Read Online High Five by Janet Evanovich - Free Book Online Page B

look for Fred. I was antsy to retrace Fred’s steps. I wanted to stand in the parking lot where he’d disappeared and get psychic vibes. Not that I’d ever gotten psychic vibes from anything before, but hey, there’s always a first time. “By the way, do you know a bookie named Bunchy?”
    â€œNo. What’s he look like?”
    â€œAverage short Italian guy. Forty, maybe.”
    â€œDoesn’t do anything for me. How do you know him?”
    â€œHe visited Mabel, and then he visited me. He claims Fred owes him money.”
    â€œFred?”
    â€œIf Fred wanted to play the horses, why wouldn’t he place his bets with his son?”
    â€œBecause he doesn’t want anyone to know he’s gambling?”
    â€œOh, yeah. I didn’t think of that.” Duh.
    â€œI talked to your doctor,” Morelli said. “He told me you’re supposed to stay quiet for a couple days. And he said the ringing in your ears should diminish over time.”
    â€œThe ringing’s already a lot better.”
    Morelli glanced at me sideways. “You’re not going to stay quiet, are you?”
    â€œDefine ’quiet.’ ”
    â€œAt home, reading, watching television.”
    â€œI might do some of that.”
    Morelli pulled into my parking lot and rolled to a stop. “When you’re up to it, you need to stop in at the station and make a formal report.”
    I jumped out. “Okay.”
    â€œHold it,” Morelli said, “I’ll go up with you.”
    â€œNot necessary. Thanks anyway. I’m fine.”
    Morelli was grinning again. “Afraid you might lose control in the hall and beg me to come in and make love to you?”
    â€œIn your dreams, Morelli.”
    When I got up to my apartment the red light on my phone machine was blinking, blinking, blinking. And Bunchy was asleep on my couch.
    â€œWhat are you doing here?” I yelled at him. “Get up! Get out! This isn’t the Hotel Ritz. And do you realize what you’re doing is breaking and entering?”
    â€œBoy, don’t get your panties in a bunch,” he said, getting to his feet. “Where have you been? I got worried about you. You didn’t come home last night.”
    â€œWhat are you, my mother?”
    â€œHey, I’m concerned, that’s all. You should be happy to have a friend like me.” He looked around. “Do you see my shoes?”
    â€œYou are
not
my friend. And your shoes are under the coffee table.”
    He retrieved the shoes and laced them up. “So where were you?”
    â€œI had a job. I was moonlighting.”
    â€œMust have been some job. Your mother called and said she heard you blew someone up.”
    â€œYou talked to my mother?”
    â€œShe left a message on your machine.” He was looking around again. “Do you see my gun?”
    I turned on my heel and went in to the kitchen to play my messages.
    â€œStephanie, it’s your mother. What’s this about an explosion? Edna Gluck heard from her son, Ritchie, that you blew someone up? Is this true? Hello? Hello?”
    Bunchy was right. Damn that big-mouth Ritchie.
    I played the second message. Breathing. As was message number three.
    â€œWhat’s with the breathing?” Bunchy wanted to know, standing in the middle of my kitchen floor, hands stuck in his pockets, his rumpled, beyond-faded, plaid flannel shirt hanging loose.
    â€œWrong number.”
    â€œYou’d tell me if you had a problem, right? Because, you know, I have a way of solving problems like that.”
    No doubt in my mind. He didn’t look like a bookie, but I had no trouble at all believing he could solve
that
kind of problem. “Why are you here?”
    He prowled through my cabinets, looking for food, finding nothing that interested him. Guess he wasn’t crazy about hamster pellets.
    â€œI wanted to know if you found anything,” he said. “Like, do