Janet Evanovich - Takedown Twenty

“So it was a normal day,” Morelli said.

I gave up a sigh.

“And you’re going to Bingo tonight?”

I nodded. “That’s why I need the drugs.”

Morelli took the chicken out of the oven. “The chicken looks good. What else do you have to eat?”

“Potatoes in the form of chips.”

“Works for me,” Morelli said.

We ate the chicken and chips, and Bob came over and pushed against me.

“Don’t feed him,” Morelli said. “He’s getting fat. I fed him before we got here.”

“Tell me about the latest Dumpster victim.”

“Not much to tell. She fit the profile. Seventy-six years old. Lived alone. Withdrew money from her bank account one day and dead the next. She was strangled and wrapped in a sheet. The details were consistent with the other victims.”

“Do you know what was used to strangle her?”

“A Venetian blind cord. Just like always.”

“You’d have to be pretty strong to strangle someone.”

“Not necessarily. The women selected were frail,” Morelli said. “And two of them had blunt force trauma to the back of their heads. They were knocked out and then strangled.”

“Anything else?”

“We haven’t made it public, but they all had a single sunflower somewhere in their home. Melvina had it in a jelly jar in her kitchen. Lois had one in a vase on her dining room table.”

“A calling card?”

“Something like that.”

I brought the banana cream pie and two forks to the table, and we dug in.

“You even defrosted it,” Morelli said.

“I’m no slouch when it comes to pie.”

We finished the pie and carried our dishes into the kitchen. Morelli gave the last chunk of pie crust to Rex, gave a small piece of chicken he’d been saving to Bob, and reached out for me, pulling me flat against him. “I haven’t taken any pills today,” he said. “I have full control over my tongue.”

“No time,” I told him. “Lula will be here any minute. Maybe we can test out your tongue after Bingo.”

“Can’t do it after Bingo. I promised my brother I’d go to the ball game with him.” He looked at my splinted finger. “Do you really want drugs?”

“No. I’m feeling better now that I’m full of wine and pie.”

Morelli moved to kiss me, and the doorbell rang.

“Don’t answer it,” he said. “Eventually she’ll go away.”

“She won’t go away. She’ll shoot the lock off the door. I’ll have to pay for a new door.”

“Hey!” Lula yelled. “I know you’re in there. I can hear you breathing. What are you doing?”

I opened the door, and Lula looked past me and waved at Morelli.

“I saw your car in the lot,” Lula said.

“I’ll give you twenty bucks if you go away,” Morelli said to Lula.

“I gotta take Stephanie and her granny to Bingo,” Lula told him. “I bet we win the jackpot. I feel lucky. I got my lucky undies on.”

Morelli snapped the leash onto Bob and gave me a fast kiss. “I can’t compete with her lucky undies. I’ll try to catch you tomorrow.”

EIGHT

I’D BEEN TO the Senior Center before and it always smelled like eucalyptus, canned peas, and orange blossom air freshener. It was a single-story redbrick structure straddling the line between Trenton and Hamilton Township. Bingo was held in the largest of the meeting rooms. Rectangular folding tables were set out in rows that ran perpendicular to the small stage at one end. The caller sat at a little table on the stage, and an overhead flat-screen television flashed the numbers as they were called.

“This is a real professional setup,” Lula said, taking a seat.

“It’s pretty good, but it’s not as good as some of the Bingo halls in Atlantic City,” Grandma said. “Some of them are all electronic. You don’t need cards or daubers or nothing.”

I’d elected to play four cards. Grandma took twelve cards. And Lula bought thirty.

“Are you going to be able to keep track of all those cards?” Grandma asked Lula. “That’s a lot of cards.”

“Yeah, but the more cards you got, the more chances you got to win, right?”

“That’s true,” Grandma said. “Do you play Bingo a lot?”

Lula laid all her cards out in front of her. “I’m one of those intermittent players.”

“Me too,” Grandma said. “I don’t know how these women have the time to do this every night. I got a schedule to keep. I gotta see Dancing with the Stars and America’s Got Talent . I record my shows when I have to, but it’s not like seeing them live.”

We were sitting to the side and back of the room and I could see all the players. Most were women in their sixties and seventies. The demographic would be a lot younger when we went to Bingo at the firehouse. There were a few men mixed in with the women. I knew some of them. They were, for the most part, the core participants in the senior program. They went on the bus trips to Atlantic City, they played cards in the afternoon, they took a variety of classes that were available at the center, and they went to Bingo.

“I got my eyes open for the killer,” Grandma said. “If I had to pick someone out in this room, it would be Willy Benson. I always thought he looked shifty.”

“He’s ninety-three years old!”

“Yeah, but he’s crafty. And he gets around pretty good.”

“I know Willy,” Lula said. “He looks shifty on account of his one eye don’t look at you. It looks someplace else. You can’t malign a man for a disability.”

“It depends where the other eye’s looking,” Grandma said.

Marion Wenger was onstage twirling the cage containing the numbered Bingo balls. She selected one and called out B-10.

“I know I got a B-10 somewhere,” Lula said. “Here’s one. And here’s another one. Am I off to a good start, or what?”

“I got one too,” Grandma said, marking it off with her dauber.

“G-47,” Marion called.

“Got it,” Lula said. “Here, and here, and here …”

“N-40.”

“Hold on,” Lula said. “I’m not done looking for G-47.”

“B-15.”

“Say what?”

“You’ve got a bunch of B-15s,” Grandma said to Lula. “I can see them from here.”

“B-2.”

“Hey!” Lula yelled to Marion. “You got some better place to go that you gotta rush us through our Bingo game?”

The game came to a screeching halt and everyone turned to look at us.

“Lula’s new at this,” Grandma announced to the room. “She hasn’t got the hang of it yet.”

Across the table and two chairs down, Mildred Frick narrowed her eyes at Lula. “Amateur,” she said on a hiss of air.

Lula glared back. “Who you calling a amateur? You got a lot of nerve calling someone a amateur when you don’t even know them.”

“You have a lot of nerve sitting there with thirty cards when you’re not capable of playing them,” Mildred said to Lula. “Clearly you’re too dumb to manage thirty cards. It’s an insult to the rest of the room that you would even try. You’re a dumb bunny .”

“Well, you’re a ugly old hag,” Lula said. “And I find your choice of accessories to be a insult. You got a handbag hanging on the back of your chair that I wouldn’t be caught dead in.”

Mildred was at least eighty years old. She was five feet tall. And she had a spray tan that made her look mummified. She jumped to her feet and leaned across the table at Lula. “You take back what you said about my handbag.”

“Will not,” Lula said.

Mildred shook her blue-veined bony fist at Lula. “I’ll make you take it back, you dumb bunny .”

“Oh yeah?” Lula said. “You want a piece of me? Come get it.”