Tank was leaning against my desk at ten after nine. I handed him a cup of coffee and a doughnut, then crashed into my chair. "Guess you got the short stick, huh?"

Tank set the doughnut on a napkin at the edge of my desk, took a sip of coffee, and shook his head. "I volunteered. Helping you might be more hazardous than surveillance, but it's sure as hell a lot more fun."

I rolled my eyes and bit into my doughnut. Tank continued. "There's an issue with your truck," he said.

"Oh, shit. It blew up, didn't it?"

"No."

"So it got graffitied?" Tank shook his head. "Then I'm fresh out of ideas. Usually it's one or the other."

The corner's of Tank's mouth twitched upward. "The truck is fine," he said. "But Ranger doesn't want you in it until it's been checked out."

I nodded. Fine by me. I didn't have exploding on my list of things to do today. I ate Tank's doughnut while I filled him in on the Warner file. When I was done, I shut the file and leaned back in my chair. Tank picked up the file and flipped through it again.

"Any ideas?"

"There's no employer listed. I tried calling a couple of his past employers but the numbers are all disconnected. Then I found this."

I passed him an envelope. Inside was a check made out to Warner from B & S Slaughterhouse. It had been in the stack of mail I'd swiped from his apartment. Tank looked from the check to me and back again.

"Did you steal this?"

I gave a mini-shrug and Tank smiled.

"I think we should check it out. Maybe we can get permission to go through some files."

"That's unlikely."

"I know. But I figured it would be more polite to ask before going straight to the breaking and entering."

B & S Slaughterhouse was located on the outskirts of Trenton in an area ripe with industrialized decay. It sat between a used car lot and a mom-and-pop steakhouse which advertised Fresh Meat Daily. Neither appeared to be thriving, or even open, for that matter.

Tank pulled into a space marked Visitors Only, and we walked the short distance to a pair of glass double-doors. The front office was detached from the rest of the facility, yet still smelled faintly of manure and strawberry air freshener. I had to bite the inside of my cheek to keep from gagging. The reception area was small and sterile. A row of chairs lined the far wall opposite a long Formica-and-cherry counter. A squat red-head sat behind the counter. Her nameplate identified her as Kathy Babb, Office Manager. She looked up from a stack of files as Tank and I walked in.

"Can I help you?"

I introduced myself, and inquired about Warner.

Kathy shot an uncomfortable glance from me to Tank and back again. "Just a moment," she said. Then she disappeared through a door behind the counter.

I slouched against the counter and yawned so wide my eyes got watery. When I had regained my composure, my eyes focused in on the stack of papers Kathy had been working. They appeared to be timecards. Jackpot. I stole a glance at the door, swiped the file, and shoved it inside my jacket. I stole a sideways look at Tank. He was smirking in my direction. So much for the asking.

Kathy came back into the room, followed by a man who seemed to be channeling Dick Van Dyke. He was tall, with salt-and-pepper hair and a goatee. He crossed in front of the desk and took my hand. "Bill Forbes," he said. "Please, let us speak in my office."

Tank and I followed Forbes through a narrow hallway and past a series of plain white doors. His office was third on the right. It was sparsely decorated. A few framed diplomas on the walls. A large desk with two chairs in front. And an old turntable set upon casters in the corner. He motioned us into the office and took a seat behind his desk. I sat down in one of the chairs. Tank stood behind me.

"How can I help you?" he wanted to know.

"One of your employees has gone missing. Grayson Warner. We would like to know where to find him."

Forbes gave me a palms-up. "I haven't the slightest," he said. "I only work part-time out of this office. I inherited this company from my father. He wanted to keep it in the family and I don't have the heart to sell out my half. My partner, Jimmy Springs, does most of the handling. I come in at crunch time to sign a few papers. That's all. Jimmy's the one you'll want to talk to."

I nodded. "Any way I can get in touch with him?"

"I'm afraid not." Forbes shook his head. "He's in Chicago for the holidays. He has family there."

"Is your office normally open on Sundays?"

"No." Forbes smoothed his tie. "We're getting ready for inventory. With Jimmy away, it's taking longer than expected."

I stood and thanked Forbes for his time, and slipped him my business card. He tucked the card into the breast pocket of his jacket and agreed to call me if he heard anything from Warner. Then he escorted Tank and me back into the reception area. I got to the door and stopped.

"Do you mind if I use your restroom?" I asked, putting the back of my hand to my mouth.

Forbes shook his head and opened the door behind the counter, and motioned me through it. "Go to the end of the hall, and turn left. It's the third door on the right."

I followed his instructions and ended up in a small lavatory done up in green and mauve. I held myself over the toilet until my nausea subsided and then splashed my face with water. I stepped back into the hallway, and something shiny caught my eye. I walked down the hall and picked up a small silver pendant in the shape of an E. I dropped it in my pocket and looked around.

I was directly in front of a tall, metal door. There was a small window at the top. I stood on tippy-toes and peered in. The room was dark and empty, except for a few boxes. Probably it wouldn't hurt to take a look around, I decided. I tried the knob and the door creaked open.

The air was musty inside. Stale and damp. I shut the door behind me and looked around. That's when I realized I was in one of those walk-in freezers, except it didn't feel cold. I pulled the lid off the boxes and sifted through them quickly. Mostly they were filled with old papers. Work orders and receipts. I let out a dejected sigh and got back on my feet. I don't know what I had been expecting. Maybe some old employee files or a head to match the hand found in my freezer. Anything to get a lead on where Warner could be hiding out.

I walked back to the door and realized there was no knob. Don't panic, I told myself. There has to be a way out. I searched my brain and came up empty. Then I remembered back to my brief stint at Cluck in a Bucket. The freezer there had been a lot smaller, but essentially the same. I opened the panel to my left and looked at the buttons. One of them, I hoped, was an alarm. All I had to do was press it and a bell would sound. Then someone would let me out. Good plan. I chose a button at random, closed my eyes, and pressed it in. The room growled, and a hiss of cold air started pouring in.

I pressed every button I could find in a blind panic, but nothing happened. I checked my cell phone. No service. "Shit!"

I began beating on the door and calling for help. Probably it was useless. The room was sealed tight, soundproof. Within a few minutes, the temperature had dropped to an uncomfortable degree and I could see my breath fog in front of me as I screamed for help.

There was a scraping sound and the door opened into me. Behind it stood Bill Forbes. He stared at me for a moment and then pressed one of the buttons on the side panel. The hissing stopped.

"I got lost." Forbes nodded, but I could tell he didn't buy it.

Tank was still waiting in front of the counter in the reception area. He threw me a questioning look, and I shook my head.

We climbed back into the SUV and I used Tank's cell phone to check in with the vet. Then I called Morelli to leave an update and was sent straight to voicemail. Bob wasn't out of the woods yet, but he was showing signs of improvement. So far, so good. Tank secured his cell phone at his hip and merged into traffic, and I spent the next half-hour trying in vain to keep from nodding off. It was one thing to zonk out in front of Ranger, but another one completely to do so in front of Tank. Ranger knew for a fact I was a mess-up; I think maybe he even appreciated it a little bit. Tank only suspected I was a mess-up, and I was determined to keep him in the dark on that for as long as possible.

The SUV pulled to a stop in front of The Bride Shoppe and idled. I threw everything into my messenger bag and got out. Tank gave a nod and doubled back onto Hamilton, parking three car-lengths up from the shop, directly behind my mother's Buick LeSabre. It was just as I had suspected. Tank hadn't volunteered to assist with the take-down; he had volunteered to be my babysitter. Probably no one else had remaining sick leave. No wonder Ranger had to bring in someone from the Boston office.

I met my mother and Grandma Mazur inside the store.

"You wearing Kevlar again?" Grandma wanted to know.

"Sure," I said. Grandma Mazur was the only person in my family keen on my being a bounty hunter. She especially liked when body parts ended up in my apartment and my cars went kaboom. Since I hadn't exploded a car in a couple of months, I figured it wouldn't hurt to lie about the Kevlar.

Grandma nodded. "Thought so," she said. "You've got a little pooch around the middle. Guess you can't be too careful, in your condition."

I had barely time enough to glare before I was accosted by an over-excited Maria Raguzzi, sole proprietor of The Bride Shoppe. She pulled me aside by my elbow and said in a low tone, "Your sister told me the Big News. Don't worry about a thing."

Then she handed me a garment bag and shoved me into a dressing room. I unzipped the bag and swallowed. Inside was a dark blue dress which looked and felt like it had been made from upholstery fabric. The scotch-guarded, flame resistant kind. I stripped down to my black bikinis and matching bra, and stepped in through the top. The dress was sleeveless, strapless, and thankless. It had a fitted bodice and a huge pool of a skirt. I pulled the top up over my boobs and checked myself out in the mirror. Stephanie Plum, human Smurf. I rolled my eyes and reached around for the zipper. It came up just past the small of my back and stopped. I sucked in some air and tried again. Nothing.

"Stephaneeeee!" came a voice from outside. It belonged to Rita Metzger, one of Valerie's bridesmaids. "Come out so we can see you."

I sucked in again and tried to force the zipper up another half-inch. "Um. Just a minute."

There was a knock at the door. "Stephanie, it's your mother. Hurry up, so we can see you in your dress."

I was going dizzy from lack of oxygen, but at least I had managed to move the zipper up a few more centimeters. I figured as long as I got into the dress, I could worry about the getting out part later.

"Okay," I said, straining for air. "Just . . . give me . . . a minute. Zipper's . . . stuck."

"Well, let me in and I'll help you fix it."

"No thanks."

There was a fit of whispering on the other side. I inhaled, and the zipper slipped back down. Damn it.

I heard a key slide in the lock, and the fitting room door opened to a gaggle of velvet-clad women. My mother and grandmother were in front.

"Hey!" I screamed, pulling the dress back over my boobs. "What are you doing? I could be naked in here!"

"Turn around so I can help you with your zipper," said Mom.

"No! Get out! Shoo!"

I grappled for the fitting room door and Grandma Mazur slipped inside. She was dressed to the nines in a glitzy flapper-style number that hit her just below her knees. "Stand up straight," she said, taking hold of the zipper. "Where's the Kevlar? And what happened to your back?"

"I lied about the Kevlar," I said. "And I got stuck in a window."

Grandma Mazur tugged upward on the zipper until her arm flab started jiggling. "No kidding?"

"No kidding."

"But that about the arm in your freezer wasn't made-up, was it? Because I got an appointment at the beauty parlor at five and I'll need to know these things. Which arm was it? Is it true it was hacked off with a chainsaw? Was there lots of blood?"

My mother crossed herself and sat down on one of the poofy stools.

I sucked in my gut and held it until my sides throbbed. "It was only a hand," I said. "The left one. I don't know how it got there. And there was no blood."

"No blood?" Grandma asked, finding it hard to keep the disappointment out of her voice.

"None."

"Hmph. Helen, you try," Grandma said. "I can't get it to go up."

My mother sidled in behind me and took hold of the zipper. She braced herself and pulled with all her might. "Maybe if you hold your breath," my mother said. I sucked my stomach in as tight as I could, and waited. "It's no use. Someone get Maria. We're going to have to try something else."

The other girls gave me sympathizing looks and shot each other nervous glances. I felt my cheeks grow warm with embarrassment.

Maria shuffled in with her yellow measuring tape dangling from her neck and a Velcro pin-cushion fastened to her wrist. She took one look at me in the dress and shook her head.

"I was afraid of this," she said. "But don't worry. We have something from our early maternity line that's very much like this dress. I took the liberty of ordering one when Valerie told me the Big News."

My vision got dotty and I had to cling to the wall to keep from crashing to the floor. "I'm. Not. Pregnant," I said through clinched teeth.

Grandma Mazur leaned forward and whispered, "She's in denial. It's the hormones."

My eyes grew so large they felt like they were shaking. I shoved everyone out of the fitting room and got dressed in my T-shirt and cargo pants, and tore out of the fitting room, leaving the dress in a pile on the floor. I slammed the door to Tank's SUV and said, "Floor it."