14bis Plum Spooky Read Free Page B

explain.”
    “Do I leave cosmic debris?”
    “Everyone leaves it. Some people leave more than others. Wulf and I leave a lot because we‘re dense. We both carry high energy.”
    “That‘s weird.”
    “Tell me about it,” Diesel said. “You should walk in my shoes.” He crossed to the foyer, took my bag off its hook, and stuck his hand in.
    “Hey!” I said. “What are you doing?”
    “I want to read your case file on Munch.”
    “How do you know it‘s in there?”
    “I know. Just like I know you‘re wearing a pink lace thong, and you think I‘m hot.”
    “How? What?” I said. “Lucky guess,” Diesel said, pulling the file out of my bag, scanning the pages.
    “I do not think you‘re hot.”
    “That‘s a big fib,” Diesel said.
    “I can save you some time,” I told him. “There isn‘t anything in Munch‘s file. Only a grandmother.”
    “Then let‘s talk to the grandmother.”
    “I‘ve already talked to her.”
    Diesel shoved his feet into his boots and laced up. “Let‘s talk to her again.”
    I changed my shirt, and we headed out.
    “Your car or mine?” I asked him when we got to the lot.
    “What are you driving?”
    “The Jeep that used to be red.”
    “I like it,” Diesel said.
    “What are you driving?”
    “The hog.”
    I looked over at the black Harley. No room for Carl, and it would wreck my hair. “Probably it‘s easier to follow cosmic dust when you‘re on a bike,” I said.
    Diesel settled himself into the Jeep‘s passenger-side seat and grinned at me. “You don‘t really think there‘s cosmic dust, do you?”
    I plugged the key into the ignition. “Of course not. Cosmic dust would be… ridiculous.”
    Diesel hooked an arm around my neck, pulled me to him, and kissed me on the top of my head. “This is going to be fun,” he said.

THREE
    C ADMOUNT IS a sleepy little town on the Delaware River a few miles north of Trenton. It looks quaintly historic—a bunch of big, white, clapboard houses with black shutters and yards shaded by oak and maple trees. Lydia Munch‘s retirement home was a sprawling single-story redbrick structure. The architect had enhanced the entrance with a portico and four white columns in an attempt to make it look less like a retirement home. The result was that it looked a lot more like a funeral parlor.
    I parked in the visitor lot, and we shuffled into the lobby. The walls were a pleasant pale peach, and the floor was covered in dove gray industrial pile carpet. It was a relatively small area, large enough to accommodate the reception desk manned by two green-smocked women, a uniformed security guard old enough to be a resident, and a couple wingback chairs for tired guests.
    I asked for Lydia Munch and was directed to a lounge in her wing. I‘d already done this drill twice before, but no one seemed to remember me, and the rules and directions were precisely repeated. They would tell Lydia she had a visitor, and Lydia would meet us in the lounge. Diesel and I moved toward the corridor leading to the lounge, and one of the green-smocked women called after us.
    “Excuse me,” she said. “There‘s a monkey following you.”
    We turned and looked down at Carl. We‘d forgotten he was with us.
    “Go back to the car,” I said to Carl.
    Carl looked at me with his bright monkey eyes. The eyes dimmed down a notch, and he blinked.
    “Don‘t play dumb,” I said to him. “I know you understand.”
    Another blink.
    “We don‘t allow monkeys,” the woman said.
    Carl flipped her the finger and took off down the corridor toward the lounge.
    “Security!” the woman shouted, waving her hand at the old man at the door. “Expel that monkey.”
    The security guard looked around. “What monkey? I don‘t see no monkey.”
    Carl scampered down the length of the hall and swung through the door to the lounge. A murmur went up from the room when Carl entered, a woman screamed, and something crashed to the floor.
    Diesel and I followed Carl into