Fearless Fourteen - Janet Evanovich [40]
“Brenda went back to the hotel,” I told him.
“I know. I saw her leave. I thought I’d have better luck talking to you.”
“I’m not working security for her anymore.”
“Yeah, but you talk to her.”
“Actually, no.”
“I had a dream that she was sitting on a toilet in the southbound lane of Route 1.”
“Un-hunh?”
“I thought someone needed to know.”
“Why?”
“Just in case,” he said.
“Anything else?”
“No. That’s it.”
“Okay, then,” I said. “Thanks.”
My phone rang and a strange number popped onto the screen.
“Is this Stephanie Plum?” a man asked.
“Yeah,” I said, recognizing the voice. “Is this the Mooner?”
“Affirmative. It’s the Moonster, the Moondog, the MoonMan. I’m here at the house, looking for Zookarama, but he isn’t here.”
“He’s in school.”
“School! Far out.”
“Anything else?”
“Here’s the thing, it was real late when we were done playing last night, and I think I might have left my computer in the house, because I don’t seem to have it with me. So I was wondering if you could, like, let me into the house.”
“Sure,” I said. “I’m at the bonds office. I’ll be right there.”
Morelli’s house is minutes from the bonds office. It was close to noon, and there was no traffic. No kids playing. No dogs barking. Only Mooner sitting on the small porch, patiently waiting for me.
I unlocked the door, and Bob galloped over to us. Bob stuck his snoot into Mooner’s crotch and took a sniff.
“Whoa,” Mooner said. “He remembers me. Cool.”
We pushed past Bob and found the computer exactly where Mooner had left it, on the coffee table.
“When’s the little dude get out of school?” Mooner asked.
“Two-thirty.”
Mooner flopped onto the couch.
“What are you doing?” I asked him.
“Waiting.”
I decided some time ago that Mooner fell into the pet category. He was like a stray cat that showed up on your doorstep and stayed for a few days and then wandered off. He was amusing in small doses, fairly harmless, and for the most part, housebroken.
I left Mooner on the couch and went to the kitchen to check out the contents of Morelli’s refrigerator. It was noon, and as long as I was there, I figured I might as well eat. If I’d been in my house, I would have made a peanut butter sandwich, but this was Morelli’s house and he was a meat guy, so I found deli-sliced ham and roast beef and Swiss cheese. I made a sandwich for me and a sandwich for Mooner, and I dragged a big bag of potato chips out of the cupboard. I put it all on the small kitchen table and called Mooner in.
“Thanks, Mom,” Mooner said, sitting down, dumping some chips onto his plate. “This is, like, excellent.”
I ate half a sandwich, and I realized Bob was at the table, and he was holding a man’s shoe in his mouth. It was a scuffed brown lace-up shoe, and I didn’t recognize it as Morelli’s. I looked under the table at Mooner’s feet. Both of them were stuffed into beat-up sneakers.
“Where’d Bob get the shoe?” I asked.
“He brought it up from the basement,” Mooner said. “The door’s open.”
I turned and looked behind me and, sure enough, the basement door was open. I got up and cautiously peeked down the stairs. “Hello?” I called. No one answered. I took the carving knife out of the butcher-block knife caddy, switched the light on in the basement, and carefully crept down the stairs and looked around.
“What’s down there?” Mooner wanted to know.
“Furnace, water heater, and a dead guy.”
“Bad juju,” Mooner said.
The dead guy was spread-eagle on his back, eyes wide open, hole in the middle of his forehead, lots of blood pooling under him, wearing only one shoe. I didn’t recognize him. He looked like he came out of central casting for a Sopranos episode.
I took a moment to decide if I was going to throw up or faint or evacuate my bowels. None of those things seemed to be going on, so I stumbled up to the kitchen, closed the basement door behind me, and dialed Morelli.
“There’s a d-d-dead guy in your b-b-basement,” I told him.
Silence.
“Did you hear me?” I asked, working hard to control