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

an odd duck, but I wouldn’t know personally. I’ve never had any interactions with Joyce’s father, and I learned early on to avoid Joyce’s mother. Her mother turned a blind eye to Joyce’s many shortcomings. Pleasant for Joyce, I suppose, but difficult for the kid who got Joyce boogers on her sandwich.
    I checked out the Barnhardts’ house, made a U-turn, and crept past a second time. The house felt benign. At least as benign as was possible, considering Joyce had lived there. If circumstances had been different, I might have knocked on the door and questioned the Barnhardts.
    Because I was in the neighborhood, I stopped to see if my mother was sober and making dinner.
    “She’s sleeping it off,” Grandma said, meeting me at the door. “I ordered pizza. You’re welcome to stay. I got three extra-large pies from Pino’s, and they just got delivered.”
    My father was in the living room watching television, oneof the pizza boxes on his lap, a beer bottle stuck between his legs. I sat in the kitchen with Grandma and pulled off a piece with pepperoni, extra cheese.
    “What’s the word on Joyce Barnhardt?” I asked.
    “No one’s seen her. Grace Rizzo thinks Joyce was having an affair with the jeweler. Grace’s daughter works across the street at the nail salon, and she said Joyce would go into the jewelry store and wouldn’t come out for a long time. And once the closed sign got put up on the front door when Joyce was there.”
    “Frank Korda was married. Hard to believe he’d press charges against Joyce and create controversy if he was sleeping with her.”
    “I don’t know. Anyway, they released his body already,” Grandma said. “There’s a viewing scheduled at the funeral parlor for tomorrow night. It’s gonna be a full house. Not everyone gets compacted at the junkyard. I heard the TV people might even be there.”
    I felt a twitch run the length of my spine. I didn’t share Grandma’s enthusiasm for viewings.
    “I got an appointment to get my hair and nails done tomorrow morning, so I look good,” Grandma said.
• • •
    I sat in the parking lot to my apartment building with half a pizza on the seat next to me and my motor running. I didn’t see any Scions or Town Cars, so I felt safe from two-thirds ofthe people who wanted to kill me. I didn’t know what kind of car Razzle Dazzle drove, and that worried me. I had a stun gun that was low on juice, and a full can of hair spray. That was pretty much my whole bag of tricks for self-defense.
    I dialed Morelli, and this time he answered.
    “Are you hungry?” I asked him. “I have half an extra-large Pino’s pizza.”
    “Do I have to talk to you?”
    “No.”
    “Good, because I’m not ready to talk to you.”
    “Understood. Are you still working?”
    “I’m home,” Morelli said. “I had to walk Bob and give him dinner.”
    “So can you come over now?”
    “Yeah.”
    I was going to rot in hell. Did I love Morelli? Yes. Did I miss him? Yes. Was that why I was inviting him over for pizza? No. I was inviting him over because I was afraid to go into my apartment alone. Morelli was big and strong and carried a gun that actually had bullets in it. Jeez, I was such a loser!
    I cut the engine and made my way across the lot with the pizza box. I waited in the foyer until I saw Morelli’s SUV. I took the stairs and waited in the hall in front of my door. The elevator doors opened, Morelli walked out, and I smiled at him.
    “Did you just get here?” he asked.
    I bit into my lower lip. I couldn’t do it.
    “No,” I said. “I’ve been waiting for you. I was afraid to go into my apartment.”
    “So you lured me here with pizza?”
    “No. I brought the pizza home for you. I just had a sort of panic attack when I drove into the lot.”
    “Should I go in with gun drawn?”
    “Your choice, but it might not be a bad idea.”
    Morelli looked at me. “Who do you think is in there?”
    “Could be most anyone, the way things are going. Could be Razzle Dazzle.”
    “What’s a razzle dazzle?”
    “According to Berger, he’s a killer nutcase.”
    Morelli pulled his gun out, unlocked my door, and pushed it open. He did a walk-through and came back to me. “No Razzle Dazzle.” He pulled me into the apartment, closed and locked the door behind me, and holstered his gun.
    “What kind of pizza is that?” he asked.
    “Pepperoni with extra cheese.” I put the box on the counter and flipped the lid. “Sorry, I don’t have any