Smokin' Seventeen: A Stephanie Plum Novel (Stephanie Plum Novels)

back to my apartment to check in with Connie,” I said to Lula. “She sent me a text message that we got a new FTA.”

TWENTY-FOUR
     
    CONNIE WAS WORKING at my dining room table and Dave Brewer was cooking in my kitchen.
    “How? What?” I said to Connie, pointing at Dave.
    “He called to see if you were home, and we got to talking, and one thing led to another, and we decided to surprise you with dinner.”
    “Guess Connie didn’t get the stalker memo,” Lula whispered to me.
    “I’m running late,” Dave said. “I had an estimate in Ewing Township that took longer than planned. I have corn muffins baking in the oven, and I’m almost ready to put my stew together.”
    “Well hell-
O
,” Lula said. “I smell bacon.”
    “It’s my special recipe,” Brewer said. “I put jalapeños, bacon, and a smidgeon of cheddar in my corn muffins.”
    Lula sniffed in the direction of the oven. “Yum. That’s three of my favorite food groups.”
    Dave was wearing jeans and a khaki T-shirt. He had a red chef’s apron tied at the waist, and he was artfully dusted with flour. He didn’t measure up to Ranger or Morelli, but he was a decent-looking guy. Fortunately, I was wearing the granny panties. It would be bad if Bella’s spell encouraged me to get it on with Dave Brewer.
    “I’m making enough for everyone,” Dave said. “It’ll be ready at six, but I can’t stay to eat. I have to get to another estimate tonight.” He glanced over to me. “But I’ll try to get back for late dessert.”
    There was going to be
no
late dessert. The door would be locked and bolted. Still, I had to admit whatever he was cooking smelled pretty darn good. I watched him take chopped onion, red peppers, and mushrooms to a skillet heating on the stove. “What are you making?”
    “Tex-Mex Turkey Fiesta. Plus there’s a salad in the refrigerator. This is a celebration for me. I signed a lease to rent an apartment today. This time next week I’ll have my own kitchen.”
    Lula looked over his shoulder. “You know how to cook onions and everything.”
    He stirred the onions in the hot oil. “It’s my hobby. It keeps me calm. When I get too crazy I cook something.”
    “It’s a good hobby,” Lula said. “You got any others?”
    “I like football. And I used to play golf, but my ex-wife threw my clubs away when I was in jail.”
    “I would never have done that,” Lula said. “I would have sold them.”
    Connie came into the kitchen and handed me a folder. “Regina Bugle. Original charge was domestic violence. She ran her husband down with her Lexus and then backed over him.”
    “See, now there’s a take-charge woman. I bet he deserved it,” Lula said.
    We all considered that for a moment.
    “Anyway, she didn’t show up for court yesterday,” Connie said. “She was a first-time offender, so she shouldn’t be difficult. Just don’t try to apprehend her when she’s in her car.”
    I took the folder and thumbed through the information. She was thirty-two years old. Caucasian. Her photo showed a pretty blond wearing lots of makeup. She’d run over her fifty-nine-year-old husband and left him with two broken legs, a couple cracked ribs, and a bunch of bruises. My guess was she’d signed an unfavorable pre-nup.
    “She has a Lawrenceville address,” I said to Connie. “Is she still there?”
    “Yes. I spoke to her this morning. She said she forgot the court date, and she’d stop around to sign new papers when her schedule opened up. I interpreted that to mean
never.
”
    “Where’s the husband?”
    “He’s at some fancy rehab facility in Princeton.”
    “Let’s roll,” I said to Lula.
    “Only if you promise we’ll be back here by six. I don’t want to miss the bacon muffins.”
    • • •
     
    The Bugles lived in a large brick colonial on a sizable landscaped lot, in a neighborhood filled with expensive homes. A black Lexus was parked in the driveway.
    “Looks like she’s home,” Lula said. “And good news. She’s not in her car.”
    I rang the bell. A blond woman opened the door and looked out at us.
    “Regina Bugle?” I asked.
    “Yes. What’s it to you?”
    “Rent money,” Lula said. And she zapped her with her stun gun.
    Regina crumpled into a heap on the floor, eyes open, fingers twitching.
    “Jeez,” I said to Lula, “you ever hear of unnecessary force?”
    “Yeah, but I barely used any force. I just touched her with the prongs.”
    I pulled cuffs out of my back pocket and