Read Online Three to Get Deadly by Janet Evanovich - Free Book Online
Authors: Janet Evanovich
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the hair out of my eyes, punched 4 on my speed dial and ordered a pizza to be delivered—extra cheese, black olives, peppers and onions.
I took hold of the pen and drew a line on the empty page. I drew a happy face. I drew a grumpy face. I drew a heart with my initials in it, but then I didn’t have anyone else’s initials to write next to mine, so I went back to thinking about Mo.
Where would Mo go? He left most of his clothes behind. His drawers were filled with socks and underwear. His toiletries were intact. Toothbrush, razor, deodorant in the medicine chest over the bathroom sink. That had to mean something, right? The logical conclusion was that he had another apartment where he kept a spare toothbrush. Trouble was…life wasn’t always logical. The utilities check hadn’t turned up anything. Of course that only meant that if Mo had a second house or apartment, it wasn’t registered under his name.
The other possibility, that Mo was snatched and most likely was dead somewhere, waiting to be found, was too depressing to ponder. Best to set that one aside for now, I decided.
And what about Mo’s mail? I couldn’t remember seeing a mailbox. Probably the mailman brought the mail into the store and gave it to Mo. So what was happening to the mail now?
Check the post office, I wrote on the pad.
I smelled pizza get off the elevator, and I hustled to the foyer, flipped the chain, threw the bolts back on the two Yale locks, opened the door and stared out at Joe Morelli.
“Pizza delivery,” he said.
I narrowed my eyes.
“I was at Pino’s when the order came in.”
“So this really is my pizza?”
Morelli pushed past me and set the pizza on the kitchen counter. “Cross my heart and hope to die.” He got two beers out of the refrigerator, balanced the pizza box on one hand and carted everything into the living room and set it all on the coffee table. He picked the channel changer off the sofa and punched the Knicks game on.
“Make yourself at home,” I said.
Morelli smiled.
I set two plates, a roll of paper towels and a pizza cutter next to the pizza box. Truth is, I wasn’t completely unhappy to see Morelli. He radiated body heat, which I seemed to be lacking today, and as a cop he had resourcesthat were useful to a bounty hunter. There might be other reasons as well, having to do with ego and lust, but I didn’t feel like admitting to those reasons.
I recut the pizza and slid pieces onto plates. I handed one plate to Morelli. “You know a guy named Cameron Brown?”
“Pimp,” Morelli said. “Very oily. Deals some dope.” He looked at me over the edge of his pizza. “Why?”
“You remember Jackie? Lula’s friend?”
“Jackie the hooker.”
“Yeah. Well she came to Vinnie’s office today to see if I could find her car. Seems her boyfriend, Cameron Brown, took off with it.”
“And?”
“And, Lula and I cruised around awhile and finally found the car parked in the RiverEdge Apartments parking lot.”
Morelli stopped eating. “Keep going.”
“That’s about it. Jackie said she didn’t care about finding Cameron. She just wanted her car.”
“So what’s your problem?”
I chewed some pizza. “I don’t know. The whole thing feels…nasty. Unfinished.”
“Stay out of it.”
“Excuse me?”
“It’s Jackie’s problem,” Morelli said. “Mind your own business. You got her car back. Let it rest.”
“She’s sort of my friend.”
“She’s a doper. She’s nobody’s friend.”
I knew he was right, but I was still surprised at the harsh comment and at the emphatic tone. A little alarm sounded in my brain. Usually when Morelli felt this strongly about my not getting involved in something it was because he didn’t want me muddying waters he’d staked out for himself.
Morelli sank back into the couch with his bottle of beer. “Whatever happened to the all-out search for Mo?”
“I’m all out of ideas.” I had wolfed down two pieces of pizza and was eyeing a
I took hold of the pen and drew a line on the empty page. I drew a happy face. I drew a grumpy face. I drew a heart with my initials in it, but then I didn’t have anyone else’s initials to write next to mine, so I went back to thinking about Mo.
Where would Mo go? He left most of his clothes behind. His drawers were filled with socks and underwear. His toiletries were intact. Toothbrush, razor, deodorant in the medicine chest over the bathroom sink. That had to mean something, right? The logical conclusion was that he had another apartment where he kept a spare toothbrush. Trouble was…life wasn’t always logical. The utilities check hadn’t turned up anything. Of course that only meant that if Mo had a second house or apartment, it wasn’t registered under his name.
The other possibility, that Mo was snatched and most likely was dead somewhere, waiting to be found, was too depressing to ponder. Best to set that one aside for now, I decided.
And what about Mo’s mail? I couldn’t remember seeing a mailbox. Probably the mailman brought the mail into the store and gave it to Mo. So what was happening to the mail now?
Check the post office, I wrote on the pad.
I smelled pizza get off the elevator, and I hustled to the foyer, flipped the chain, threw the bolts back on the two Yale locks, opened the door and stared out at Joe Morelli.
“Pizza delivery,” he said.
I narrowed my eyes.
“I was at Pino’s when the order came in.”
“So this really is my pizza?”
Morelli pushed past me and set the pizza on the kitchen counter. “Cross my heart and hope to die.” He got two beers out of the refrigerator, balanced the pizza box on one hand and carted everything into the living room and set it all on the coffee table. He picked the channel changer off the sofa and punched the Knicks game on.
“Make yourself at home,” I said.
Morelli smiled.
I set two plates, a roll of paper towels and a pizza cutter next to the pizza box. Truth is, I wasn’t completely unhappy to see Morelli. He radiated body heat, which I seemed to be lacking today, and as a cop he had resourcesthat were useful to a bounty hunter. There might be other reasons as well, having to do with ego and lust, but I didn’t feel like admitting to those reasons.
I recut the pizza and slid pieces onto plates. I handed one plate to Morelli. “You know a guy named Cameron Brown?”
“Pimp,” Morelli said. “Very oily. Deals some dope.” He looked at me over the edge of his pizza. “Why?”
“You remember Jackie? Lula’s friend?”
“Jackie the hooker.”
“Yeah. Well she came to Vinnie’s office today to see if I could find her car. Seems her boyfriend, Cameron Brown, took off with it.”
“And?”
“And, Lula and I cruised around awhile and finally found the car parked in the RiverEdge Apartments parking lot.”
Morelli stopped eating. “Keep going.”
“That’s about it. Jackie said she didn’t care about finding Cameron. She just wanted her car.”
“So what’s your problem?”
I chewed some pizza. “I don’t know. The whole thing feels…nasty. Unfinished.”
“Stay out of it.”
“Excuse me?”
“It’s Jackie’s problem,” Morelli said. “Mind your own business. You got her car back. Let it rest.”
“She’s sort of my friend.”
“She’s a doper. She’s nobody’s friend.”
I knew he was right, but I was still surprised at the harsh comment and at the emphatic tone. A little alarm sounded in my brain. Usually when Morelli felt this strongly about my not getting involved in something it was because he didn’t want me muddying waters he’d staked out for himself.
Morelli sank back into the couch with his bottle of beer. “Whatever happened to the all-out search for Mo?”
“I’m all out of ideas.” I had wolfed down two pieces of pizza and was eyeing a
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