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TWENTY-FIVE

I woke to afternoon sunshine slanting through the bedroom window. Groggily, I sat up, rubbing my forehead and trying to remember how I ended up naked and sticky in bed. Slowly, events returned to me and I groaned.

I heard Ranger's office chair creak as he got up. A few seconds later, he appeared in the bedroom.

"Tell me I didn't make a complete fool of myself," I begged.

Ranger sat on the edge of the bed and pulled me against him, kissing the top of my head. "You didn't make a public fool of yourself, if that helps," he replied with a smile. "And I'll never be able to look at a Frosty the same way again."

"Ugh," I put my head in my hands. "I'm so sorry." I suddenly remembered Scott and Grandma. "How's Scott? You aren't going to fire him, are you?"

"No. It wasn't his fault. There's a new rule about accepting food or drink from your grandmother, though. And he's not going to live it down among the other guys for a long time."

"What about my P.L.U.M. t-shirt? Does getting Scott stoned count as breaking him?"

"Yes."

Damn.

"I should call my mother and see how Grandma is doing." I grimaced, not looking forward to the conversation.

"I already did damage control with your mom."

"Did you tell her what actually happened?"

"No, I told her that after you and Grandma ate leftovers for lunch, something disagreed with you both. So you threw out all the leftovers, just in case, and then called me to come get you after your grandmother fell asleep."

"And she believed you?"

"No. I could hear her crossing herself over the phone. But she didn't ask for the real story, so I'm going with the assumption she doesn't want to know."

"We make a great couple. One day in and you're lying to my mother for me already."

"Babe." He sounded exasperated but he smiled when he said it. "Though, I'd like to know how your grandmother's friend got her hands on that much chocolate pot cake."

"Oh my gosh, I almost forgot. I think I know who Cookie is! I was wrong, it isn't a woman. I think it's Frankie Rossi!"

"And you came to this conclusion how?"

"Grandma told me Miriam got the cake from a neighbor, and she lives on the same street as Frankie Rossi."

"Not exactly a smoking gun."

"I want to go talk to Miriam and see if she will finger Rossi."

"Get a shower," he said to me, "and I'll drive you."

I quickly showered, the water fully sobering me up. My eyes were back to their normal size as I ran a brush through my hair and reapplied some mascara and lipstick.

Ranger waited for me when I reemerged. He'd changed into black cargo pants, a black t-shirt, and carried a large handgun on his hip.

"Maybe you should carry concealed," I suggested. "I'm not sure Miriam will let us in if she sees a big scary guy with a gun on his hip on her doorstep, especially since we're there to ask her questions about weed." Not to mention that, being friends with my grandmother, chances were good Miriam packed a gun too. And she might shoot first and ask questions later.

"Noted," Ranger replied, stepping into his dressing room. When he reemerged, no gun could be seen.

When I got off the elevator in the parking garage, there were more cars there than I expected. Ranger's new Ferrari rested next to his Turbo and Cayenne. My new truck sat at the end of the line of SUVs.

My hands flew to my hips. "You volunteered to drive me so you could take out the Ferrari, didn't you?"

"I would have volunteered to drive you anyway. The Ferrari is just an added bonus."

We got into the Ferrari. Ranger turned the key and the car purred.

"Damn!" I remarked, dangerously close to being turned on by an inanimate object.

Ranger grinned at me, looking happier than a kid on Christmas.

We were halfway to Chestnut Street when my cell phone rang. I looked at the number and froze. It was Morelli.

Ranger glanced over at me, then briefly at the screen before returning his eyes to the road. "You need to talk to him, Babe."

I sighed and answered the phone. "Hello."

"Hey, Cupcake. I thought you might want an update on Fortecelli."

"They found him?"

"No. He's got the DEA scratching their heads."

"Then how is that an update?"

"I guess it's not. I suppose I just wanted an excuse to talk to you. I missed you."

I took a shaky breath. "Joe, we need to talk."

"Shit. I don't like the sound of that. I don't suppose it's the kind of talking we do over a six pack and a pie from Pino's?"

I might need the alcohol after the talk. "No, it isn't. Look, I'm on my way to talk to a lead on Fortecelli. If it pans out, I might know who Fortecelli's partner is. Will you be home tonight?"

"Do I want to be home tonight?"

Probably not. "Do you want an honest answer to that?"

"Shit. Yes, I'll be home."

I hung up and tried to stay positive. Maybe Fortecelli or Rossi would shoot me before I had to go talk to Morelli.

Ranger pulled to the curb in front of Miriam Bell's home. Light seeped between the edges of the curtains on her kitchen window. I knocked on her door, Ranger standing close behind me. I saw Miriam peek through the sheer curtain covering the little window in her door.

"Hi, Miriam," I called. "It's Stephanie Plum, Edna's granddaughter."

Miriam opened the door and her eyes slid from me to Ranger.

"This is my friend Ranger," I added.

Miriam's eyes grew wide. "Edna's told me about him. I see she wasn't exaggerating." She opened the door and invited us inside.

"I wanted to ask you about the cake you gave Grandma."

"Oh dear," Miriam said. "I warned Edna about the potency. That she should only take a bite or two."

"You gave her three whole slices!"

"Well, yes, but I figured that would last her several months. It's still very good thawed after being frozen. A few bites are really all that is needed."

"Needed for what?" Ranger asked.

"Pain relief," Miriam replied as if it were obvious. "Edna mentioned her arthritis really acts up with the cold weather."

"Grandma said you got the cake from a neighbor. Was it Frankie Rossi?" I asked.

Miriam hesitated. "I don't want to get anyone in any trouble."

"I'm not after Frankie," I replied. "I just need to know if he's involved."

"Yes, Frankie brought me the cake," Miriam said.

I pulled out the photograph of George Fortecelli. "What about this guy? Have you ever seen him, maybe when Frankie dropped off the cake?"

"I don't know his name, I only saw him the one time. He was with Frankie when he brought me one of the cakes. He told me to enjoy it."

"How much did Frankie charge for the cake?" Ranger asked.

"Charge? Oh no, I think you have the wrong idea about Frankie. Frankie gave me the cake for free."

"For pain relief?" I asked.

"My knees used to be so bad, I could barely walk. Now I got two spanking new knee replacements, but I still got a freezer full of cake. So I've been slowly giving it away to friends as they need it."

"That may not be such a great idea, seeing as how it's special cake," I suggested.

"I suppose you are probably right. I just hate to see good food go to waste. I bet you'd know what to do with it, how I about I give the rest of it to you?"

I said, "sure," at the same instant Ranger said, "no!"

"Excuse us for a second," Ranger said, dragging me aside. "Do you understand what will happen if we get caught with that cake?"

"We can't let Miriam keep handing it out like leftover birthday cake," I whispered back. "What if the wrong people learn what she's got? She could be in serious danger. We take it and get rid of it. Besides, even if we get pulled over, it just looks like cake. No cop is going to suspect a few Tupperware containers full of cake."

I stepped away from Ranger and back to Miriam. "We'll take it off your hands," I told her.

"Great." Miriam opened her freezer. Rectangular blue Tupperware containers filled it from top to bottom.

"Is that all cake?" I asked nervously.

"Sure is," Miriam replied.

"If you get my Ferrari impounded, I'm going to be very unhappy with you," Ranger hissed in my ear. Goosebumps exploded along my arms, and not the good kind. Turns out Ranger could still intimidate me.

We left with three plastic grocery bags packed full of frozen cake. Ranger carefully loaded them into the Ferrari's tiny trunk.

"I want to stop by Rossi's house," I said to Ranger.

We drove two blocks and stopped outside Frankie Rossi's home. No car sat at the curb and the house looked dark, but we got out to knock on the door anyway. No one answered and the door was locked.

"I have reasonable suspicion that Rossi is harboring a FTA," I said to Ranger. He gave me a small smile, did something to the door knob, and the front door swung silently open.

We stepped inside, quietly closed the door, and listened for a few seconds. Nothing sounded out of the ordinary. Ranger reached into his pocket and slipped on a pair of disposable gloves, drew the curtains, then turned on a light. The house looked neat and orderly. I pulled out a pair of knit winter gloves from my coat pocket, put them on, then went to the kitchen and began rummaging in cabinets.

"Rossi has more baking gadgets than my mother," I said. I pulled open a drawer and found a stack of round stickers. "He's definitely Cookie."

"Babe, come see this."

Ranger stood in a small office, where he had Rossi's PC up and running. "Rossi got an interesting e-mail last night." He opened a file and several pictures appeared on the screen.

I grabbed the doorframe as my knees suddenly went weak. "Oh my god." The photos showed George Fortecelli, clearly dead. Fortecelli's glazed eyes stared at the camera, a stunned expression frozen on his face. A large bullet hole gaped in his forehead. The time stamps on the pictures were from December 27th. No wonder no one could find him.

"The text of the e-mail is four words: Cookie, you are next. I don't think Frankie is coming home tonight."

"Because he's dead?" I asked.

"Possibly. Or if he's smart, he's in California by now." Ranger pulled a flash drive out of one of the pockets of his cargo pants and inserted it into a port on Rossi's computer. "I'm going to copy his entire hard drive and have my guys go over it to see if there is anything else. Maybe they can trace the e-mail. It looks like Rossi tried to reply to the threat, but got an automatic invalid address reply. This will take a few minutes."

I snooped around the rest of Rossi's house while Ranger downloaded the contents of his computer. Nothing else stood out to me. I found an empty suitcase in Rossi's full closet, so I felt pretty sure he wasn't in California. Cautiously, I opened the door to Rossi's one-car garage. Fortecelli's maroon Ford Focus filled the space. The windows were heavily tinted, preventing me from seeing inside.

"Ranger!" I called and he appeared almost instantly.

He pulled his gun from his inside-the-waist holster and carefully approached the car. He opened the driver's door with one hand. I let out a sigh of relief finding it empty. Ranger reached in and popped the trunk release. No dead body.

"I guess we know who toasted the Jeep," I muttered.

"And your apartment," Ranger replied grimly.

We turned off the lights, re-opened the curtains, and locked the house as we left. Across the street, lights shone brightly inside Andrea Grayson's house.

I nodded toward the house. "Andrea Grayson lied to me about knowing George Fortecelli. She and he are friends on Facebook. And she told me that she only knew Frankie because he'd sometimes bring over cookies or brownies for her son. And now I think I know why she lied."

"She bought Cookie Crumbs products?"

"Yep." I crossed the street, walked to Andrea's door, and knocked. Ranger stood close, his hand protectively resting on my waist.

A little girl, maybe seven or eight, answered the door.

"Is your mommy home?" I asked.

"Mommy! There's someone at the door," she shouted, opening the door wider for us.

Andrea rushed out from the kitchen, wearing a pink apron that looked to be splattered with pasta sauce. "Amy, how many times have I told you not to open the door to people you don't know!" Her eyes grew wide when she saw me, and then wider when she saw Ranger.

"Hi, remember me?" I asked, stepping into the house without waiting for an invitation.

Andrea nodded, face pale. She looked terrified.

"I know you lied about knowing George Fortecelli," I said softly. "And I know what was in the baked goods Frankie brought over."

Andrea looked like she might cry. "You have to understand, I had no choice. Nothing else worked."

I was about to ask her what she meant when another child ran over, this time a boy about twelve or thirteen. He looked panicked. "Mom, it's Mason again."

Andrea turned her back on us and ran down the hall into another room. Ranger and I followed, finding Andrea on her knees next to the sofa in her family room. A tiny boy, four or five at the most, convulsed on the cushions.

I felt my throat constrict in panic and I grabbed for my cell phone so I could call 9-1-1. The older boy put his hand on mine to stop me.

"We only need to call 9-1-1 if he doesn't stop in a few minutes. Mason has epilepsy." He said it so matter-of-factly I nearly dropped the phone. "This happens all the time."

After about a minute, Mason stilled. I quickly decided I would rather spend hours looking at the pictures of Fortecelli's body than ever witness a child having a seizure again.

Andrea spent a few more minutes fussing over Mason before tucking a blanket around him and letting him go back to watching cartoons.

"I'm so sorry," I gushed as she stepped back into the foyer. "I thought…"

"You thought I was buying drugs for myself," she cut in. She didn't sound angry.

"The edibles were for Mason?" I asked quietly.

Andrea eyes met mine with a haunted look. "Believe me when I say we tried everything else. None of the medications work. The seizures happen too deep for surgery. We've been to specialists up and down the entire east coast."

"But Jersey has medical marijuana."

"We have him registered. The problem is, while it's legal, not a single medical insurer in the state pays for it. And we can't afford it. My husband works twelve hour shifts, six days a week, and we're still drowning in the medical bills."

I took a wild guess. "Does your husband work at CampTech?"

"Yes, that's how we know George. The factory put together a benefit to try to help us with some of the medical bills about a year and a half ago. George approached us not long after to offer us the kind of help he could provide. Frankie would drop off a few brownies once a week. Mason only needed two bites, once in the morning and then before bed. He went months without a seizure."

"But the supply went dry a little after Christmas?"

"Yes. Frankie felt heartbroken. He cried when he told me he couldn't keep helping. Something had happened to George, and Frankie was just the baker. He didn't know how to grow or process it."

"How does Mason feel about cake instead of brownies?"

"Who doesn't like cake?"

I glanced at Ranger. "There are a few crazy people in this world."

Ranger ignored the fact I'd called him crazy, but understood where I was going with this. "I'll be right back," he said, slipping back out the front door. Two minutes later he returned, carrying the three grocery bags of chocolate cake from Miriam Bell.

"Mason isn't the only one Frankie and George were helping. Someone else had some extra inventory. You should take it for Mason," I explained.

Andrea pulled one of the Tupperware containers out and opened it. She looked at all the containers in all the bags, then burst into tears and threw her arms around my neck.