Seventeen

Morelli and my parents live in houses that are almost identical, but Morelli's house feels larger. Morelli's house has less furniture, fewer people, and one more bathroom. My parents' house is filled with overstuffed couches and chairs and end tables and candy dishes, vases, fruit bowls, china doo-dads, stacks of magazines, afghans, area rugs, and kid things for my sister Valerie's three girls. My parents' house smells like pot roast and lemon furniture polish and fresh-baked chocolate chip cookies. Morelli's house rarely has a smell, except when it rains… then it smells like wet Bob.

There are three tiny bedrooms and the bathroom on the second floor of my parents' house. At the crack of dawn my mother gets up and is the first in the bathroom. She's quiet and efficient, taking a shower, putting on her face, neatening up after herself. After my mother it's a battle between my grandmother and my father. They rush at the bathroom and the first one there elbows in and slams and locks the door. Whoever is left on the outside starts yelling.

'For crissake, what are you doing in there?' my father will yell. 'You've been in there for days. I need to take a crap. I need to go to work. It's not like I sit around watching television all day.'

'Blow it out your you-know-what,' my grandmother will fire back.

So it's not like I ever have to worry about oversleeping at my parents' house. Toilets are flushing, people are yelling and stomping around. And morning kitchen smells work their way upstairs. Coffee brewing, sweet rolls in the oven, bacon frying.

My room hasn't changed much since I moved out. My sister and her kids took the room over while she was regrouping after her divorce, but they're in their own house now, and the room has reestablished itself. Same floral quilted bedspread, same white ruffled curtains, same pictures on the walls, same chenille bathrobe hanging in the closet, same small chest of drawers that I left behind when I went off on my own. I sleep like a rock in the room. It feels safe… even when it isn't.

By the time I got down to the kitchen my father had already left. He's retired from the post office and drives a cab part-time. He has a few regulars that need rides in the morning, to work or the train station, but mostly he picks his cronies up and takes them to the lodge to play cards. And then he stays and plays cards too.

My grandmother was in the kitchen, hooked up to my mothers iPod. 'Before you break my heart… think it oh oh ver,' she sang, eyes closed, bony arms in the air, shuffling around in her white tennies.

'She tells me she's got a gig,' my mother said. 'Just exactly what's going on?'

'Sally has a new band, and they have a bunch of jobs playing for seniors. He thought Grandma was an appropriate edition.'

'Sweet Jesus!' And my mother made the sign of the cross.

I poured out some coffee and added milk. 'It might not be so bad. They get done early because everyone in the audience gets medicated and falls asleep. And no one can sing, so Grandma will fit right in.'

My mother watched Grandma gyrating and flailing her arms. 'She looks ridiculous!'

I got a cinnamon roll and took it to the table with my coffee. 'Maybe she just needs a costume.'

Grandma paused while there was a song change on the iPod, and then she started skipping and strutting around the kitchen. 'I can't get no satisfaction!' she yelled. 'No, no, no!'

'Actually, she looks a lot like Jagger,' my mother said.

Ranger's cell phone rang, and I opened the connection. 'Yeah?'

'Your friend Scrog called early this morning. I have him on the machine. I want you to come over and listen to this.'

'I knew it was a mistake to get an answering machine.'

'The mistake was to leave last night. If you'd been here this morning you could have talked to him.'

'Omigod, what the heck would I say?'

'You could keep him on long enough for a trace,' Ranger said.

'My line is bugged?'

'Of course it's bugged.'

I looked at my watch. It was almost nine. 'Is it okay if I stop at the office first?'

'As long as you're here by noon. I want you to change your recording.'

'I have to go to work,' I said to my mother.

'Its Thursday,' my mother said. 'And I know you usually come for dinner on Friday, but Valerie and the girls and Albert are coming tomorrow. Would you and Joseph rather come for dinner tonight?'

'Probably. I'll have to ask him.'

I walked into the bonds office and noticed that for the first time in almost two weeks the inner sanctum door was cracked open. I threw my shoulder bag on the couch and gave Connie raised eyebrows.

'He's back,' she said.

I heard rustling in the inner office, the sort of sound rats make running through leaves, and Vinnie opened the door wide and stuck his head out.

'Hah,' Vinnie said to me. 'Decided to show up for work?'

'You got a problem?' I asked him.

'I'm drowning in FTAs. What the hell do you do all day?'

Vinnie is a cousin on my father's side of the family, and it's not a comfortable thought that he swam out of the Plum gene pool. He's slim and boneless with slicked-back hair and pointy-toed shoes and Mediterranean coloring. The thought of him married and reproducing sends chills through me. Still, in spite of his shortcomings as a human being, or maybe because of them, Vinnie is a pretty good bail bondsman. Vinnie is an excellent judge of sleaze.

'You're writing too much bond,' I told him.

'I need the money. Lucille wants a new house. She says the one we have now is too small. She wants one with a home theater. What the fuck is that, anyway?'

Meri was watching from her card table. 'Maybe I could start going out with Stephanie and Lula,' she said. 'I wouldn't be any help in the beginning but maybe eventually I could pick up some of the easier skips.'

'Maybe eventually,' Lula said.

'Not eventually,' Vinnie said. 'Now! Get out there now. I'm hemorrhaging money, for crissake. Lucille's gonna kill me.'

Connie, Lula, and I knew who would kill him, and it wouldn't be Lucille. It would be Lucille's father, Harry the Hammer. Harry didn't like when Lucille was disappointed.

'How did the nursing home go last night?' I asked Lula.

'We had to quit early. The feathers gave two people an asthma attack. I'm going out on my lunchtime to get us new outfits. We have a big job coming up Sunday night at the Brothers of the Loyal Sons, and we're calling an emergency practice so Grandma can learn the moves. We're doing a dress rehearsal and everything.'

A floral delivery van double-parked in front of the office and a guy got out and carted a vase of flowers into the office. 'Is there a Stephanie Plum here?'

'Uh-oh,' Lula said. 'Morelli must have done something wrong.'

I took the vase and put it on Connie's desk and read the card. TIL DEATH DO US PART. NOT LONG NOW.

'What the heck?' Lula said.

'One of my many secret admirers,' I said. 'Probably some serial killer who just broke out of prison.'

'Yeah,' Lula said. 'I bet that's it. Those serial killers are known for being romantic.'

'Did we get any new skips in?' I asked Connie.

'None this morning. The one high-end bond we still have out is Lonnie Johnson. I'd really like it if you could get a line on him.'

The front door banged open, and Joyce Barnhardt stalked in. She was still in black leather, wearing the stiletto-heeled black leather boots and the skin-tight, low-slung black leather pants and black leather bustier with her boobs squishing out the top. Her red hair was teased, her long artificial nails were polished and sharpened, her glossy red lips looked about to explode.