Dirty Thirty (Stephanie Plum, #30)(33)

“No one is going on a stakeout,” my mother said. “We’ll get pizza delivered. The Manleys just got their car blown up. They don’t need people parked across the street spying on them. This isn’t a television show, and we aren’t the police.”

“Stephanie’s almost the police,” Grandma said. “Besides, we’re trying to help the Manleys. We think someone is after Nutsy and they’re trying to flush him out by terrorizing his family.”

My mother stopped unpacking groceries and looked at me. “Is that true?”

“It might be,” I said. “I don’t want to involve you and Grandma. I thought Bob and I would sort of casually hang out and watch the house. I don’t have authority to make an apprehension. I just want to see where Nutsy goes. Maybe get a chance to talk to him. I’ve been trying to get in touch but he’s avoiding me.”

“I don’t like this,” my mom said. “Celia is a good person. And Nutsy has always been odd, but I’ve never heard that he was mean or dishonest. I don’t like hearing about this.”

“That’s why we should do something,” Grandma said. “We need to do some investigating. And we could have pizza. It would be like a picnic.”

“Good Lord, it’s not a picnic. You’re investigating a lunatic who blew up a car,” my mother said.

“Okay, there’s a little danger and possibly insanity involved,” Grandma said, “but it’s not like a zombie apocalypse or Armageddon.”

My mother went hands on hips. “Someone blew up a car.”

“People are blowing up Stephanie’s cars all the time,” Grandma said.

“Not all the time,” I said.

“The important thing is that Stephanie needs to talk to Nutsy,” Grandma said.

“If you’re going to do this and you need the Camry, I’m driving,” my mom said to me. “I don’t know if you’re still covered under our insurance policy.”



* * *




At five thirty my mom, Grandma, Bob, and I were parked half a block away from the Manley house. We had three large Pino’s pizzas. One with the works. One with barbecued chicken. One with sausage and no onions for Bob. We didn’t get drinks because we couldn’t pee in a jelly jar like guys do on stakeouts.

“I’ve got a good feeling about this,” Grandma said. “I think Nutsy’s going to show up. He knows it’s meat loaf night and he’s probably under a lot of stress, and there’s nothing better for stress than meat loaf. It’s comfort food. There would be less of a problem with drugs in this country if people ate more meat loaf.”

At five forty-five a Nissan Sentra stopped in front of the house and Harry Manley, Nutsy’s father, got out. He thanked the driver, walked to the front door, and let himself in.

At six thirty we were stuffed full of pizza, slouched back, and on the lookout for Nutsy. Grandma was in the front, next to my mom. Bob and I were in the back. Bob was stretched out on the seat with his head in my lap. Grandma was nodding off and snorting herself awake. My mom was steely eyed and vigilant. The sun had set but it was still light enough to clearly see down the street.

I heard the bike before I saw it. Not the whine of a crotch rocket. Not the deep-throated rumble of a hog. My cousin Paul had a Yamaha SR400, and he called it a sputter putt.

The 400 approached from the opposite direction. It rolled into the Manleys’ driveway and came to a stop. The driver didn’t remove his helmet. It had a full-face mirrored visor, but I knew it was Nutsy. He was lanky and a little too tall for the 400. He let himself in through the front door, being careful not to let any cats escape.

“That’s Nutsy,” I said to my mom and grandma.

“Maybe you should go in and say hello,” my mom said. “He might be happy to see you. You were school friends. You could get to talk to him.”

“We weren’t friends,” I said. “We knew each other. I’m afraid he would be polite in front of his parents and then leave and lead us on a wild goose chase. I want to see where he’s staying. There’s a chance that he’s with Duncan Dugan, and I need to bring him in.”

Grandma was awake and sitting up. “Dugan’s the man who robbed Plover’s,” she said. “He’s the one with all the broken bones.”

“Do you think Nutsy was in cahoots with Duncan on the robbery?” my mom asked.

“It’s possible,” I said. “They knew each other. There’s a connection.”

“You could get an almost-new car if you could grab Dugan and Nutsy,” Grandma said to me. “It would be a twofer. Dugan is a high-money bond and Plover would give you a big bag of money for Nutsy.”

“Dugan is a given,” I said. “I haven’t decided about handing Nutsy over to Plover.”

The Manleys’ front door opened and Nutsy, helmet already in place, walked out with a small insulated cooler. He strapped it onto his passenger seat, straddled the bike, and kick-started it.

“That was fast,” Grandma said. “He wasn’t even in there for ten minutes. He must have called ahead.”

He turned in the driveway, and we all ducked down out of sight. There was the sound of the bike moving away from us, and my mom popped up with her hands on the wheel and her foot on the gas pedal.