Explosive Eighteen(4)

I’d gone all through school with Joyce, and she’d made my life a misery. She was an obnoxious, sneaky, mean kid, and now she was an unscrupulous, self-serving, man-eating adult. From time to time, she’d tried her hand at working for Vinnie in various capacities, but none of the jobs stuck. Truth is, Joyce made her money through serial marriage, and last I looked, she was doing just fine. Hard to believe she’d stolen a necklace. Easy to believe she’d assaulted the store owner.





TWO



LULA’S RED FIREBIRD rolled to a stop in front of the bus, and Lula swung herself out from behind the wheel and walked over to me. Her hair was dyed pink and teased into a big puffball that looked surprisingly good against her brown skin, and her body was minimally contained by her orange spandex skirt and white scoop neck tank top. She’s a former ’ho who gave up her street corner to work for Vinnie as a file clerk.

“You looking to get some sun sitting out here?” she asked. “Didn’t you get enough of that in Hawaii?”

I told her about Vinnie and DeAngelo, and how I was guarding the bus.

“It’s a hunk of junk anyways,” Lula said.

“What’s up for today?” I asked her. “Are you filing?”

“Hell no, I’m not getting stuck in the death trap bus. I’ll go catch bad guys with you.” She looked down at the files in my lap. “Who we gonna do first? Anything fun come in?”

“Joyce Barnhardt.”

“Say what?”

“She shoplifted a necklace and assaulted the store owner.”

“I hate Joyce Barnhardt,” Lula said. “She’s mean. She told me I was fat. Can you imagine?”

It wasn’t exactly that Lula was fat. It was more that she was too short for her weight. Or maybe it was that there was an excess of Lula and not ever enough fabric.

“I thought we’d save Joyce for last,” I told Lula. “I’m not looking forward to knocking on her door.”

Connie’s Hyundai cruised down the street, made a U-turn, and parked behind the bus. Connie and Vinnie got out and walked over to me.

“Is DeAngelo here?” Vinnie asked.

“Yes,” I told him. “He’s inside the building.”

Vinnie growled, doing his best imitation of a crazed badger backed into a corner, claws out.

“Cripes,” Lula said.

“It’s okay to go into the bus,” I said to Vinnie. “DeAngelo only blows things up at night.”

We all stood looking at the bus for a moment, not sure we believed that to be true.

“What the hell,” Vinnie finally said. “My life’s in the crapper anyway.”

And he disappeared inside the bus.

“What’s with Joyce?” I asked Connie. “Did she really steal a necklace?”

Connie shrugged. “Don’t know, but it’s gotten weird. Frank Korda, the store owner who pressed charges, is missing.”

“When did he go missing?” I asked.

“Later that same day. The nail salon across the street remembers the closed sign in the front door around four in the afternoon. His wife said he never came home.”

“And Joyce?”

“Vinnie bonded Joyce out right after she was arrested. She was scheduled for court three days later, and she never showed.”

“I bet Joyce snatched him,” Lula said. “She’d do something like that. I bet she got him in chains in her cellar.”

“Wouldn’t be the first time Joyce put a man in chains,” Connie said, “but I don’t think she’s got him in her cellar. She isn’t answering her phone. And I drove past her house last night. It was dark.”

“Holy cow,” Lula said, staring at my left hand. “You got a white ring on your finger where you didn’t get a tan. I didn’t notice that last night on the way home from the airport. What the heck did you do in Hawaii? And where’s the ring now?”

I made an effort not to grimace. “It’s complicated.”

“Yeah,” Lula said. “That’s what you said last night. You just kept saying it was complicated.”

Connie examined my left hand. “Did you get married while you were in Hawaii?”

“Not exactly.”

“How could you not exactly get married?” Lula wanted to know. “Either you get married or you don’t get married.”

I flapped my arms around and squinched my eyes shut. “I don’t want to talk about it, okay? It’s complicated!”

“S’cuse me,” Lula said. “I was just sayin’. You don’t want to talk about it? Fine. Don’t talk about it. Just ’cause we’re best friends don’t mean nothin’. We’re like sisters, but hey, don’t bother me if you don’t want to tell me something.”