14bis Plum Spooky Read Free

something.”
    “Sometimes Morelli‘s dog, Bob, knows what I‘m saying. He knows walk , and come , and meatball .”
    “Yeah, Tank knows some words, too, but not as many as this monkey,” Lula said. “Of course, that‘s ‘cause Tank‘s the big, strong, silent type.”
    Tank is Lula‘s fiancé, and his name says it all. He‘s Ranger‘s right-hand man, second in command at Ranger‘s security firm, Rangeman, and he‘s the guy Ranger trusts to guard his back. To say that Tank is the big, strong, silent type is a gross understatement on all accounts.
    Fifteen minutes later, we were in the Jeep and we‘d eaten all the doughnuts.
    “I feel a lot better,” Lula said. “Now what?”
    I looked down at my shirt. It had powdered sugar and a big glob of jelly on it. “I‘m going home to change my shirt.”
    “That don‘t sound real interesting,” Lula said. “You could drop me at the office. I might have to take a nap.”

TWO
    I PARKED MY Jeep in the lot behind my apartment building, and Carl and I crossed the lot and pushed through the building‘s rear entrance. We took the elevator to the second floor, and Carl waited patiently while I opened my door.
    “So,” I said to him, “do you miss Susan?”
    He shrugged.
    “You do a lot of shrugging,” I told him.
    He studied me for a moment and gave me the finger. Okay, so it wasn‘t a shrug. And giving and getting the finger is a way of life in Jersey. Still, getting the finger from a monkey isn‘t normal even by Jersey standards.
    My apartment consists of a small entrance foyer with hooks on the wall for coats and hats and handbags. The kitchen and living room open off the foyer, a dining area is tucked into an extension of the living room, and at the other end is a short hallway leading to my bedroom and bathroom. My décor is mostly what ever was discarded by relatives. This is okay by me because Aunt Betty‘s chair, Grandma Mazur‘s dining room set, and my cousin Tootsie‘s coffee table are comfortable. They come to me infused with family history, and they give off a kind of gentle energy that my life is sometimes lacking. Not to mention, I can‘t afford anything else.
    I hung my tote on one of the hooks in the foyer and stared down at a pair of scruffy men‘s boots that had been kicked off and left in the middle of the floor. I was pretty sure I recognized the boots, plus the battered leather backpack that had been dumped on Tootie‘s coffee table.
    I walked into the living room and stared down at the backpack. I blew out a sigh and rolled my eyes. Why me? I thought. Isn‘t it enough that I have a monkey? Do I really need one more complication?
    “Diesel?” I yelled.
    I moved to the bedroom, and there he was, sprawled on my bed. Over six feet of gorgeous, hard-muscled, slightly tanned male. His eyes were brown and assessing, his hair was sandy blond, thick, and unruly. His eyebrows were fierce. Hard to tell his age. Young enough to be lots of trouble. Old enough to know what he was doing. He was wearing new gray sweatsocks, tattered jeans, and a faded T-shirt that advertised a dive shop in the Caicos.
    He rolled onto his back and smiled up at me when I came into the room.
    “Hey,” he said.
    I pointed stiff-armed to the door. “Out!”
    “What, no kiss hello?”
    “Get a grip.”
    He patted the bed next to him.
    “No way,” I said.
    “Afraid?”
    Of course I was afraid. He made the Big Bad Wolf look like chump change.
    “How do you always manage to smell like Christmas?” I asked Diesel.
    “I don‘t know. It‘s just one of those things.” The smile widened, showing perfect white teeth, and crinkle lines appeared around his eyes. “It‘s part of my appeal,” he said.
    “You were in Martin Munch‘s house earlier today, weren‘t you?”
    “Yeah. You came in the back door, and I went out the front. I would have hung around, but I was following someone.”
    “And?”
    “I lost him.”
    “Hard to believe.”
    “Are you sure you