Round Robin

Chapter 12 (CornFedFiddler)

STEPHANIE

Despite the chaos of the morning, my day began to pass like any ordinary day once Ranger left. Ordinary except for the overwhelming sense of doom in the pit of my stomach, that is. Sure, Ranger was a big, tough guy who theoretically could take care of himself, but it concerned me that Morelli had been targeted because of his interest in me. Having a stalker was one thing but having those around me targeted wasn't sitting well with me.

"A little more off the top, dear," droned Mrs. Mancheski in her raspy, chain-smoker voice.

MaryJo Mancheski was in for her weekly wash and set, but she was also due for her monthly trim. I was struggling to keep my head in the hairstyle game, my mind wandering off too far darker, more dangerous places.

"Of course," I said, combing up a section of hair and expertly trimming another half-inch from its length.

"That's better," she said with a huge smile that accentuated the wrinkles around her eyes and mouth. "I've got to look my best for bingo tonight. Willie Rhinebeck will be there, and his wife has officially been gone six months this week. Do you know what that means, sweetheart?"

I shook my head no, assuming I didn't want to know what it meant.

"He's free game!" she said with excitement. "Boy, would I look like a queen riding in the front of his LeSabre? It's been too long since I've seen any action."

I tried to keep my expression neutral, but I did a mental grimace. I barely wanted to know the details of my friends' sex lives, much less the gnarly details of eighty-five-year-old MaryJo's.

"Good luck. I'm rooting for you," I lied through gritted teeth.

As I worked, I began to mentally work my way through each stalker-related happening, from the single red rose to the DVD. Morelli had seemed like a person of interest, but now we were back to square one. That thought alone was unsettling, and I began to doubt the bravado I had demonstrated this morning. While being at the salon was cathartic and provided a sense of normalcy, it definitely wasn't safe. On the other hand, was I okay being locked up at RangeMan forever? My doodah answered, "Hell Yes!" but my rational brain said, "No."

Each act by this stalker had been a clear escalation—of that I was certain. However, it occurred to me that his latest act fell out of step with those prior. Deliveries had been occurring on Mondays. Why was there suddenly a Tuesday delivery? What had changed?

"Dear, you look like you're sucking on a pickle," Mrs. Mancheski said. "If you scowl like that too much, your face is likely to stay that way. No man will marry that. Try to put something pleasant on your face."

"Yes, Mrs. Mancheski," I said, plastering a ridiculous smile on my face. "Let's get you under the dryer."

I ushered her to the seat under the dryer, turned on the blower to drown out her chatter, and busied myself tidying my station. When the floor was clear, I sent Ranger a text pointing out the Tuesday delivery. Sure, it could be totally irrelevant—but no stone left unturned, right?

By the time my late lunch break rolled around, my stomach was grumbling, and my brain was exhausted from the mental gymnastics I'd been doing all morning. I hadn't had time to make my customary peanut butter and olive sandwich to bring for lunch, which left me with three choices. I could skip lunch. I could eat the half bag of stale pretzels in my locker. Or I could grab quick food from somewhere nearby.

Skipping lunch and five-week-old pretzels both seemed unappealing, so I decided fast food was my best option. Growing up in the Burg, I had learned that nearly all feelings—sadness, anxiety, anger, grief-could be drowned with foods like homemade lasagna, ricotta cake, meatball subs, New York-style pizza, deep-fat-fried anything, and donuts. I was hoping dread wasn't immune to the effects of food.

I grabbed my purse and sauntered outside into the bright sunshine. Lester and Hal were parked at the curb in a black Tahoe. They rolled down the window as I approached, and I greeted them with a smile and finger wave.

"How's it going, beautiful?" Lester crooned from behind the wheel.

"Good. I'm in pursuit of lunch. I assume you're going to be my shadow?"

"You know it," Hal said. "If we didn't, Ranger'd have our ass."

I gave him a small smirk but mentally laughed off his comment. Sure, Ranger had a hard exterior, but he wouldn't be that hard on his men… would he?

"Where do you want to go?" Lester asked, turning the key in the ignition.

"I figured I'd walk three blocks to Cluck in a Bucket," I said, pointing in its direction.

Cluck in a Bucket is one of Trenton's finest fast-food establishments. What it lacks in nutritional value, it makes up for with grease, sodium, and carbohydrates. Plus, it has a giant chicken that rotates on a pole high in the air above the restaurant, and occasionally employees dress up as the chain's mascot, Mr. Clucky. What wasn't there to like?

"Oh man, I love that place," Hal admitted, looking both anxious and excited. "Ranger hates it when we eat fast food. He says it makes us fat."

"Hop into the big black hoe," Lester said, unlocking the SUV doors.

I stared at him with one eyebrow raised.

"It's a black Tahoe," Lester said in explanation, shrugging.

Finally understanding the joke, I gave a light laugh and climbed into the back seat of the Tahoe. Lester turned on the radio, and Latin pop tunes blared from the speakers. He looked at me in the rear-view mirror and waggled his eyebrows, eliciting yet another laugh from me as he pulled into traffic. The Rangemen sure knew how to brighten my day.

We cruised into the lot of Cluck in a Bucket, and Lester parked in a spot near the back of the lot. The business was bustling despite the lunch hour had passed. I dug around in the bottom of my purse for money, and I counted out the stray bills and coins. I had $3.89 for lunch. I grimaced. It was going to be a "put lunch on the credit card" type day.

We hustled inside and stood at the back of a long line. Between the fryers, warming tables, and bodies, the temperature inside the restaurant was hovering near hell.

"I have regrets already," I said to Hal, mentally trying to calculate how long it would take to work our way to the front.

"I don't," he said, rubbing his hands together. "Do you know how long it's been since I've had a double Clucky burger with cheese? This is gonna be great."

Lester was doing his bodyguard thing, intently watching the people inside the restaurant. It was clear he wasn't loving the number of people in the building. The bells on the door jingled, and another man walked into the lobby, falling in line behind us.

"Stephanie Plum?" he asked.

I turned around and looked at the man, studying his face. I judged him to be around my age with oily, sandy hair that was nearly shoulder length. He was thin with a friendly face, but his pupils betrayed his recreational activities. Finally, recognition dawned, and I gave him a smile.

"Walter Dunphy? Mooner?" I asked.

"Yeah, dudette. Long time, no see!" he greeted, wrapping me up in an awkward hug.

Walter "Moon-Man" Dunphy had gone to high school with me, serving both as comic relief and our class stoner. He wasn't a bad guy, but he had enjoyed the use of illegal substances for recreational use. It was clear some things in his life hadn't changed.

"No kidding, "I responded. "What are you up to these days?"

"Entrepreneurial activities," he said. "Mostly sales."

Selling weed, no doubt.

"What about you?" he asked.

"I work at a salon nearby," I said. "I'm also into entrepreneurial activities. I make and sell jellies and jams at vendor fairs and farmer's markets on the side."

"Right on," he said. "That's so…. Domestic. What does a hairstylist moonlighting as jelly-maker need bodyguards for?"

I did a mental grimace at his reasoning but figured it was best not to disclose that information.

"These two aren't bodyguards," I said with a small, nervous laugh. "These are my friends, Lester and Hal."

"Coulda fooled me," Mooner crooned. "They look… like… badass. Hey, dudes."

Lester and Hal each gave a half-assed greeting before going back to minding their own business.

I heard a woman clear her throat, and I turned to realize we'd made it to the counter to order. Hooray for small miracles!

"Can I help you?" she asked, her face betraying her hatred of her job.

"Two double clucky burgers with cheese, a large fry, and large Coke," Hal chimed in with too much enthusiasm.

"I'll take a medium chocolate shake," said Lester.

"I want one of them too," Hal interjected.

Lester gave Hal the side-eye and a scowl. The woman in the Clucky customer service outfit gave Hal a small glare before pushing some buttons on her register.

"I'll take a Clucky burger meal with a coke," I said, fishing around in my bag for my credit card.

"Excellent lunch choice," Mooner cooed over my shoulder.

"It's on me, little girl," Hal said, handing the woman some money.

"Thanks, but you don't have to do that," I objected.

"I know," he said, putting the change in his wallet, "but it's not often I have an excuse to eat here. Plus, I ordered most of the food."

"Any chance the dude behind you could be the guy?" Lester whispered into my ear.

I furrowed my brow, considering the question, then shrugged.

"Unlikely," I said, "but at this point, I guess anything is possible."

Lester typed something into his phone and then pocketed it, no doubt having someone at RangeMan run a background check on my stoner former classmate. Hal collected our purchases, and we made them for a booth.

"Live long and prosper, dudette," Mooner said, waving as we walked away.

"Thanks, Mooner."

I slid into the booth first, and Lester ambled in next to me. Hal slid in, barely fitting his massive frame into the small, human-sized booth. I doled out the food, and we dug into lunch. We were three bites in when Lester's phone buzzed.

"When is your last appointment today?" Lester asked, reading the message.

"Four," I said, dipping a fistful of fries into ketchup. "What's up?"

"A detective from Trenton PD wants to meet with you after work," Lester said in explanation. Would 5:30 PM work?"

I swallowed back the dread I'd been trying to ignore.

"Yeah. That'll work."

We finished our lunch in silence, tossed our garbage, then headed for the SUV. As we left the building, my Spidey senses kicked into high gear. Something didn't feel right, but I couldn't pinpoint what it was. I surveyed the parking lot, finding nothing out of place. I put a hand on Lester's arm.

"Lester, I…"

Before I could finish my sentence, a massive explosion rocked the parking lot. We hit the pavement, Lester laying atop me to protect my body. I peered out from beneath my arms and saw the RangeMan SUV engulfed in flames with thick, black smoke billowing into the smoggy Jersey sky.

My ears rang as Lester dragged me to my feet and pulled me away from the SUV. Hal was on his cell phone, tucking me carefully between his massive frame and the concrete wall of the business.

"You alright?" Lester asked, giving me a full-body scan.

I gave myself a once-over through tear-filled eyes and nodded. With the exception of some minor scrapes on my elbows, I was perfectly intact. Thank God. My mental health? That was an entirely different story.

Sirens sounded in the distance, their volume steadily increasing as they grew closer. A police car pulled into the parking lot first, followed moments later by two firetrucks. Lester crossed to the police car while Hal stayed with me.

A small group of gawkers had begun gathering around the macadam lot, staring in open-mouthed horror at the burning Tahoe carcass.

"That was meant for me," I half-choked, half-whispered to Hal.

"You don't know that" he said, not sounding like he believed his own words.

Rangers tricked out black truck raced into the lot followed by another black SUV. They parked in the lot opposite the emergency vehicles, and Ranger & his men crossed to us dressed in black fatigues.

"Babe," Ranger said, studying me anxiously with furrowed brows.

"I'm fine," I said, my trembling voice betraying my resolve.

Ranger closed the distance between us and wrapped me tightly in his arms, placing a gentle kiss on my forehead. I broke into sobs.

"Shhh," he soothed, rubbing my back.

"Why me?" I cried, sniffling into his shirt.

I stayed wrapped in his embrace for a long time until I had finally begun to calm my nerves and quiet my crying.

"You've got company," Ranger finally said into my ear, and I turned to see Eddie Gazzara walking toward me.

"Steph!" he greeted with a smile. "How'd you manage this?" he said, shoving his thumb in the direction of the melted hunk of SUV.

"It's not my fault," I said in explanation.

He elicited a small laugh.

"That's what they all say," Eddie explained. "You need a ride? I can take you home, or to lunch at Pino's?"

"Thanks, Eddie, but I'm fine," I explained, acknowledging Ranger. "I've got a ride."

Eddie gave Ranger a once-over before nodding.

"Call me if you need anything, Steph," Eddie said before hustling back to his squad car. "Sorry about your ride."

"I know you're determined to work," Ranger said hesitantly, "but I suggest taking the rest of the day off."

I considered my options before nodding in agreement. I'd had enough for one day. Stick a fork in me, I'm done. I called Shelly and gave my apologies, giving her the short version of the drama. She agreed to call to cancel my appointments, and I thanked her profusely before disconnecting.

"Where to?" Ranger asked.

"Back to Haywood," I said.

Ranger escorted me to his tricked-out truck and helped me in before climbing in himself. I studied the dash, in awe of all the buttons, gauges, and display screens. I sank into the soft leather seat and laid my head back, closing my eyes.

"Babe," Ranger said, his tone questioning.

I was quickly learning that "Babe" in Ranger-speak could mean any number of things, the tone, volume, and inflection serving as critical waypoints to distinguish his meaning. I was fairly certain that this "Babe" meant, "Are you sure you're, okay?"

"I'm fine," I croaked, my voice thick with emotion. "I'll be better once I have a nap and a Butterscotch Krimpet."