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

up?”
    “Are you sure you feel okay to do this?”
    “Hell, yeah. I’m almost a hundred percent.”
    This wasn’t something that filled me with confidence. When Lula and I operated at a full hundred percent we weren’t all that great.
Almost
a hundred percent was getting into Three Stooges territory.
    “You need a different car,” Connie said. “You’ll be noticed in the Shelby. Lula’s Firebird isn’t any better.”
    “I can get a car,” Lula said. “I’ll borrow my cousin Ernie’s car. He’s got a piece of crap SUV. It’ll blend right in on Stark Street.”
    I got into the Shelby, drove to my apartment building, and stopped at the entrance to the lot. I was afraid to park. Regina Bugle could be there. Even worse, Dave could be there. And if they weren’t there now, they might be there when I wanted to leave, and I’d be trapped inside my apartment.
    I turned around and idled on a side street, running through my options. I could drop in on Morelli, but there would be complications. I didn’t want to involve Morelli in this stage of the Nick Alpha saga. And he wouldn’t want me to go to Stark Street. There would also be complications if I dropped in on Ranger. Mostly related to vordo or the lack thereof. The bonds bus felt claustrophobic. The new décor was much better, but itwas still Mooner’s bus. And I was afraid to go to the mall for fear of falling under the influence of another red dress. That left my parents’ house.
    I got there early and sat in the kitchen, watching my mother assemble dinner. I always offered to help, and my mother almost always declined. She’d been doing this for a lot of years, and she had her own rhythm. My grandmother was tuned into the rhythm and pitched in as needed.
    “I heard they found Sam Grip,” Grandma said.
    There was no need for a newspaper or the Internet in the Burg. News traveled at the speed of light the old-fashioned way … over the back fence and in line at the deli.
    I got a soda out of the refrigerator. “He was in his car in the Pine Barrens.”
    “I hear Skooter Berkower is real worried. He played poker with those guys sometimes. That whole poker group is getting wiped out. Somebody don’t like poker players. I wouldn’t be surprised to find out it’s someone’s wife doing this. Probably one of those guys lost a lot of money and some wife wigged out.”
    That would be a decent theory except for the two bodies addressed to me.
    “Or maybe it’s Joyce Barnhardt trying to get attention,” Grandma said. “I wouldn’t put it past her. You know how she loves to be in the spotlight.”
    I drank some soda and recapped the bottle. “Killing five people seems extreme, even for Joyce.”
    “I suppose,” Grandma said. “This sure is a mystery.”
    “That’s a lot of potatoes you’re mashing,” I said to my mother.
    My mother added a big glob of butter to the potatoes. “We have a lot of people for dinner. Valerie and Albert are coming with the children.”
    My sister Valerie has two children by her disastrous first marriage, and two with her second husband Albert Klaughn. I love my sister and Albert, and I especially love the kids, but it’s half a bottle of Advil when you get them all into my parents’ small house.
    “We’re gonna need rubber walls if you ever get married and have kids,” Grandma said to me. “I don’t know how we could fit any more people in here, and Dave looks like the kind who’d want a big family.”
    “Dave isn’t in the picture.”
    “I hear different,” Grandma said. “It’s all over town about you and Dave.”
    I traded my soda in for a glass of wine. If I had to deal with Valerie and the kids
and
talk about Dave, I was going to need alcohol.

THIRTY-SIX
     
    “JEEZ,” LULA SAID when I met her by the bonds bus. “You look worse than me, and I just had root canal.”
    “I had dinner with my parents and Valerie and Albert and the kids. The dinner was fine. And it was nice to spend time with Valerie and the girls, but the conversation kept coming back to Dave Brewer and me.”
    “And?”
    “And I’m not interested in him. I don’t want to date him. I don’t want him cooking in my kitchen.”
    Lula did a raised eyebrow. “You don’t want him cooking in your kitchen?”
    “Okay, maybe I want him cooking in my kitchen. The problem is he won’t stay in the kitchen. He wanders.”
    “Hunh,” Lula said.
    I put my hand up. “Let me revise that statement. I don’t even want him in