Page 86 of Tricky Twenty-Two (Stephanie Plum 22)

IT WAS MONDAY morning, and I had to go to the office. I looked out my security peephole into the hall. No lunatics in sight. I stepped out and studied the carpet. No fleas hopping around. If there were fleas on the carpet they were sleeping in. Best to try to forget about the fleas.

Connie was alone in the office when I walked in. Vinnie’s door was shut, and I didn’t see his car parked outside. No Lula.

“Where is everybody?” I asked Connie.

; “Vinnie is at the courthouse, and Lula is always late. It’s just that you’re usually later than Lula. Sounds like you had a fun day yesterday. I saw the guys in the hazmat suits on the evening news. We made national again.”

“Did they say anything about fleas?”

“No. They said there was the rumor of biological warfare by a terrorist cell. And they showed a picture of Pooka that made him look totally insane.”

“At least they got that right.”

The door crashed open, and Lula bustled in. “We were on the evening news and the morning news. I couldn’t get unglued from my television.”

“We?” I asked.

“Trenton,” Lula said. “They didn’t get a whole lot about the situation right, but there was a picture of Pooka that if it was me I’d rush out and get a makeover.”

I squinted across the room at her. “What have you got around your neck? Omigod, is that a flea collar?”

“Damn skippy it’s a flea collar. I’m not taking no chances. Suppose that nutcase Pooka decides to go spreading his fleas everywhere. Or he could be building new fireworks even as we speak.” Lula tapped her head with her index finger. “No grass growin’ here. I’m no dummy. I went out and got myself some flea protection. This here’s the size for a big dog.”

“It’s got sparkly jewels in it,” Connie said.

“I bedazzled it,” Lula said. “It’s practical and yet it’s fashionable. I might go into business making these. There’s a lot of people out there with flea issues. Even if your fleas don’t have plague, you still don’t want them sucking out your blood, right?”

“Plague?” Connie asked.

“She didn’t say plague,” I said. “She said plaque like in heart disease.”

“Holy Mary, Mother of God,” Connie said. “Are you shitting me? Plague? Like in bubonic plague? Like in the black death?”

“It’s not conclusive,” I said.

“I want one of those flea collars,” Connie said. “Do they really work?”

“Fuckin’ A they work,” Lula said. “They sell them at Petco. They wouldn’t sell them at Petco if they didn’t work.”

“Do you have any extra?” Connie asked her.

“I’ve only got this one ’cause I had to make sure it would fit, but I could make a Petco run and pick up a couple,” Lula said. “What would you like on yours? Do you want the diamond look or do you want some color in it?”

“I think color,” Connie said. “Something flattering to my skin tone. Maybe red.”

“I don’t want to bust anyone’s bubble here,” I said, “but the fleas could be hopping onto your feet and biting you in the ankle, and I don’t think a flea collar on your neck is going to be much help.”

“Ankle bracelet!” Lula said. “Everybody likes a ankle bracelet. I could hang a charm from it. A little heart or your initial.”

“I’d like my initial,” Connie said.

“This is big,” Lula said. “I could be the next Martha Stewart. Martha’s gonna be real angry that she didn’t think of this. Although I have to say she makes a damn good laundry basket. And I got a stellar cake decorating book by her.”

“I thought you didn’t have an oven,” I said.

“Well, yeah,” Lula said, “but I got the book. Everybody should have that book. Just in case the occasion arises to make a cake and you got an oven.”