Explosive Eighteen: A Stephanie Plum Novel (Stephanie Plum Novels)

could hang with the cadaver dog and get some exercise. Maybe Bob could help find another body.”
    “If Bob found a body, he’d eat it,” Morelli said.
    I disconnected, took a shower, and got dressed in my usual girly T-shirt, jeans, and sneakers. I fed Rex and gave him fresh water. He rushed out of his soup-can home, stuffed a bunch of hamster crunchies into his cheeks, and hustled back to his can. Maybe he was still creeped out by the guy with the knife last night. Understandable, because that would make two of us.
    I tossed my fully charged stun gun into my bag and took off. First stop was the coffee shop. Connie, Lula, and Vinnie were sitting at a table in the window. I got a coffee and a cinnamon roll and joined them.
    “They found Frank Korda at the junkyard,” Connie said. “It came over the police channel.”
    I nodded. “Morelli told me. How’s the office space search going?”
    “I have it narrowed down,” Connie said. “There’s a vacant storefront a couple blocks from the police station. Or I can rent a Winnebago RV, which would be smaller than the bus, but we could park it in our usual location.”
    “We’d get more business by the police station,” Vinnie said. “Let’s go with the storefront.”
    “I’ll pick the lease up this morning, and we can move in tomorrow,” Connie said. “It’s not pretty, but it’s usable space.”
    “As long as it got good facilities,” Lula said. “I might still have some potato salad left inside me.”
    “How about the fire investigation?” Vinnie asked. “Do they know what started it yet?”
    Connie closed her laptop and stood. “They said it was suspicious, but they’re still looking at all the little pieces they collected.”
    DeAngelo and his foreman walked into the coffee shop.
    “Hey, what’s doin’ here?” DeAngelo said to Vinnie. “How come you’re not at work in your office? Oh yeah, now I remember … it blew up.”
    Vinnie narrowed his eyes, said something in Italian, and flipped DeAngelo the bird.
    “Better be careful,” DeAngelo said. “Your house could blow up next.”
    Vinnie’s lip curled back. “Are you threatening me?”
    “I don’t threaten,” DeAngelo said. “I’m more a doer.”
    “Don’t look to me like you do much of anything but flap your lips,” Lula said. “If you were a
doer
, we’d be in our new office by now.”
    DeAngelo looked at Vinnie. “Who’s the fat chick?”
    Everyone sucked in air.
    “Excuse me?” Lula said, leaning forward, hands on hips, eyes set in her
wild boar on the attack
squint. “Did you just say what I think you said? Because if you said that, you better say it was a mistake. I’m a reasonable person, but I don’t stand for disrespecting and slandering. I’m a big, beautiful woman. I am
not
a fat chick. You don’t apologize, and I’ll squash you like a bug. I’ll step on you until you’re just a grease spot on the floor.”
    “I like it,” DeAngelo said to Lula. “You want to spank me?”
    “No, I don’t want to spank you,” Lula said. “That’s disgusting. I don’t know you good enough to want to spank you.”
    DeAngelo winked at her and went to pick up his coffee.
    “He’s giving me the runs,” Lula said.
    I pushed back from the table. “I have to talk to the FBI this morning.”
    “Then what?” Lula asked. “Who’s up for today?”
    “Big Buggy and my RAV4 for starters. I’ll call when I’m done downtown.”

TEN
     
    BERGER, THE FBI ARTIST, and Chuck Gooley were waiting for me in a conference room on the sixth floor. We started with face shapes, and from there we went to specifics like eyes and mouth and nose. By the time we were done, I was thoroughly confused and had no idea if the drawing even remotely resembled the guy in the photo.
    “So is this the guy?” Berger asked me, pointing to the composite sketch.
    “Sure,” I said. “Maybe. So about the maniac in my kitchen who wanted to kill me …”
    “What did he look like?”
    “Middle Eastern complexion. Lots of unruly curly black hair. Crazy eyes. Six foot. Slim. Early forties. An accent I couldn’t place. Tattoo of a rose on his knife hand.”
    “I’ll feed it into the system and let you know if we get a match.”
    I left the sixth floor, exited the building, and stopped in the middle of the sidewalk because Lancer and Slasher were standing by the Buick, half a block away. Okay, here were my options. I could call Berger, but I wasn’t sure what that would accomplish.