Dirty Thirty (Stephanie Plum, #30)(85)

Connie and I didn’t have Lula’s depth of experience, but we nodded in support of her point of view.

“I checked on Frankie Plover,” Connie said. “He got treated in the ER for his gunshot wound and car crash abrasions. No overnight stay.”

“Did they do a drug test or a sobriety test on him?”

“No,” Connie said. “My sources tell me he was coherent and needed medical attention.”

“This isn’t good,” Lula said. “He’s going to be all cranky over this. He could decide to bomb the office. That would be bad since I got all my clothes and my wigs in the storeroom. I got some personal overnight sleeping arrangements made but they don’t include my extensive wardrobe.”

“What’s happening with Simon Diggery?” Connie asked. “Has he turned up anything helpful?”

I selected a doughnut from the box on the desk. “He texted me this morning. He said he has a promising dig site, but he needs the right circumstances.”

“What does that mean?” Lula asked. “No moon? Full moon?”

I did a palms-up. “Don’t know.” I looked over at Connie. “Any new FTAs?”

“No. The end of the week is always slow. I’m sure we’ll have one or two on Monday.”

“Then I’m going to look in on my apartment. The restoration people were there yesterday.”

“Is it ready for us to move back in?” Lula asked.

“No,” I said. “They need to dry it out. I’ll let you know what I find.”

I drove to the supermarket, cracked a window for Bob, and ran in and grabbed a basket full of essentials. I parked in my apartment building’s lot and carted the bags of groceries upstairs. A lone workman was in my apartment, checking on the fans.

“How’s it going?” I asked him.

“It’s good. All of your rugs and upholstered furniture have been cleared out and carted away, and the fans have done their job of drying things out. We’ll leave the fans here for another day or two. If you’re moving back in, you can turn them down when you’re in the apartment and put them back on high when you leave.”

Bob snuffled his crotch.

“Sorry,” I said, “he has no manners.”

“It’s okay,” the restoration guy said. “I get that a lot. It’s my manly scent. Maybe we could get together for a drink sometime.”

“That’s tempting, but no,” I said. “I’m engaged.”

The restoration person left, and I put the groceries away. I would only have the apartment for a couple more weeks, and I had no reason to leave Rangeman, especially since I seemed to be engaged, but I felt compelled to stock up with waffles and peanut butter.

I walked through the apartment to my bathroom. It was ugly but it was totally intact. Much like the ’53 Buick. Magically indestructible.

“I could consider this to be an act of God,” I said to Bob. “It’s like the big guy is telling me it’s time to move on. New beginnings. That’s how Lula would look at it.”

I returned to the kitchen and Ranger called. “I have a franchised Rangeman facility in Virginia that’s had a total security breach. I’m flying out with my tech guy. I’ll give you a call tonight when I know more.”

“He has an empire,” I said to Bob. “And he has me.”

Good thing Bob wasn’t in a position to have a conversation with Morelli. News of my impending marriage wasn’t something Morelli would want to hear from his dog.



* * *




By four thirty I had my couch set on a dry spot in the living room and my new sleeping bag unrolled on the couch. The table lamp was plugged in and placed beside the couch.

“I guess I don’t need any of this,” I said to Bob, “but it’s like the waffles and peanut butter. It feels like the right thing to do. It’s still my apartment.”

I returned to Rangeman and changed into the black skirt, white top, and blue jacket I’d worn to the Zelinsky viewing. It was the only outfit I had that was appropriate for a wedding rehearsal.

I gave Bob a big bowl of dog kibble and when he was done, I clipped him to his leash.

“You have to be on your best behavior,” I said to Bob. “We’re going to church.”

This wasn’t my first wedding rehearsal, so my expectations were low. I was partnered with a guy who worked as a bartender and was super impressed with himself. His eyes were rimmed with black liner and his pants were tight across the ass. His teeth were very white, and he smiled a lot. I had used up most of my smiles earlier in the day, so I was struggling to keep up.

Bob walked down the aisle with me, strained at the leash, and snuffled Father John’s crotch, leaving a drool mark on his cassock.

“So sorry,” I said to Father John. “I’m babysitting. His owner has terminal cancer and is in hospice.”

“God bless,” Father John said. “Perhaps you could allow one of the family members to watch the dog while we conduct the rehearsal.”

I gave Bob over to a boy who stepped forward. “Maybe he wants to go outside to tinkle,” I said to the boy.

We resumed the rehearsal and had gotten to the part with the vows when there were loud slurping noises coming from the front of the church. Bob was drinking from the baptismal font. Everyone turned to look and there was a group gasp.