder owns a local business and isn't likely to flee. Evelyn, on the other hand, had nothing holding her here."

"What do you think of Soder?"

"He was a decent client. Paid his bill on time. Got a little hot under the collar in court. There's no love lost between him and Evelyn."

"Do you think he's a good father?"

Dickie did a palms up. "Don't know."

"What about Evelyn?"

"She never looked like she was totally with the program. A real space cadet. Probably in the kid's best interest to get found. Evelyn might misplace her and not realize it for days."

"Anything else?" I asked him.

"No, but it doesn't seem right that you haven't gone for my throat," Dickie said.

"Disappointed?"

"Yeah," he said. "I bought pepper spray."

It would have been funny if it had been casual banter, but I suspected Dickie was serious. "Maybe next time."

"You know where to find me."

Lula and I sashayed out of the office, down the hall and into the elevator.

"That wasn't as much fun as last time," Lula said. "You didn't even threaten him. You didn't chase him around the desk, or anything."

"I don't think I hate him as much as I used to."

"Bummer."

We crossed the street and stared at my car. It had a parking ticket on the window.

"See this," Lula said. "It's your moons. You made a bad money decision when you picked this busted meter."

I stuffed the ticket into my bag and wrenched the door open.

"You better watch out," Lula said. "The man trouble's gonna come next."

 

I called Connie and asked for an address for Albert Kloughn. In minutes I had Kloughn's business address and Soder's home address. Both were in Hamilton Township.

We drove past Soder's home first. He lived in a complex of garden apartments. The buildings were two story brick, decked out to be colonial style with white window shutters and white columns at the front doors. Soder's apartment was on the ground floor.

"Guess he hasn't got the little girl in his cellar," Lula said. "Since he hasn't got a cellar."

We sat and watched the apartment for a few minutes, but nothing happened, so we moved on to Kloughn.

Albert Kloughn had a two room office, next to a Laundromat, in a strip mall. There was a desk for a secretary but no secretary was in residence. Instead, Kloughn was at the desk, typing at the computer. He was my height and looked like he was approaching puberty. He had sandy colored hair, a face like a cherub and the body of the Pillsbury Dough Boy.

He looked up and smiled tentatively when we entered. Probably thought we were scrounging quarters to do our laundry. I could feel my feet vibrating from the drums tumbling next door, and there was a distant rumble from the large commercial washers.

"Albert Kloughn?" I asked.

He was wearing a white shirt, red and green striped tie and khakis. He stood and self-consciously smoothed out his tie. "I'm Albert Kloughn," he said.

"Well this is a big disappointment," Lula said. "Where's the red nose that goes beep beep? And where're your big clown feet?"

"I'm not that kind of clown. Yeesh. Everybody says that. Ever since kindergarten I've been hearing that. It's spelled "K-l-o-u-g-h-n." Kloughn!"

"Could be worse," Lula said. "You could be Albert Fuch."

I gave Kloughn my card. "I'm Stephanie Plum and this is my associate, Lula. I understand you represented Evelyn Soder in her divorce case."

"Wow," he said, "are you really a bounty hunter?"

"Bond enforcement," I told him.

"Yeah, that's a bounty hunter, right?"

"About Evelyn Soder…"

"Sure. What do you want to know. Is she in trouble?"

"Evelyn and Annie are missing. And it looks like Evelyn took Annie away so she wouldn't have to visit her father. She left a couple notes."

"She must have had a good reason to leave," Kloughn said. "She really didn't want to jeopardize her grandmother's house. She just didn't have any choice.  She had no place to turn for the bond money."

"Any ideas where Evelyn and Annie might have gone?"

 Kloughn shook his head. "No. Evelyn didn't talk much. From what I could tell, her entire family lived in the Burg. I don't want to be mean or anything, but she didn't impress me as being real bright. I'm not even sure she could drive. She always had someone bring her to the office."

"Where's your secretary?" Lula asked him.

"I don't have a secretary right now. I used to have someone who came in part-time, but she said the lint blowing around from the dryers bothered her sinuses. Probably I should put an ad in the paper, but I'm not real organized. I only opened this office a couple months ago.  Evelyn was one of my first clients. That's why I remember her."

Probably Evelyn was his only client.

"Did she pay her bill?"

"She's paying it off monthly."

"If she mails in a check, I'd appreciate it if you'd let me know where it was postmarked."

"I was just gonna suggest that," Lula said. "I thought of that too."

"Yeah, me too," Kloughn said. "I was thinking the same thing."

A woman rapped on Kloughn's open door and stuck her head in. "The dryer at the far end don't work. It took all my quarters, and now it's just doing nothing. And on top of that, I can't get the door open."

"Hey," Lula said, "do we look like we care? This man's an attorney at law. He don't give a rat's ass about your quarters."

"This happens all the time," Kloughn said. He pulled a form from his top desk drawer. "Here," he said to the woman. "Fill this out and the management will refund your money."

"They gonna comp your rent for that?" Lula asked Kloughn.

"No. They'll probably evict me." He looked around the room. "This is my third office in six months. I had an accidental waste basket fire in my first office that sort of spread throughout the building. And the office after that got condemned when there was a toilet incident above it and the roof caved in."

"Public restroom?" Lula asked.

"Yes. But I swear it wasn't me. I'm almost positive."

Lula looked at her watch. "It's my lunch time."

"Hey, how about if I go to lunch with you guys," Kloughn said. "I have some ideas on this case. We could talk about it over lunch."

Lula cut her eyes to him. "Haven't got anybody to eat lunch with, hunh?"

"Sure, I've got lots of people to eat lunch with. Everybody wants to eat lunch with me. I didn't make any plans for today, though."

"You're an accident waiting to happen," Lula said. "We eat lunch with you we'll probably get food poisoning."

"If you were really sick I could get you some money," he said. "And if you died it would be big money."

"We're only getting fast food," I said.

His eyes lit up. "I love fast food. It's always the same. You can count on it. No surprises."

"And it's cheap," Lula said.

"Exactly!"

He put a small out to lunch sign in his office window and locked the door behind himself. He climbed into the back seat of the CRV and leaned forward.

"What are you, part golden retriever?" Lula asked. "You're breathing on me. Sit back in your seat. Put your seatbelt on. And if you start drooling, you're outta here."

"Boy, this is fun," he said. "What are we going to eat? Fried chicken? Fish sandwich? Cheeseburger?"

Ten minutes later, we pulled out of the McDonald's drive-thru, loaded with burgers and shakes and fries.

"Okay, here's what I think," Kloughn said. "I think Evelyn isn't far away. She's nice but she's a mouse, right? I mean, where's she gonna go? How do we know she's not at her Grandma's?"

"Her grandmother is the one who hired me! She's going to lose her house."

"Oh yeah. I forgot."

Lula looked at him in the rear-view mirror. "What'd you do, go to one of them off-shore law schools?"

"Very funny." He did another tie smoothing thing. "It was a correspondence course."

"Is that legal?"

"Sure, you take tests and everything."

I pulled into the Laundromat parking lot and stopped. "Here we are, back from lunch," I said.

"Already? But it's too short. I didn't even finish my fries," he said. "And after that I have a pie to eat."

"Sorry. We have work to do."

"Yeah? What kind of work? Are you going out after someone dangerous? I bet I could help."

"Don't you have lawyer things to do?"

"It's my lunch hour."

"You wouldn't want to tag along," I said. "We're not doing anything interesting. I was going back to Evelyn's house and maybe talk to some of her neighbors.

"I'm good at talking to people," he said. "That was one of my best courses …talking to people."

"Don' t seem right to kick him out before he eats his pie." Lula said. She looked over the seatback at him. "You gonna eat that whole thing?"

"Alright, he can stay," I said. "But no talking to people. He has to stay in the car."

"Like I'm the wheel guy, right?" he said. "In case you have to make a fast get-away."

"No. There will be no fast get-aways. And you're not the wheel guy. You don't drive. I drive."

"Sure. I know that," he said.

I rolled out of the lot, found Hamilton Avenue and took it to the Burg, left turning at St. Frances Hospital. I wound my way through the maze of streets and came to an idle in front of Evelyn's house. The neighborhood was quiet at mid-day. No kids on bikes. No porch sitters. No traffic to speak of.

I wanted to talk to Evelyn's neighbors, but I didn't want to do it with Lula and Kloughn tagging along. Lula scared the hell out of people. And Kloughn made us look like religious missionaries. I parked the car at the curb, Lula and I got out, and I pocketed the key. "Let's just take a look around," I said to Lula.

She cut her eyes to Kloughn, sitting in the back seat. "You think we should crack a window for him? Isn't there a law about that sort of thing?"

"I think the law applies to dogs."

"Seems like he fits in there, somehow," Lula said. "Actually, he's kind of cute, in a white bread kind of way."

I didn't want to go back to the car and open the door. I was afraid Kloughn would bound out. "He'll be okay," I said. "We won't be that long."

We walked to the porch, and I rang the bell. No answer. Still couldn't see in the front window.

Lula put her ear to the door. "I don't hear anything going on in there," she said.

We walked around the house and looked in the kitchen window. The same two cereal bowls and glasses were on the counter next to the sink.

"We need to look around inside," Lula said. "I bet the house is lousy with clues."

"No one has a key."

Lula tried the window. "Locked." She gave the door the once over. "Of course, we're bounty hunters and if we think there's some bad guy in there we have the right to bust the door apart."

I've been known to bend the law a little from time to time, but this was a multiple fracture. "I don't want to ruin Evelyn's door," I said.

I saw Lula eye the window.

"And I don't want to break her window. We're not acting as bond enforcement here, and we have no ground for forced entry."

"Yeah, but if the window broke by accident it would be neighborly of us to investigate it. Like, maybe we could fix it from the inside." Lula swung her big black leather shoulder bag in an arc and smashed the window. "Oops," she said.

I closed my eyes and rested my forehead against the door. I took a deep breath and told myself to stay calm. Sure, I'd like to yell at Lula and maybe choke her, but what would that accomplish?
"You're going to pay to have that window fixed," I told her.

"The hell I am. This here's a rental. They got insurance on stuff like this." She knocked out a few remaining pieces of glass, stuck her arm through the open window and unlocked the door.

I pulled some disposable rubber gloves out of my bag and we snapped them on. No point leaving prints all over since this was sort of an illegal entry. With the kind of luck I had, someone would come in and burgle the place and the police would find my prints.

Lula and I slipped into the kitchen and closed the door behind us. It was a small kitchen, and with Lula next to me we were wall to wall people.

"Maybe you should do look-out in the front room," I said. "Make sure no one walks in on us."

"Look-out is my middle name," Lula said. "No one will get by me."

I started with the counter top, going through the usual kitchen clutter. There were no messages written on the pad by the phone. I rifled through a pile of junk mail. Aside from some nice towels on sale in the Martha Stewart line there wasn't anything of interest. A drawing of a house done in red and green crayon was taped to the refrigerator. Annie's, I thought. The dishes were neatly stacked in over the counter cupboards. Glasses were spotless and lined by threes in the cupboards. The refrigerator was filled with condiments but empty of food that might spoil. No milk or orange juice. No fresh vegetables or fruit.

I drew some conclusions from the kitchen. Evelyn's cupboard was better stocked than mine. She left quickly but still took the time to get rid of the milk. If she was a drunk or on drugs or loony tunes, she was a responsible drunk or druggie or loony.

I didn't find anything of help in the kitchen, so I moved on to the dining room and living room. I opened drawers and checked under cushions.

"You know where I'd go if I had to hide out?" Lula said. "I'd go to Disney World. Have you ever been to Disney World? I'd especially go there if I had a problem, because everybody's happy at Disney World."

"I've been to Disney World seven times," Kloughn said.

Lula and I both jumped at his voice.

"Hey," Lula said, "you're supposed to be in the car."

"I got tired of waiting."

I gave Lula the evil eye.

"I was watching," Lula said. "I don't know how he got past me." She turned to Kloughn. "How'd you get in here?"

"The back door was open. And the window was broken. You didn't break the window, did you? You could get into big trouble for something like that. That's breaking and entering."

"We found the window like that," Lula said. "That's how come we're wearing gloves. We don't want to screw up the evidence if anything's been stolen."

"Good thinking," Kloughn said, his eyes getting bright, his voice up an octave. "Do you really think stuff has been stolen? You think anybody got roughed up?"

Lula looked at him like she'd never seen anybody that dumb before.

"I'm checking upstairs," I said. "You two stay down here and don't touch anything."

"What are you looking for upstairs?" Kloughn wanted to know, following me up the stairs. "I bet you're looking for clues that'll lead you to Evelyn and Annie. You know where I'd look? I'd look…"

I whirled around, almost knocking him off his feet. "Down," I said, pointing stiff-armed, shouting at him nose to nose. "Go sit on the couch and don't get up until I tell you."

"Yeesh," he said. "You don't have to yell at me. Just tell me, okay? Boy, it must be one of those days for you, hunh?"

I narrowed my eyes. "One of what days?"

"You know."

"It is not one of those days," I said.

"Yeah, she's like this on a good day," Lula said. "You don't want to know what she's like on one of those days."

I left Lula and Kloughn downstairs, and I poked through the bedrooms on my own.

There were still clothes hanging in the closets and folded in dresser drawers. Evelyn must have only taken essentials. Either her disappearance was temporary or else she was in a rush to leave. Maybe both.

As far as I could tell there was no sign of Steven. Evelyn had sanitized the house of him. There were no left-over men's toiletries in the bathroom, no forgotten men's belts lurking in the closet, no family photo in a silver frame. I'd done a similar house cleaning when I'd divorced Dickie. Still, for months after our break-up I'd get bushwhacked by an overlooked item …a man's sock that had dropped behind the washing machine, a set of car keys that had gotten kicked under the couch and been given up for lost.

The medicine chest contained the usual …a bottle of Tylenol, a bottle of kid's cough syrup, dental floss, nail scissors, mouth wash, box of band aids, talcum powder. No uppers or downers. No hallucinogens. No happy pills. Also, conspicuously missing was anything alcoholic. No wine or gin stashed in kitchen cupboards. No beer in the fridge. Could be Carol was mistaken about the booze and pills. Or could be Evelyn took it all with her.

Kloughn popped his head around the bathroom doorjamb. "You don't mind if I look too, do you?"

"Yes! I mind. I told you to stay on the couch. And what's Lula doing? She was supposed to keep her eye on you."

"Lula's doing watch out. That doesn't take two people, so I decided to help you search. Did you already look in Annie's room? I just looked in there, and I didn't find any clues, but her drawings were real scary. Did you look at her drawings? I'm telling you that's a messed-up kid. It's television. All that violence."

"The only picture I saw was of a red and green house."

"Did the red look like blood?"

"No. It looked like windows."

"Uh oh," Lula said from the front room.

Damn. I hate uh oh. "What?" I yelled down at her.

"There's a car pulled up behind your CRV."

I peeked out Evelyn's bedroom window. It was a black Lincoln Towncar. Two guys got out and started walking toward Evelyn's front door. I grabbed Kloughn's hand and pulled him down the stairs after me. Don't panic, I thought. The door's locked. And they can't see in. I made a sign for everyone to be quiet, and we all stood still as statues, barely breathing while one of the men rapped on the door.

"Nobody home," he said.

I carefully exhaled. They'd leave now, right? Wrong. There was the sound of a key being inserted in the lock. The lock clicked, and the door swung open.
Lula and Kloughn lined up behind me. The two men stood their ground on the front porch.

"Yes?" I asked, trying to look like I belonged to the house.

The men were late forties, early fifties. Medium height. Built solid. Dressed in business suits. Both Caucasian. Didn't look especially happy to see The Three Stooges in Evelyn's house.

"We're looking for Evelyn," one of the men said.

"Not here," I told him. "And you would be?"

"Eddie Abruzzi. And this is my associate, Melvin Darrow."

Excerpted from HARD EIGHT © Copyright 2002 by Janet Evanovich. Reprinted with permission by Evanovich, Inc. All rights reserved.

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