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

big carving knife.
    My father selected a piece of meat and placed the knife on the table.
    “Buggy,” my mother said. “Help yourself.”
    “Yuh!” Buggy said, lunging for the meat platter, forking slabs of it onto his plate.
    In seconds he had a mountain of meat and potatoes, beans, and applesauce. He poured gravy over the mountain until it slopped over his plate and ran onto the tablecloth. He shoveled the food into his mouth, chewing, swallowing, grunting, smacking his lips. Gravy oozed out of his mouth and dripped off his chin. Everyone sat in frozen horror watching Buggy eat.
    “Isn’t he adorable,” Lula said. “Don’t you just love a man who enjoys his food?”
    “Get the antidote potion for Stephanie,” Annie said to Grandma. “The one I gave you. The little bottle with the pink liquid.”
    “Okay,” Grandma said, “but don’t let him eat my food while I’m gone.”
    “What antidote is that?” Lula asked.
    “I gave Stephanie a love potion a couple days ago,” Annie said, “but I found out it’s defective, so I prepared an antidote.”
    Grandma came with the little pink bottle. “Here it is,” she said, putting it on the table.
    “I was the one who drank Stephanie’s love potion,” Lula said. “How was it defective?”
    Annie went blank. She didn’t have an answer.
    Grandma jumped in. “It’ll give you worms,” she said. “If you don’t drink the antidote soon enough, you get worms and all your hair falls out.”
    “What about finding true love?” Lula asked.
    “You gotta make a choice between true love and worms,” Grandma said.
    Lula did a shiver. “I don’t want worms. Do you think it’s too late? Will the antidote work on me?”
    “Only one way to find out,” Grandma said.
    Lula chugged the bottle and felt her hair. “Anyone notice if I’ve been losing hair? Do I look like I got worms? I think I might feel some crawling around inside me.”
    “Anything else?” Annie asked. “Do you feel a little chilly?”
    “Yeah, maybe a little,” Lula said.
    “That’s a sign that the antidote is working,” Annie told her.
    Lula sat perfectly still. “I don’t feel nearly so wormy anymore.”
    Buggy took a slice of beef off Lula’s plate and shoved it into his mouth.
    “Say what?” Lula said to Buggy. “You just took my pot roast.”
    “Honey Pot’s hungry,” Buggy said.
    “Shrek wouldn’t never have taken Princess Fiona’s pot roast,” Lula said.
    “Well, I’m not Shrek,” Buggy said. “I’m Honey Pot.”
    “You’re no honey pot, either,” Lula told him. “Who the heck said you’re a honey pot?”
    “You did.”
    “I don’t think so,” Lula said. “You must be mistaken.”
    “I want dessert,” Buggy said.
    “How is that to act?” Lula said. “That’s just plain rude. You don’t go to someone’s house and ask for dessert. What’s the matter with you, anyways? I’m beginning to see you in a whole new light. Didn’t your mama ever teach you manners?”
    “I don’t need manners on account of I’m cute,” Buggy said.
    “You been operating under a delusion,” Lula said.
    “Huh, well I’m going home if I can’t have dessert. Give me the keys to your car.”
    Lula crinkled up her nose and squinted at him. “Excuse me?”
    “I’m driving home. I want your car.”
    “Are you smokin’ funny stuff or something? I’m not giving you my car. You’re lucky I don’t give you my foot up your ass.” Lula looked around the table. “Excuse me. I meant to say up your
behind
.”
    My father was smiling. Usually he ate fast, with his head down, tuning out my grandmother’s ramblings. Tonight he was enjoying Lula giving the what-for to Buggy.
    Buggy looked at my mother. “Is there dessert?”
    “I made a pie,” my mother said.
    Buggy sat up straight. “I like pie a lot.”
    “You’re a oaf, and you don’t deserve no pie,” Lula said.
    “You didn’t think I was a oaf this afternoon when you were doing nicky nacky on me,” Buggy said.
    My father gave a snort of laughter, and my mother knocked back a tumbler of whiskey.
    “That was before I took the antidote,” Lula told everyone. “I was under the influence of a potion.”
    “I like nicky nacky,” Buggy said, “but it’s not as good as pot roast.”
    My mother looked down the table at him, her eyes unfocused. “Thank you, dear.”
    “Maybe you should leave,” I said to Buggy.
    “Not until I get some pie.”
    “Will you leave if I give you half the pie?” I