Dirty Thirty (Stephanie Plum, #30)(67)

“Loretta shares an apartment with two other girls. They’re all nurses, and there wasn’t room for Bitsy and Fred.”

“I thought Bitsy and Fred lived in Mercerville.”

“They moved to Florida when Loretta graduated nursing school.”

I hung up and looked at Bob. “Guess where we’re going.”

Bob knew where we were going, and he was happy about it. Ranger’s apartment was always a nice cool temperature, and Bob’s water bowl was always filled with sparkling fresh water.

I called Ranger when I turned onto his street. “Is it okay if Bob and Rex and I move in for a couple days?”

“Did you bring pajamas?”

“I’m wearing pajamas.”

“Babe,” Ranger said.

The gate to the Rangeman garage opened before I inserted my key card. I parked in one of Ranger’s spaces by the elevator, and I was struggling with my duffel bag and Rex’s aquarium when Hal appeared and took the duffel and the aquarium from me. I followed behind him with the bag of Bob food and Bob.

“Ranger is in a meeting,” Hal said. “He said you should make yourself at home, and Ella will bring breakfast.”

I stashed Bob’s food in a corner and positioned Rex’s aquarium on a kitchen counter. I gave Rex fresh water, and Ella rang the bell once and walked in with the breakfast tray.

“This was a bit of a rush,” Ella said. “I’m afraid there aren’t any pastries. There’s just the usual assortment of granola and fruit and bagels and sides. There’s fresh-squeezed orange juice in Ranger’s fridge, plus milk and cream. Tomorrow I’ll make pancakes with maple syrup and whipped cream. I never get a chance to make pancakes.”

Ella left and I made myself coffee in Ranger’s fancy built-in coffee machine. I pulled a stool up to the kitchen counter and buttered a bagel.

“This is nice,” I said to Bob. “It’s quiet.”

I was on my second cup of coffee when Ranger walked in and helped himself to smoked salmon and a bagel.

“What’s your plan for the day?” he asked.

“I haven’t got much of a plan right now. I didn’t get a lot of sleep, and my brain isn’t working at top speed.” I squinted at his face. “Why don’t you have black eyes? I got hit in the nose and I looked like I got run over by a truck.”

“I’m a fast healer,” Ranger said. “I got the report on the jewelry. The gemstones are all very good fakes. And that means the diamonds Plover accused Andrew of stealing were probably also fakes.”

“So, Plover has been selling fakes and charging real prices.”

“It looks that way. We were able to access his insurance policy, and there’s a large discrepancy between the value of what was stolen and what was insured. He’s insured for the full value of real gemstones. As far as we know, Plover hasn’t officially submitted a claim with his insurance company.”

“He needs to get the fakes back first.”

“Yes. He’s in an awkward situation. He raises suspicion if he doesn’t file a claim. If he files a claim for full value of the insured, he runs the risk of the fakes turning up. Then he’s committed insurance fraud. If he files a claim for the value of the fakes and it goes public, he could be sued by half the population of Trenton.”

“Should we just turn the fakes over to the police?”

“That would be a waste,” Ranger said. “Technically, Plover hasn’t committed a crime. He hasn’t given his insurers a dollar value on his stolen merchandise, and none of his customers have come forward with a complaint for past purchases.”

“I know a number of people who’ve bought jewelry from Plover. I could stir the pot a little.”

“It wouldn’t hurt to put some added pressure on him.”

“He inherited the store from his father and his grandfather. Every girl in my high school wanted a Plover engagement ring. People trusted Plover. How could this happen?”

Ranger shrugged. “People make bad decisions. And people aren’t always what they seem. Maybe Plover needed money, and he cheated a little, and then he got swept up in it. And now it’s spiraled out of control. It appears that he firebombed a car and he shot and killed an unarmed man, so either he’s a hardened career criminal or else he’s desperate and willing to do anything to cover his tracks. My guess is that he’s desperate.”

I selected a strawberry from the fruit plate. “The homicide is a biggie, but we only have the word of Nutsy and a homeless guy living in a crack house.”

My phone buzzed. It was Diggery.

“I hope I’m not calling too early,” he said, “but Snacker and me thought of another shallow grave we knew about. We’ve got it dug up if you want to come take a look. The person in question is about the right size and he’s got a knife and a fork. We couldn’t find a spoon.”

I cut my eyes to Ranger and found him smiling.

“Sure,” I said to Diggery. “Where are you?”

“Snacker and me are in a patch of woods off Whitle Road. You’ll see my truck at the roadside and then you have to follow the path. The grave isn’t that far along. When you’re in a hurry to bury someone, you don’t want to carry the body any farther than necessary.”