“Mrs. Trotter!” I yelled. “We have a problem.”
The woman came into the kitchen and looked down at Rodney. “Sometimes he takes a nap after lunch,” she said.
“We could drag him out, throw him into your backseat, and turn him over to the police,” Lula said to me. “Problem is, the police might not want him being that he’s unconscious. They’ve been getting picky about that lately.”
I pulled cuffs out of my back pocket. “We can secure him and let him sleep it off at the office.”
I reached for his wrist. His eyes blinked open and he scrambled away from me.
“That was a short nap,” Lula said.
“Get away from me,” Trotter said. “I know my rights. I’m a doctor.”
“You aren’t no doctor,” Lula said, “and you got no rights. You signed them away when you got bonded out of jail.”
Trotter lurched to his feet and grabbed a large syringe off the kitchen counter. “One step closer and I’ll inject you.”
“What the hell is that?” Lula asked. “It looks like something you’d use on a horse.”
“Tools of the trade,” he said. “I can work miracles with this baby.”
“This is ridiculous,” I said. “Put the syringe down.”
“Get out of my house or someone gets this in their face,” he said. “I’ll make your nose look like it should be a balloon in the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade.”
“You want me to shoot him?” Lula asked.
“No!” I said. “We don’t shoot people.”
“Sometimes we shoot people,” Lula said.
“Not this time. He isn’t armed.”
“He looks armed to me,” Lula said. “He’s threatening to rearrange my nose with butt filler.”
“Don’t get too close to him,” I said. “Let me handle this.”
“How are you going to handle it? You going to let him pump up your nose? I’ll tell you how I’m handling it. I’m leaving. If I can’t shoot him, then I’m out of here. Adios. Au revoir. Sayonara.”
Lula and I backed out of the kitchen, not taking our eyes off Trotter. We hurried through the living room, left the house, and jumped into my car. Okay, Stephanie, I told myself, so this wasn’t your finest hour, but you’ll have another chance to capture him. It’s all about dogged perseverance, right?
“That was a disappointing experience,” Lula said. “I need to elevate my endorphins. I say we go after the Cluck-in-a-Bucket fry cook, on account of I could try out those new donuts everyone’s talking about. They’re calling them chicken nuts because they fry the dough in the same oil as the fried chicken. I’m thinking some of those chicken nuts could take my endorphins to a whole new level. Besides it’s a real innovation in the world of fast-food frying. And you know I’m all about innovating.”
I pulled away from the curb. “Onward to the chicken nuts.”
CHAPTER FIVE
Cluck-in-a-Bucket is five minutes from the bail bonds office on a good day. Ten minutes if church is getting out or if there’s a funeral procession leaving the funeral home on Hamilton. It was twenty minutes from Trotter’s house.
We got to Cluck-in-a-Bucket after the lunch rush and before the dinner rush. There were a few cars in the parking lot. No cars in the drive-thru line.
“I’m feeling good about this,” Lula said. “This is gonna be a win-win. We capture the fry cook and we get chicken nuts as a bonus.”
I’d be happy with just a win. I wasn’t sold on the chicken nuts. I parked the car and got out and arranged my gear. Cuffs in jeans right-hand back pocket. Car keys in jeans left-hand back pocket. Pepper spray in right-hand sweatshirt pocket. Fake badge and legitimate right to apprehend papers in left sweatshirt pocket. Illegal stun gun left in car. Cell phone and credit card in sports bra. Lula kept her equipment in her purse. Lula rarely had pockets.
“Things could happen fast after we start the apprehension process with Arnold,” Lula said. “So, I’m suggesting we get our chicken nuts first. I’ll just step up like I’m an ordinary customer and then as soon as I get my nuts, we can make our move.” She fished her wallet out of her purse. “What kind of nuts do you want? Regular or extra spicy?”
“I’m going to pass on the nuts.”
“What? No nuts? You gotta try the nuts. It’s just wrong not to try the nuts.”
“I’m not in a mood for nuts.”
“This is about that fight you had with Morelli, isn’t it? It’s the nuts association.”
“That’s ridiculous. It’s not about Morelli. And it’s definitely not about his… you know.”
“His nuts.”
“Yes, his nuts. It’s not about his nuts. Morelli’s nuts are just fine, thank you.”
“Well, you gotta miss them.”
“Could we please move on from this.”
“Just sayin’,” Lula said.
I cut a look at Lula and decided my chances of walking away with no nuts were small to none.
“Okay,” I said. “I’ll try the chicken nuts. I want the plain.”
“Yeah, but it’s all about the extra spicy,” Lula said.
I felt my eyes narrow and my teeth clench. “Then get me the extra spicy.”
“Good choice,” Lula said. “I’ll be right back.”
I hung just inside the door while Lula went to the counter. Lula was right. I missed Morelli. I missed his dog, Bob. I missed his big-screen TV. I missed the comfort and security of being in a relationship. I missed hearing about his day and cuddling next to him in bed at night. I missed his playful sexiness and the heat that came with the play. I wanted to end the standoff, but I didn’t know how to resolve the problem that caused the argument.
When Grandma found the keys, I told her I’d help her find the treasure. From that moment on, it’s been a battlefield with Grandma and me on one side and the rest of my family plus Morelli on the other side. All of their objections are valid. Ownership of the treasure isn’t clear. Much of the search will most likely fall into the gray zone of legality. And there are psychopaths involved, so it will be dangerous. Maybe even fatal.
Morelli’s parting shot was that he didn’t want a relationship with Indiana Jones. Okay, I get that because I have similar feelings about having a relationship with a cop. It’s dangerous work and the hours aren’t always great. My problem is that while Morelli made the statement to get a point across, he hit on a squelched desire. I’m realizing that I’m a closet Indy. For much of my childhood I was convinced I could fly. I broke my arm trying. I wanted to be Wonder Woman, Buffy the Vampire Slayer, and Princess Leia. None of that worked out for me. I ended up selling bargain-basement lingerie when I graduated from college, and now I’m tracking down a man who fried roaches and fed them to his ex-wife. Transitioning into Indiana Jones has a lot of appeal. Indy never had to eat chicken nuts to save the day. Monkey brains, yes, but not chicken nuts.
Lula put her order in for extra spicy nuts and waited at the counter. A couple of minutes later the counter girl handed Lula a giant bucket of nuts and Lula motioned for me to step forward.