people in the Burg, but I didn’t know Miriam Pepper. I left Lula and Briggs in the car and went to the door. Miriam answered the bell in a fuzzy pink bathrobe. She was in her sixties. She had short brown hair streaked with gray. She was chubby and rosy-cheeked. And the drink in her hand looked like Coke but smelled like hundred proof.
“You must be Stephanie Plum,” she said. “Silvio called and said you might be stopping by. He said I shouldn’t talk to you because goodness knows what I might say.”
It was eleven o’clock and the woman was in her bathrobe, getting cozy with Jim Beam. How lucky was this?
“You seem like an intelligent woman,” I said. “I’m sure you wouldn’t say anything inappropriate.”
“Thank you. I’m very discreet.”
“And that’s a lovely pink bathrobe.”
“Pink is my favorite color. It’s a happy color.”
“That’s so true. And I can see that you’re a happy person.”
“Especially when I have a little nip of something.” She leaned forward and whispered at me. “Actually, I’m an alcoholic. Would you like a Manhattan? I make an excellent Manhattan.”
“Thanks, but no. It’s early for me.”
“I like to get a head start on the day.”
“I wanted to ask you about Jimmy Poletti.”
Miriam knocked back some Manhattan. “He’s a pig.”
“In what way?”
“He’s a man. Isn’t that enough?”
“I was hoping you could be more specific.”
“Well, there’s his wife.”
“Yes?”
“She’s thin.”
“I know,” I said. “I’ve met her.”
“How am I supposed to compete with that?”
“I’m sure Silvio loves you just the way you are.”
“Who?”
“Silvio. Your husband.”
She did a major eye roll. “Him! All he thinks about is that trucking company. I’ve had it up to here with that trucking company.”
“What sort of stuff does he haul?”
“He has a contract with a plant in Mexico that makes salsa and a plant in Newark that makes the containers. He carts the containers to Mexico and comes back with them full of salsa.”
Okay, now I’m getting somewhere. Another Mexican tie-in.
“Does he ever haul anything other than salsa?” I asked.
“I only know about the salsa. I’ve got a garage filled with five-gallon cans of the stuff. What the heck am I supposed to do with it all? I mean, do they pay him in salsa?”
“Did he ever haul anything for Jimmy?”
She stared into her whiskey glass. “It’s empty,” she said. “I hate when that happens.”
“About Jimmy.”
“Boy, I could use a cigarette,” she said. “Do you have any cigarettes on you?”
“No. Sorry. I don’t smoke.”
“Xanax?”
“No.”
“Cupcakes?”
Standing just inside the front door, I saw a car pull into the driveway. Silvio.
I gave Miriam my card. “Call me if you want to talk.”
“Sure,” she said, “but you have to bring cupcakes.”
I passed Silvio on the sidewalk.
“Your wife is lovely,” I said. “You’re a lucky man.”
“Yeah,” he said. “Lucky me.”
SEVEN
“THIS ISN’T WORKING for me,” Lula said when I got back to the Buick. “I don’t want to be locked in the car with short stuff anymore.”
“Hey, what about me?” Briggs said. “You aren’t exactly my dream date.”
“You’d be lucky if I’m your dream date,” Lula said. “You never had a dream as good as me.”
“You’re not a dream,” Briggs said. “You’re a nightmare.”
“Oh yeah? How’d you like me to nightmare you a broken nose?”
“There’s not going to be any broken noses,” I said. “Jeez Louise, can we have some civility here?”
“We need a fun activity,” Lula said. “I think we should ride by Rangeman and see what’s going on. Maybe there’s guys in hazmat suits. Or maybe they got the building covered by one of them big yellow tents they use when you got termites.”
I headed out of the Burg and took Broad Street to downtown Trenton. Rangeman was located on a quiet side street, in a seven-story building that had secure underground parking. Ranger’s private apartment was on the top floor. Other floors were used for temporary housing of employees and detainees, a command center, offices, a gym, and an apartment for the building manager. A small plaque by the front door announced the name of the business. Windows were impact glass. All floors with the exception of the seventh were under constant surveillance.
I turned right off Broad and was stopped from making another turn by orange cones and yellow crime scene tape. The entire Rangeman block was cordoned off. An eighteen-wheeler crime scene lab was parked in front of the building, plus a bunch of cop cars, an EMT truck, a fire truck, and a hazmat unit truck.
A uniformed cop from the sheriff’s office was manning the barricade.
“What’s going