Fearless Fourteen - Janet Evanovich [58]
“Babe,” Ranger said.
“I need information on Stanley Zero. Place of residence, car, anything personal . . . like friends, wife, whatever.”
“How do you want it? Can I e-mail it to you?”
“No. I’m at Morelli’s house. I don’t have my computer.”
“I can send it to Morelli.”
“That would work. How’s Tank doing?”
“He’s distracted.”
“Why doesn’t he just break it off?”
“The man is confused,” Ranger said. “Sometimes it’s difficult to tell what you want to do with a woman.”
“Are you speaking about yourself?”
“No. I know exactly what I want to do.”
I knew what he wanted to do, too.
“Is there anything else you need from me?” Ranger asked.
“Not right now.”
“There will come a time,” Ranger said. “Let me know when.” And he disconnected.
I opened the freezer and stuck my head in to cool off. If there’d been any more innuendo in that conversation, I could have fried an egg on my forehead. Ranger was a successful bounty hunter because he was exceptionally intuitive and doggedly aggressive. And that was also his description as a lover.
I removed my head from the freezer, and I brought an ice cream sandwich out with me. Morelli’s computer was upstairs in his office. I was eating the last of the ice cream, so I sneaked past Mooner and Zook and tiptoed up the stairs.
Ranger’s office was ultra modern and very high tech. Polished glass, stainless steel, and black onyx surfaces with black leather chairs. It was dust and clutter free. The computer and phone system was state of the art and there was a plasma television on one wall.
Morelli’s office was a mess. A red plastic milk crate held his baseball mitt, bat, and some tennis balls he’d collected for Bob. Stacks of dog-eared files hunkered in corners and against the wall. Smaller stacks of books he’d been given as presents or he thought he might like to read but never seemed to get to were tucked between the files. A dead houseplant on a small table by the window. Coffee cup rings everywhere. A yard sale desk and chair. Running shoes that had seen better days, kicked off under the desk and forgotten. And his computer, which was a nice new MacBook Pro. Plus a DeskJet printer.
I turned the computer on and brought up Morelli’s mail program. I’m not a computer whiz, but I can do the basics. I knew it wouldn’t take Ranger long to run the background check, but I relaxed in Morelli’s chair for a moment before checking in. Truth is, I like Morelli’s office. Okay, it could be a little cleaner, but it felt warm and comfy, like Morelli.
I could see across the hall into Zook’s room. It was a typical teen disaster. Rumpled bed and every piece of clothing he had with him was on the floor. I thought he was doing remarkably well, considering his mother was missing. I imagined there might be some tears when he went to bed at night, but during the day he managed to hold his own. Mooner was helping. Mooner wasn’t the world’s best role model, but he kept Zook occupied.
I hit the GET MAIL button and Ranger’s file came up. I printed it out and sat back to read it. Stanley Zero was married with two kids but not living with them. He was living alone in a low-rent apartment complex off Route 1. He worked for Premier Homes. I already knew that. So maybe he was Work Boots, and he was the partner with the crapola apartment. He’d run up his credit cards, but he wasn’t in collection. He drove a red F150 truck. Four years old. No prior arrests. His wife was a nurse. Worked at St. Francis. She was living in a house that was owned jointly by Stanley and her. Heavily mortgaged. The kids were five and nine. The typical American family. Except Stanley might have robbed a bank, blown up a house, and shot a guy dead.
So I had Stanley Zero, Allen Gratelli, and Dom. If I could find the common thread, the one thing that brought them together, I might learn the identity of the fourth man. Or maybe there was no common thread. Stanley and Dom had gone to school together. Dom and Allen had worked together