Motor Mouth - Janet Evanovich [24]
“Changed his mind,” Maria said. “Maybe the werewolf got indigestion. Like when I eat too many chiles and I get heartburn.”
Felicia’s husband opened another bottle of wine. “It wasn’t a werewolf. There wasn’t a full moon. Werewolves need a full moon.”
“Are you sure they need a full moon?” Maria asked. “I thought they only needed a piece of the moon. How much of the moon was showing when this guy was killed? Anybody know?”
“I’ll show you a moon,” Luis said. “Anybody want to see a moon?”
“No,” everyone said. No one wanted to see Luis’s moon.
Two hours later we were still at the table, and Hooker and I were antsy to get back to the warehouse. Hard to relax when the hauler was sitting there beside a mound of scrap metal that used to be two race cars.
“This has been great,” I said to Felicia, “but Hooker and I need to get back to work.”
“What about dessert?” Felicia wanted to know. “I haven’t brought dessert out yet.”
“We’ll be back later for dessert.” A lot later.
“Should I come with you?” Gobbles asked.
Gobbles had been tending bar and looked like he’d been drinking more than serving.
“Going to leave you here, buddy,” Hooker said. “Some body needs to stick around and protect the homestead.”
“That’s me,” Gobbles said. “I’m the homestead protectorer.”
Turns out you work a lot slower when you’re full of pork and fried bread. It was close to ten o’clock and I was struggling with the last large piece of metal when Felicia opened the side door and peeked in at us.
“It’s me,” she said. “I brought you dessert, but I’m afraid to come in and get jumped on by the doggie.”
“It’s okay,” Hooker said. “He’s sleeping in the lounge in the hauler. It’s past his bedtime.”
It was past my bedtime, too. Taking a car apart is hard physical labor, and I was exhausted.
Hooker closed the door to the lounge and went to help Felicia. She was carrying two grocery bags and had a newspaper tucked under her arm.
“I brought the paper,” she said. “It has a big story about the dead guy. I didn’t know if you saw it.”
“Does it say he was killed by a swamp monster?” Hooker asked.
“No. It says the medical examiner believes the man was attacked by a large dog. And that he was already dead when the dog attacked him.”
“Time to get out of Dodge,” Hooker said.
I agreed, but we couldn’t leave before cleaning house.
“What’s this?” Felicia said. “What’s this pile of stuff?”
“Car parts,” Hooker told her.
“Are you making a car?”
“No,” he said. “We unmade a car. Now we have to get rid of the parts.”
Felicia was pulling containers out of the bag and setting them on a toolbox. “That’s a lot of parts. How are you going to get rid of them?”
“Dump truck,” Hooker said.
“You got one?”
“Not yet.”
The last thing to come out of the bag was a thermos of coffee and two cups. “I know someone who has a dump truck,” Felicia said. “Rosa’s uncle owns a junkyard. Sells scrap metal. He’s got a nice big dump truck.” Felicia had her purse on her arm. She took her cell phone out of her purse and punched in a number. “You eat your dessert, and I’ll get the dump truck,” Felicia said.
“We can’t have anyone else involved in this,” Hooker said.
“Don’t worry. We keep it nice and quiet.”
I poured the coffee and Hooker and I laid waste to the dessert. Bananas drenched in rum, some kind of fruitcake smothered in whipped cream, fried dough balls coated with cinnamon sugar, a chocolate cake that had obviously been soaked in booze, an assortment of little cookies, and some sort of parfait that was crumble cake, fruit, whipped cream, and liquor.
“This is the first time I’ve ever gotten buzzed from dessert,” I told Hooker. “My life is dirt, but I’m suddenly feeling very happy.”
Hooker gave me a sideways glance. “How happy are you?”
“Not that happy,” I told him.
Hooker blew out a sigh.
“You wouldn’t take advantage of me in a drunken state, would you?” I asked him.
“Darlin’, I drive stock cars. Of course I’d take advantage of your drunken state. It’s practically required.”
A truck engine rumbled outside the warehouse, and there was