“Yeah, but he was dead.”
“Dead or alive makes no difference to me. All right, I know that's heartless, but I didn't really know him. And you saved me a lot of money. I would have been out the bond if it wasn't for you.”
“Unfortunately, your problems aren't over. Singh was involved in a killing game. All game members are dead now with the exception of the game organizer. And I'm pretty sure the game organizer works at TriBro.”
Andrew went perfectly still and the color drained from his face. “You're kidding, right?”
I shook my head. “I'm serious.”
“The police have been around talking to us, but no one ever said anything about a killing game.”
I shrugged.
Andrew got up and shut his office door. “Are you sure about this? This isn't another witch hunt like the one Bart went through? That was a nightmare and nothing ever came of it.”
“Lillian Paressi was a player in a previous killing game.”
“What?” Color was returning to his face, the shock morphing to disbelief and anger. “That's ridiculous. That's the most insane thing I've ever heard. Why wasn't any of this brought out by the police?”
“They didn't know at the time.”
“But they know now?”
“Yes.”
“Then why aren't they here?” he asked.
I did a palms-up. “Guess I got here first.”
“When you say you suspect the organizer of this game works at TriBro, does that include me and my brothers in your list of suspects?”
Up to this point I hadn't considered the possibility that Andrew or Clyde might be involved, but what the hell, cast a wide net, right? I took a shallow breath and jumped in with both feet. “Yeah.”
Even as I was saying this I was thinking to myself that I had a lot of nerve making such an accusation. There was a really good chance that the webmaster was Bart Cone. There was also a chance that the webmaster was someone entirely out of the loop. And there was pretty much no chance that the webmaster was Andrew or Clyde. “So,” I said, doing some mental knuckle cracking. “It isn't you, is it?”
He was back in his chair and he was stunned. His mouth was open, his eyes were wide and blank, and a red scald rose up his neck into his cheeks. “Are you crazy?” he shouted. “Do I look like a killer?”
I had a vision of Ranger listening to this in the Porsche, laughing his ass off. “Just asking,” I said. “No reason to get huffy.”
“Get out. Get out now!”
I jumped out of my chair. “Okay, but you have my card and you'll give me a call if you want to talk, right?”
“I have your card. Here it is.” He held the card up and tore it into tiny pieces. “That's what I think of your card.”
I left Andrew and I scurried down the hall to Bart. The door to his office was open so I peeked inside. Bart was at his desk, eating lunch.
“Can we talk?”
“Is it important?”
“Life and death.”
He had a sandwich, a bag of chips, and a can of Coke in front of him. He took a chip and watched me while he ate.
“And?” he asked.
I gave him the same suave spiel. “I know about Lillian Paressi,” I said. “I know she was part of a killing game.”
“Do you have proof of this?”
“Yes.” Sort of. “I also know about the current game. And I think the game organizer works in this building.”
Bart didn't say anything. His face showed no emotion. He selected another chip and chewed thoughtfully. “That's a serious accusation.”
“It's you, isn't it? You're the webmaster.”
“Sorry to disappoint. I have no knowledge of any of this. I'm not a webmaster. And I'm not involved in a killing game. You're going to have to leave now. And you can talk to my lawyer if you want to continue this conversation.”
“All righty then. You have my card?”
“I do.”
I backed out of Bart's office, turned, and was almost knocked off my feet by Clyde.
“Oh jeez,” he said, grabbing for me. “I heard you were here and I came looking for you. I guess I wasn't watching where I was going. Shit.” He clapped a hand over his mouth. “Sorry. I meant to say shoot!”
I took a step back. “No problem. I'm fine.”
“Have you had lunch? Would you want to go to lunch with me? I'd buy. It'd be my treat.”
“Gee, thanks, but my partner's waiting for me.”
“Maybe some other time,” Clyde said, not looking the least discouraged.
“Yeah. Some other time.”
I hustled out of the building, forcing myself to walk not run across the lot to the Porsche.
“Very smooth,” Ranger said, smiling.
I ripped the wire off and threw it on the dash. “I'm never wearing one of these again. You make me nervous!”
“I wanted to make sure you didn't get abducted into the broom closet and snuffed with a toilet brush,” Ranger said. “One of these days we should talk about interrogation methods.”
“It sort of went in the wrong direction. I don't know how that happened.” I slumped in my seat. “I need lunch. A bag of doughnuts would be good.”
“Would you settle for pizza?”
“No! Last time you took me for pizza in this neighborhood there were bloodstains on the table.”
Ranger rolled the engine over and cruised out of the lot. “You didn't talk to Clyde.”
“I talked more than I wanted. I'm afraid I'm going to open the door for the paper some morning and find Clyde sleeping on the doormat.”
We compromised and went to Pino's for pizza. We were on our way out when my cell phone rang.
“I have a problem here,” Connie said. “The police notified the Apusenjas about Singh's death over the weekend and now I have them sitting in the office. They want to talk to you.”
“Why me? You were in Vegas. Why can't they talk to you?”
“Mrs. Apusenja doesn't want to talk to me.”
“Tell them I'm out of town. No, better yet, tell them I'm dead. Very tragic. Car crash. No wait, that would be in the paper. Flesh-eating virus! That's always a good one.”
“How long will it take you to get here?”
“Couple minutes. We're at Pino's.”
Five minutes later, Ranger parked in front of the office. “You're on your own with this one, babe.”
“Coward.”
“Calling me names isn't going to get me in there.”
I looked through the large plate-glass window. Mrs. Apusenja and Nonnie were sitting on the couch, bodies rigid. “What would get you in there?”
Ranger leaned an elbow on the steering wheel and turned in my direction. And there it was . . . the eye of the tiger, focused on me.
I blew out a sigh and shoved my door open. “Wait here.”
Both women stood when I walked into the office.
“I'm very sorry,” I said.
“I want to know everything,” Mrs. Apusenja said. “I demand to know.”
Connie rolled her eyes and I heard the lock click on Vinnie's inner sanctum.
I decided it was best to give everyone the abbreviated version. “We had a tip that Samuel was in Vegas,” I said. “So Lula and Connie and I flew out.”
“A tip. Who would tell you about Samuel?” Mrs. Apusenja wanted to know.
“He applied for a job and his previous employer was checked as a reference.”
“This makes no sense,” Mrs. Apusenja said.
“Samuel was living with a woman he met on a business trip,” I said. “I spoke to the woman, but not to Samuel.”
Nonnie and Mrs. Apusenja went perfectly still.
“What do you mean, living with a woman?” Nonnie asked.
“He listed her house as his residence. And he was living there. I can't be more specific than that.”
“I never liked him,” Mrs. Apusenja said, narrowing her eyes. “I always knew he was a little pisse
r.”
Nonnie turned on her mother. “You were the one who thought he was wonderful. You were the one who arranged the engagement. I told you these things were not done in this country. I told you young women were allowed to choose their husbands here.”
“At your age you can no longer be choosy,” Mrs. Apusenja said. “You were lucky to have an arranged engagement.”
Nonnie slid me a look under lowered lashes. “Lucky to have him disappear and die,” she murmured.
Yikes. “Okay, then, moving along,” I said. “We learned from the police that Samuel had been shot and killed at the airport, so we went back and got Boo.” Okay, so I rearranged it a little. It made for easier telling.
“Boo!” Nonnie shouted. “Where is he?”
“We didn't want to put him on a plane, so he's driving back with Lula. I think they might be here tomorrow or maybe Thursday.”
“Samuel Singh should rot in hell,” Mrs. Apusenja said. “He is a dognapper and a philanderer. After all we did for him. Can you imagine such a terrible person?”
I turned and looked through the window at Ranger. He was in the car, watching with a bemused expression. Ranger found me amusing. He enjoyed watching The Stephanie Plum Show. I didn't usually mind. I'd decided his interest was a mixture of raw lust, curious disbelief, and affection. All good things. And all things that were mutual. Still, every now and then I felt his enjoyment required some payback. And this was one of those times. If I had to deal with Mrs. Apusenja, so did he. Okay, so I was escalating the game, and Ranger would probably take this as a challenge issued, but I deserved to have some fun, too right?
“Do you see that man in the black Porsche?” I asked the women.
They squinted out at Ranger.
“Yes,” they said. “Your partner.”
“He's homeless. He's looking for a place to stay and he might be interested in renting Singh's room.”
Mrs. Apusenja's eyes widened. “We could use the income.” She looked at Nonnie and then back at Ranger. “Is he married?”
“Nope. He's single. He's a real catch.”
Connie did something between a gasp and a snort and buried her head back behind the computer.
“Thank you for everything,” Mrs. Apusenja said. “I suppose you are not such a bad slut. I will go talk to your partner.”
“Omigod,” Connie said, when the door closed behind the Apusenjas. “Ranger's going to kill you.”
The Apusenjas stood beside the Porsche, talking to Ranger for a few long minutes, giving him the big sales pitch. The pitch wound down, Ranger responded, and Mrs. Apusenja looked disappointed. The two women crossed the road and got into the burgundy Escort and quickly drove away.
Ranger turned his head in my direction and our eyes met. His expression was still bemused, but this time it was the sort of bemused expression a kid has when he's pulling the wings off a fly.
“Uh-oh,” Connie said.
I whipped around and faced Connie. “Quick, give me an FTA. You're backed up, right? For God's sake, give me something fast. I need a reason to stand here until he calms down!”
Connie shoved a pile of folders at me. “Pick one. Any one! Oh shit, he's getting out of his car.”
Connie looked like she was going to bolt for the bathroom. “You lift your ass out of that chair and I'll shoot you,” I said.
“That's a bluff,” Connie said. “Your gun's home in Morelli s cookie jar.”
“Morelli doesn't have a cookie jar. And okay, maybe I won't shoot you, but I'll tell everyone you shave your mustache.”
Connie’s fingers flew to her upper lip. “Sometimes I wax,” she said. “Hey, give me a break. I'm Italian. What am I supposed to do?”
I heard the front door open and my heart started tap dancing. It wasn't exactly that I was afraid of Ranger. Okay, maybe at some level I was afraid of Ranger, but the fear wasn't that he'd hurt me. The fear was that he'd get even. I knew from past experience that Ranger was better at getting even than I was.
I grabbed a bond agreement and tried to force myself to read it. I wasn't making much sense of the words and it was only dumb luck that I wasn't holding the bond agreement upside down when I felt Ranger's hand on my neck. His touch was light and his hand was warm. I'd been expecting it. I'd steeled myself not to react. But I yelped and gave a startled jump anyway.
He leaned into me and his lips brushed the shell of my ear. “Feeling playful?”
“I don't know what you're talking about.” “Watch your back, babe. I will get even.”
Stephanie Plum 9 - To The Nines
Chapter Fourteen
Ranger reached around me and took the bond agreement I'd been holding. “Roger Pitch,” Ranger read aloud. “Charged with assault with a deadly weapon and attempted robbery. Tried to hold up a convenience store. Attempted to shoot the clerk. Fortunately for the clerk, Pitch's gun misfired and Pitch took out his own thumb.”
I could feel Ranger laughing behind me as he turned to the second page. Connie and I were smiling, too. We all knew Roger Pitch. He deserved to have one less thumb.
“Vinnie wrote a five-figure bond that wasn't totally secured because there seemed to be a low risk of flight,” Ranger said.
“Pitch was a local guy with only one thumb. What could go wrong?” Vinnie yelled from his inner office, his words muffled behind his closed door.
“Goddamnit,” Connie said, opening drawers, looking under her desk. “He's got me wired again. I hate when he does that.” She found the bug and dumped it into a cup of coffee.
“Pitch didn't flee,” Connie said. “He's just refusing to show up for court. He's at home, watching television, beating on his wife when things get boring.”
“He's only a couple blocks from here,” Ranger said. “We can pick him up and I'll call someone in to shuttle him over to the station.”
Roger Pitch was mean as a snake and twice as stupid. Not someone I wanted to tangle with. “Yeah, but Connie has other files. Maybe there's something more fun.”
“Pitch is a fun guy,” Ranger said.
“He's a shooter.”
“Not anymore,” Connie said. “He blew this thumb clear to Connecticut. His hand's going to be bandaged.”
Connie was right about Pitch's hand being bandaged. The incident happened three weeks ago, but the hand was still wrapped in big wads of gauze.
Pitch answered the door when Ranger and I knocked and he calmly accepted that we were bond enforcement. “I guess I forgot my date,” he said. “It's all these pain pills they got me on. Can't remember a damn thing. Lucky I don't put my pants on my head in the morning.”
Ranger and I were both dressed for the visit in full Super Hero Utility Belts. Sidearms strapped to our legs, handcuffs tucked into the belt, pepper spray and stun gun at the ready. Plus Ranger had a two-pound Maglite, just in case we needed to see in the dark. The lite could also crack a head open like a walnut, but walnut cracking was a little illegal, so Ranger saved it for special occasions.