Dirty Thirty (Stephanie Plum, #30)(36)

“Sorry, there was no business. He saw the Jeep getting winched onto Sanchez’s flatbed and he gave me a loaner.”

“Too bad,” Lula said. “It’d be good to know one of us was getting some. Grendel stole one of my dresses last night. It was from my Hawaii collection. And there’s a pink rabbit-fur jacket missing too. That dress is going to look terrible with that jacket. I don’t know what he was thinking. This ogre is out of control.”

“How do you know it was Grendel?” I asked.

“Who else would it be?” Lula said. “Everything was in place when I went to bed, and when I got up this morning, I was missing a dress and a jacket.”

“Did he wake you up with his breathing and growling?”

“No,” Lula said. “I slept through the night. He must have been extra sneaky.”

“So, you think Grendel is a cross-dresser,” Connie said.

“I don’t know what to think,” Lula said. “Just now, I’ve been reading about ogres, and there’s no mention of ogres being fashion-forward. It seems to me that the average ogre is a nasty bugger, but I think I could hold my own with one. I see them as being big but stupid with bad breath. Like, if an ogre is hungry, he could eat you, but I figure you could distract him with a sandwich or some cookies. So, I keep a plate of Oreos by me when I’m sleeping. Nobody can resist Oreos. Now, an ogre that’s a demon is a whole other ball game. A demon is evil. There’s no distracting evil. Not even with Oreos that are double stuffed. It’s the demon part of Grendel that worries me.”

“Did Grendel eat the cookies last night?”

“No, on account of I woke up at two o’clock to go to the bathroom and I was hungry when I got back to bed, and I ate the cookies.”

“It’s hard to imagine Grendel wearing your Hawaii dress,” I said.

“Maybe he doesn’t intend to wear it,” Lula said. “The demon part of him could want it for some voodoo ritual. He could be interested in harvesting my DNA off it to use for evil purposes. It would be hard to do because I haven’t worn that dress since it came back from the dry cleaner. Of course, Grendel had no way of knowing that.”

“You don’t seem to be terrified,” I said. “If something was showing up in my bedroom at night and I didn’t know who or what it was, I’d be terrified. What I’m seeing from you is that you’re annoyed because you can’t sleep and now it’s taking your clothes.”

“I was terrified in the beginning, but then nothing happened. I wasn’t attacked or anything. And on top of that I’m real brave.”

“Is it possible that you’re imagining all this?” Connie asked.

“It occurred to me,” Lula said. “Like maybe it was a dream. Or maybe it was too much tequila before bedtime.”

“And?” Connie asked.

“And I’m pretty sure it’s Grendel. There’s the brown hair on my carpet. I think it must have come off his hairy foot.”

“Grendel doesn’t wear shoes?” Connie asked.

“I’ve never seen his feet but it’s possible. Hobbits don’t wear shoes and they have hairy feet, so maybe ogres are like that too,” Lula said.

I’m used to Grandma Mazur talking about people getting beamed up into alien spaceships, getting chased by Bigfoot, and seeing ghosts march across the Morgan Street cemetery every May 23. So Lula believing in Grendel and hobbits didn’t seem all that odd to me. Okay, I had my doubts about Grendel. It would be more believable if it was Grendel’s American cousin. And it would be totally believable if it was some whack job dressing up in an ogre suit and creeping around in the dark.

“I’m still going with the big dog theory,” Connie said. “A dog would shed on your carpet and make scratches in your door.”

“The scratches were at six feet,” Lula said. “And they were deep. I shouldn’t be talking about this because now I’m getting a little terrified, and I decided I was going to stay calm.”

“We should head out,” I said. “I want to drive around the neighborhoods by the button factory.”

“Are you thinking Duncan Dugan might have gone home?” Lula asked.

“No, but he might be in the area. And his pal Nutsy might be with him.”

“I’m in favor of doing a ride-around,” Lula said. “You got a Rangeman car, and they always smell good. Like new-car smell and testosterone.”

I’d have bet money that by the end of the day the car was going to smell like Bob.

I buckled myself in behind the wheel and Plover called.

“I have to talk to you,” Plover said. “I’m at the store. Is it possible for you to meet me here?”

“Sure,” I said. “I’ll be there in twenty minutes.”

“Small change of plans,” I said to Lula. “This shouldn’t take long.”



* * *




King Street was quiet at this time of the morning. Stores were just beginning to open. Not a lot of foot traffic. Plover’s doors were still locked. He saw me approach and he opened the door. Lula and Bob trooped in after me.

“I brought my assistant and security dog,” I said to Plover. “I hope that’s okay.”