Dirty Thirty (Stephanie Plum, #30)(89)

Julio made the sign of the cross. “Holy mother,” he said.

“Snacker’s finally happy about this one,” Diggery said. “He meets all the criteria. He even has some tattoo left on his hand. I should have thought of this first off. After all those others didn’t work out, I got to remembering about when you first hired me. You said the shooting took place behind Plover’s jewelry store. And it was right after Plover was robbed. In the beginning I was using that as my jumping-off spot, but then a couple days ago I thought what if Plover was the shooter. Or maybe his kid was involved. Snacker had a run-in with the kid in a bar once and he said the kid was scary. So suppose the Plovers were involved somehow. If you’re an amateur or if you’re short on time, where do you put fresh kill? In your own backyard, right? This backyard is nice and private too. It’s got a big hedge going around it. And it’s got flower beds, so the ground is easy for digging.”

Nutsy was standing beside me with his oversize clown shoes hanging over the edge of the grave.

“What do you think?” I asked him. “Could this be Stump?”

Nutsy nodded. “I’m pretty sure it’s Stump. The size and the clothes and the hair that’s remaining are all right. And the tattoo looks right.”

I heard a car door slam in the front of the house and moments later Morelli came up behind me.

“What have we got here?” he asked.

“Stump,” I said. “The last piece to the puzzle.”

“I didn’t dig him up,” Diggery said to Morelli. “I’m retired. Snacker and me were just called as professional authorities.”

“Understood,” Morelli said. “I appreciate your help.” He turned to me. “Do we know who dug him up?”

“Some random,” I said. “Might have been a pack of dogs.”

“Yeah, we’ll go with dogs,” Morelli said.

He spied Bob pressed against my leg and he got down on one knee and hugged Bob. Bob looked like he was going to burst with happiness. Morelli looked pretty happy about it all too.

“There are three men duct-taped in the back of a pickup truck in front of this house,” Morelli said. “I’m pretty sure one of them is Martin Plover.”

“There’s a bunch of bullets buried in Stump, and they should match the gun Martin keeps in his store. I have two witnesses who saw him shoot an unarmed homeless man.”

“Stump is the unarmed homeless man?” Morelli asked.

“Yep.”

“I also have the jewelry that was stolen from the store. All fake. And there’s a small building on Shirley Street that contains three steel drums that were meant for Lula, Nutsy, and me. Bob saved the day on that one. He deserves a steak for dinner tomorrow.”

“You’ve been busy,” Morelli said.

“It started out simple and sort of mushroomed.”

“I’m going to call this in,” he said. “In ten minutes it’s going to be a circus here. Anyone who doesn’t want to be part of the circus should leave.”

“I’ll tell Diggery.”

“Come back after you send him away.”

Two hours later, Morelli had the full story, the two Plovers and the barrel guy were in custody, Nutsy had given his statement and been driven home, and Lula had gone home with Julio. The ME was still working to move the body. Mrs. Plover slept through it all.

“I’ll need the jewelry,” Morelli said.

“It’s in Ranger’s safe. He’s out of town but I’ll have it transferred over to you when he gets back.”

“How long will he be away?”

“I’m not sure. I just spoke to him, and he thought a couple days.”

“This isn’t the way I’d imagined my first night back,” Morelli said. “I was looking forward to a quiet night at home with you and Bob. Miami was a nightmare.”

“I’m sorry I got you involved, but I didn’t want anyone else untangling this. If you hadn’t been on your way back to Trenton, I probably would have put Plover on ice somewhere until you returned.”

I looked over at Bob. He was curled up next to one of the lights that had been brought in to illuminate the crime scene.

“It’s past Bob’s bedtime,” I said to Morelli.

“Mine too,” Morelli said. “Take him home for me. I’ll tell the ME I’m leaving, and I’ll meet you at the house.”

“Is your brother there?”

“No. He left yesterday. He’s back with his wife.”

I walked Bob to my SUV and drove him to Morelli’s house. It was less than a mile from my parents’ house, in a very similar neighborhood. It was a small two-story, three-bedroom house with living room, dining room, kitchen on the ground floor.

The living room had guy furniture bought as a package. A big, comfy couch and two recliner chairs to match. Saddle-brown leather. A large square coffee table that could easily fit four extra-large pizza boxes plus a couple six-packs of beer on it. And a state-of-the-art, massive flat-screen television.

Ranger’s living room was cool and serene. It was a quiet place to collect yourself. Morelli’s living room was a noisy collection point for family members and friends. Both men spent their day dealing with violence, lawlessness, and chaos. Their manners of renewing their positive energy were miles apart. I was somewhere in between. They were black and white and red. I was gray. Ironic that I would be walking down the aisle at Loretta’s wedding the day after tomorrow wearing gray.