Janet Evanovich - Notorious Nineteen

“How did they get an allergy marker?”

“No one knew. I’m guessing someone slipped in and put something in the food, probably the mashed potatoes, and stuck the marker on the plate.”

“And no one noticed?”

“I was in the kitchen. It’s massive and chaotic. Anyone could walk into that kitchen in a chef coat or a waiter’s uniform and have total access to the food, and unless they were seven feet tall and wearing a red clown nose no one would remember them. The food from your plate had already been discarded, but I requested to have someone inspect the kitchen for possible contamination.”

“I’d really like to go home.”

“Are you sure you’re okay?”

“They gave me some stuff to drink and took a blood test. And they told me I was good to go, but to call if I had further problems.”

He pulled me to my feet, wrapped an arm around me, and walked me to the Porsche. I sunk into the passenger seat and closed my eyes for a moment, happy to be going home, relieved that the poisoning episode hadn’t been worse. Ranger got behind the wheel and drove us back to the Expressway. Traffic was light, and the interior of the car was dark and would have felt intimate if I didn’t smell ever so slightly of upchucked meatballs.

“I realize I’m getting paid,” I said, “and I don’t want to seem unappreciative, but this was a sucky date.”

Ranger glanced over at me. “We’ve had better. I’m sorry this happened to you. I didn’t expect poisoning. I just wanted another set of eyes in the room.”

“Have you been in contact with the rest of your unit?”

“There were seven of us. One was killed in the line of duty. Two are out of country. The other two are on the West Coast. Everyone claims not to have told anyone the code. And so far, Kinsey and I are the only ones receiving the messages.”

“Someone’s fibbing.”

“The envelopes were postmarked in Philadelphia and Camden. I ran the four remaining men through the search system and no one has relatives or business ties in the area.”

“So what next?”

“I wait.”

Ranger pulled into my apartment building lot and parked next to Morelli’s green SUV. On the surface Ranger never showed much emotion over my relationship with Morelli. From what I could tell he neither respected it nor resented it. Mostly he ignored it.

“You have company,” Ranger said.

“It seemed like a good idea yesterday when I had to break the date.”

Ranger walked me into the building, escorted me to the elevator, and pushed the button for my floor. “Say hello to Morelli for me.”

I let myself into my apartment, Bob rushed up to me, slammed on the brakes, took a big sniff, and backed off.

Morelli was watching from the couch. “That’s not a good sign,” he said. “Did you fall into the Dumpster again?”

“I got sick. Food poisoning.” I held a plastic bag up for him to see. “I threw up in my evening purse. They bagged it for me at the hospital.”

Morelli got to his feet. “I have to hand it to Ranger. He knows how to show a girl a good time. Is there anything I can do for you? Pepto-Bismol? Tums? French fries?”

“I need a shower.”

Morelli got happy. “I’ll help.”

“No! I don’t need a sexy shower.”

“I can give you a non-sexy shower.”

“No, you can’t. It’s not in your genetic makeup.”

“How are you going to feel after the shower?”

“Tired,” I told him.

“Before I forget, Schmidt thinks something is off with the Cubbin case. He’s watched the security tapes from the hospital, and he can’t figure how Cubbin got out.”

“Grandma said there’ve been budget cuts, and she thought the security cameras might not be working.”

“The hall camera and the elevator cameras were working. If Cubbin left his room he would have been caught on video.”

“How about the window?”

“No sign of impact below the window,” Morelli said.

“Vinnie’s going to be out a lot of money if I can’t find Cubbin. And I could use the recovery fee.”

“That’s a nice dress,” Morelli said. “Do you need help getting it off?”

“No!”

EIGHT

“SO HOW’DYOUR big date go?” Lula asked when I walked into the office.

“It wasn’t a big date. It was business.”

“I wouldn’t mind doing some business with him. I swear he’s the finest man ever made.”

Connie looked up from her computer. “Did I miss something?”

“Stephanie had a date with Ranger last night,” Lula said.

“It was business,” I told Connie. “He needed someone to attend an event with him. It wasn’t social.”

“It don’t have to be social to be sexual with Ranger,” Lula said. “Unfortunately I don’t know firsthand, but I have a active fantasy life.”

“If you don’t have any leads on Cubbin you might try to find Brody Logan,” Connie said to me. “He’s got a medium high bond, and he’s got his collateral. Vinnie made the mistake of not confiscating it when he bonded him out.”

I pulled the file out of my bag and glanced at it. “It says here ‘religious icon.’ What does that mean? Is it a cross? A picture of the Virgin Mary?”

“It’s a tiki,” Connie said. “It’s three foot high and carved out of some sacred Hawaiian tree.”

“I thought a tiki was one of them thatched huts they got in the Bahamas,” Lula said. “They serve the best drinks at them tikis.”

“Different tiki,” Connie said.

“Do you have a picture?” I asked.

“No, but I think if you’ve seen one tiki you’ve seen them all. How different can a tiki be?”

“I never seen one,” Lula said.

“I have,” I told her. “They had one at the hotel when I was in Hawaii. They sort of look like a piece of a totem pole.”

“This might be a good time to get Logan,” Connie said. “He’s probably still hanging out under the bridge.”

“You got big bags under your eyes,” Lula said to me. “You sure you didn’t have a night of hot love with Ranger?”

“Positive. I got food poisoning and threw up three times.”

“Bummer,” Lula said. “That probably put a crimp in his style.”

I hung my messenger bag on my shoulder and turned toward the door. “I’m off.” I looked at Lula. “Are you coming with me?”

“Yeah, I’m hoping to see the tiki.”

I took Hamilton to Broad and turned off Broad at Third Avenue. The Freemont Street Bridge was two blocks down Third. It was a good location for someone like Logan because it was close to a city soup kitchen, and the blocks around the soup kitchen had a lot of panhandling potential. I parked on the street, and Lula and I got out and walked across a rough patch of rogue weed and assorted trash. The bridge itself spiraled overhead, connecting Third Avenue to the freeway. A slum had developed under the bridge, with cardboard box huts and plywood shanties. Three men stood smoking in the shade.

“It’s like a little town here,” Lula said. “I bet it could be cozy in one of them cardboard boxes except for the rats. And probably they got no cable.”

“They’re also missing indoor plumbing.”

“Maybe they got a box designated for that.”

The men watched us approach. One of them looked drugged out and crazy. The other two just looked tired.

“Howdy,” Lula said. “How’s it going?”

“The usual,” one of them said. “What’s up?”

“We’re looking for Brody Logan,” Lula told him. “Is he here?”

No one said anything, but one of the men nodded toward a small bedraggled tent. I gave him a couple dollars and went to the tent. I squatted down and pulled the flap away. “Brody?”