“Just doing my job,” I managed.
“Yeah, well, do your job someplace else.”
A match flared in the dark store. It was Jersey City lighting up. He sucked smoke deep into his lungs, let it curl out from his nose. I was still on hands and knees, and the man swooped down and held the glowing tip of the cigarette to the back of my hand. I yelped and jerked my hand away.
“This is just the start,” Jersey City said. “We're going to burn you in places that are a lot more painful than the back of your hand. And when we're done you're not going to want to tell anyone about it. And you're not going to want to go chasing after Mo anymore. And if you do . . . we're going to come get you and burn you again. And then maybe we'll kill you.”
A door slammed somewhere far off and footsteps sounded on the pavement behind the store. There was an instant of silence while we all listened. And then the back door was opened wide and a shrill voice called into the darkness. “What's going on here?”
It was Mrs. Steeger. Any other time Mrs. Steeger would call the police. Tonight she decided to investigate on her own. Go figure.
“Run!” I yelled to Mrs. Steeger. “Call the police!”
“Stephanie Plum!” Mrs. Steeger said. “I might have known. You come out this instant.”
A beam of light played across Mo's backyard. “Who's there?” another voice called. “Mrs. Steeger? Is that you in Mo's backyard?”
Dorothy Rostowski.
A car parked at the curb. Headlights blinked off. The driver's door opened, and a man stepped onto the sidewalk.
“Shit,” Jersey City said. “Let's get out of here.” He got down on one knee and put his face close to mine. “Get smart,” he said. “Because next time we'll make sure nobody saves you.”
James Bond would have shown disdain with a clever remark. Indiana Jones would have sneered and said something snotty. The best I could come up with was, “Oh yeah?”
There was
scuffling at the back door and some frightened exclamations from Dorothy and Mrs. Steeger.
I dragged myself to my feet and leaned against a booth for support. I was sweating and shivering, and my nose was still running. I wiped my nose on my sleeve and realized my shirt was open and my Levi's were unzipped. I sucked in some air and clenched my teeth. “Damn.”
Another deep breath. Come on, Stephanie, get it together. Get yourself dressed and get out there to check on Dorothy and Mrs. Steeger.
I tugged at my jeans, putting a shaking hand to the zipper. My eyes were still watering, and saliva was still pooling in my mouth and I couldn't get the zipper to slide easily. I burst into tears and gave my nose another vicious swipe with my sleeve.
I gathered my shirt together with one hand and lurched toward the back door. Dorothy was standing, arms crossed over her chest. Self-protective. Mrs. Steeger was sitting on the ground. A man squatted in front of her, talking to her. He helped her to her feet and turned to look when I appeared in the doorway. Morelli. Wouldn't you know it.
Morelli raised questioning eyebrows.
“Not now,” I said.
I backed up a few paces and sidestepped into the bathroom. I flicked the light on and locked the door. I looked at myself in the rust-rimmed mirror over the sink. Not a pretty sight. I used half a roll of toilet paper to blow my nose. I splashed water on my face and hand and buttoned my shirt. Two of the buttons were missing, but they weren't crucial to modesty.
I did deep breathing, trying to compose myself. I blew my nose some more. I looked at myself again. Not bad except my eyes looked like tomatoes and the cigarette burn was turning into a beauty of a blister.
Morelli had knocked on the door three times, asking if I was okay. My reply each time had been a cranky “Yes! Go away!”
When I finally opened the door, the lights were on in the candy store, and Morelli was behind the counter. I slid onto a stool in front of him, leaned my elbows on the counter and folded my hands.
Morelli set a hot fudge sundae in front of me and gave it a good dose of whipped cream. He handed me a spoon. “Thought this might help.”
“Wouldn't hurt,” I said, gnawing on my lip, trying hard not to cry. “How's Mrs. Steeger?”
“She's okay. She got shoved out of the way, and it knocked her on her ass.”
“Gee, I always wanted to do that.”
He gave me the once-over. “Like your hair,” he said. “Trying something new?”