In an hour I was back at my building, in the lobby, and I was feeling fine. My head was clear and my circulation was in top form. The Buick was sitting in the parking lot, looking solid as a rock and just as serene. I had the keys in my pocket, and I was still wondering about Shempsky. Maybe I should ride by and see him, I thought. Surely he'll be home by now.
The elevator doors opened and Mrs. Bestler leaned out. "Going up?"
"No," I said. "I changed my mind. I have more errands to run."
"All ladies' accessories are twenty percent off on the second floor," she said. She pulled her head back and the doors closed.
I recrossed the lot and gingerly unlocked the Buick. Nothing went boom, so I slid behind the wheel. I started the car and jumped out. I stood a good distance away and timed ten minutes. Still no explosion. Whew. Big relief. I got back in the car, put it into gear, and drove out of the lot. Shempsky lived in HamiltonTownship, off Klockner, behind the high school. Typical suburban development of single-family houses. Two cars, two incomes, two kids per family. It was easy to find his street and his house. It was all clearly marked. His house was a split-entry frame. White with black shutters. Very tidy.
I parked at the curb, walked to the door, and rang the bell. I was about to ring again when a woman answered. She was nicely dressed in a brown sweater, matching slacks, and rubber-soled loafers. Her hair was cut in a short bob. Her makeup was Martha Stewart. And her smile was genuine. She was the perfect match for Allen. I suspected I would immediately forget anything she told me, and a half hour from now I wouldn't recall what she looked like.
"Maureen?" I asked.
"Yes?"
"It's Stephanie Plum . . . we went to school together."
She slapped herself on the forehead. "Of course! I should have remembered. Allen mentioned you the other night. He said you'd stopped by the bank." The smile faded. "I heard about Fred. I'm so sorry."
"You haven't seen him, have you?" Just in case she had him in her basement.
"No!"
"I always ask," I explained, since she looked taken aback.
"And it's a good idea. I might have seen him walking down the street."
"Exactly."
So far, I hadn't seen any sign of Allen. Of course, if he was really sick he might be upstairs in bed. "Is Allen here?" I asked Maureen. "I tried to catch him at the bank, but he'd gone out to lunch, and then I got busy with another matter. I thought maybe he'd be home by now."
"No. He always comes home at five." The smile popped back in place. "Would you like to come in and wait? I could make some herb tea."
The nosy part of me would have liked to snoop through the Shempsky's house. The part of me that wanted to live to see another day thought it wise not to leave the Buick unguarded.
"Thanks, maybe some other time," I said to Maureen. "I need to keep my eye on the Buick."
"Mom," a kid yelled from the kitchen, "Timmy's got an M&M's stuck up his nose."
Maureen shook her head and smiled. "Children," she said. "You know how it is."
"Actually, I have a hamster," I said. "Hard to get an M&M's up his nose."
"I'll be right back," Maureen said. "This will only take a minute."
I stepped into the foyer and looked around while Maureen hustled off to the kitchen. The living room opened off to the right. It was a large, pleasant room done in tones of tan. An upright piano stood against the near wall. Family photos covered the top of the piano. Allen and Maureen and the kids at the beach, at Disney World, at Christmas.
Lots of pictures. Probably one wouldn't be missed if it happened to jump into my purse.
I heard a kid yelp, and Maureen chirped that everything was hunky-dory and the bad M&M's was bye-bye. "I'll be right back," Maureen said. The kitchen television was clicked on, and in the blink of an eye, I snatched the nearest photo, dropped it into my bag, and stepped back into the foyer.
"Sorry about that," Maureen said, returning. "Never a dull moment."
I handed Maureen a business card. "Maybe you could have Allen give me a call when he gets in."
"Sure."
"By the way, what kind of car does Allen drive?"
"A tan Taurus. And then there's the Lotus."
"Allen has a Lotus?"
"It's his toy."
Expensive toy.
It was necessary to pass by the strip mall on my way home, so I did a short detour into the lot and checked out the bank. The lobby was closed, but the drive-through window was open. That didn't do me any good. Allen wasn't going to be doing drive-through duty. I rode around the lot looking for a tan Taurus, but had no luck.
"Allen," I said, "where are you?"
And then, since I was in the neighborhood, I thought it wouldn't hurt to stop by and say hello to Irene Tully. And, what the hell, I might as well show her the picture of Allen Shempsky. You never know what could jog a person's memory.
"For goodness' sake," Irene said when she opened the door. "Are you still looking for Fred?" She gave an apprehensive glance to the Buick. "Is your grandmother with you?"
"Grandma's at home. I was hoping you wouldn't mind looking at another picture."
"Is this that dead man again?"
"No. This guy's alive." I gave her the photo of the Shempsky family.
"Isn't this nice," Irene said. "What a lovely family."
"Do you recognize any of these people?"
"Not offhand. I might have seen the man somewhere, but I can't place him."
"Could he have been the man Uncle Fred talked to in the parking lot?"
"I guess it's possible. If it wasn't this man, it was someone very much like him. He was just an ordinary man. I suppose that's why I can't remember him so good. There wasn't anything special to remember. Of course, he wasn't wearing a Mickey Mouse hat and Bermuda shorts."
I retrieved the photo. "Thanks. You've been very helpful."
"Anytime," she said. "You always have such interesting pictures."
I bypassed the street that led to my apartment building and continued down Hamilton to the Burg. I'd been thinking about the bombing, and I had a plan. Since I wasn't going anywhere tonight, I'd lock the Buick up in my parents' garage and bum a ride home from my dad. Not only would it keep the car safe, but it had the added advantage of getting me dinner.
I didn't have to worry about the garage being in use, because my father never put his car in the garage. The garage was used to store jugs of motor oil and old tires. My father had a workbench in there along one wall. He had a vise attached to the workbench, and little jars filled with nails and things lined the back of the workbench. I never saw him work at the workbench, but when he got really fed up with my grandmother, my father would hide in the garage and smoke a cigar.
"Uh-oh," Grandma said when she saw me at the door. "This don't look good. Where's the black car?"
"It got stolen."
"Already? You didn't even have it a whole day."
I went into the kitchen and got the garage keys. "I'm going to put the Buick in the garage overnight," I said to my mother. "Is that okay?"
My mother put her hand to her heart. "My God, you're going to get our garage blown up."
"Nobody's going to blow up the garage." Not unless they were sure I was in it.
"I have a ham," my mother said. "Are you staying for supper?"
"Sure."
I put the Buick in the garage, locked everything up nice and tight, and went into the house to have ham.
"It's gonna be two weeks tomorrow since Fred's been missing," Grandma said at dinner. "I thought for sure he'd have turned up by now—one way or another. Even aliens don't keep people that long. Usually they just probe your insides and let you go."