Stephanie Plum - Finger Lickin' Fifteen Part 29

"Did you hear about that barbecue cook? The one who got his head cut off? It's on the news that they found his body. It's all everyone's talking about. I heard the Today Today show is sending Al Roker and a film crew to the cook-off in the park today." show is sending Al Roker and a film crew to the cook-off in the park today."

I loaded everything into the trunk and drove to Tasty Pastry to get doughnuts for Larry. I parked at the curb, ran inside, and got a dozen doughnuts. When I came out, there was a woman sitting in the backseat of the cab.

"I'm off duty," I told her.

"I'm only going a couple blocks."

"I'm late, and I still have to go to the hardware store. You have to get out."

"What kind of a cab is this that doesn't want to make money?"

"It's an off-duty cab!"

The woman got out and slammed the door. "I'm going to report you to the cab authority," she said. "And I know who you are, too. And I'm telling your mother."

The hardware store was on Broad. I took a shortcut through the Burg, hit Broad, went one block, and parked in the small lot attached to the hardware store. I ran inside and gathered together a bag of charcoal, fire starter, and one of those mechanical match things.

"Is this to barbecue?" the checkout kid asked.

"Yeah."

"You should get a couple bundles of the special wood we've got. You put it in the grill, and it makes everything taste great."

"Sure," I said. "Give me a couple bundles."

He swiped my credit card, and I started to sweat. Barbecuing was expensive. Thank goodness I had the extra job with Rangeman.

I threw everything into the trunk alongside the groceries and peeled out of the lot. I stopped for a light, and an old guy got into the backseat.

"Out!" I said. "I'm off duty."

"What?"

"Off duty."

"I'm going to the senior center on Market."

"Not in this cab you're not."

"What?"

"I'm off duty!" I yelled at him.

"I don't hear so good," he said.

"Read my lips. Get out Get out."

"I got rights," he said.

The light turned, and the woman behind me gave me the finger. I stepped on the gas, raced the half mile to the senior center, and came to a screeching stop at the wheelchair ramp. I jumped out of the cab and yanked the old guy out of the backseat. I got back behind the wheel, made sure all the doors were locked, and took off. I looked in the rearview mirror and saw the old guy was standing there, waving money at me. I hooked a U-turn, drove up to him, s.n.a.t.c.hed the money out of his hand, and kept going. Three dollars. Good deal. I'd put it toward my credit card.

I had everything on the list, so I pointed the cab toward Gooser Park. The sun was struggling to shine through scattered clouds, and the air was crisp. Perfect weather for a barbecue.

I TURNED INTO the park and cruised the lot, looking for a s.p.a.ce close to the cook-off area. If the event had been held on a weekend, the lot would have been packed to overflowing by now. As it was, it was only half full. I'd been told they scheduled the event for a Tuesday to obtain better television coverage. Fine by me. I was happy not to have to battle a couple thousand people for a parking place and private time in a portable potty.

I did the best I could with the parking, loaded myself up with the groceries, and set off for our a.s.signed s.p.a.ce. All over the field, teams were working at marinading meat and chopping vegetables. The air smelled smoky from applewood and hickory fires, and the barbecue kitchens were colorful with striped awnings and checkered tablecloths. Except for our kitchen. Our kitchen looked like the Beverly Hillbillies were getting ready to barbecue possum.

The green awning over our area advertised Maynard's Funeral Home. The grill was rusted. The table was rickety. A handwritten sign with our team name was taped to the table. FLAMIN'. The rest of the name had been ripped off. I a.s.sume this was done by a horrified cook-off organizer. Grandma and Lula were at the ready, spatula and tongs in hand, all dressed in their white chef's jackets and puffy white chef's hats.

I dumped my stuff on the rickety table. "I'll be right back," I said. "I have to go back for the charcoal. I couldn't carry it all at once. Where's Connie?"

"She should be here any minute," Lula said. "She got a late start on account of she had to write bail for some drunken loser who p.i.s.sed on the mayor's limo."

I walked back to the cab, got the rest of the stuff out of the trunk, and my cell phone rang.

"We got lucky," Ranger said. "We found a camera watching a touch pad in one of the houses you targeted. I had Hector install a video system of the area, and we can monitor it from Rangeman."

"It's going to be interesting to see who's doing this. There's a good chance it's someone you know."

"I just want the break-ins stopped. It's bad for business, and I'm tired of riding surveillance every night. I a.s.sume you're at the park?"

"Yes. I'll be here all afternoon. The cook-off ends at six to night with the judging."

"You're driving a vehicle that isn't monitored. We don't have a blip for you on the screen."

"I'm still in my father's cab."

"Be careful." And he was gone.

I lugged the charcoal and wood and fire starter stuff across the field to Lula and Grandma. Lula filled the bottom of the grill with charcoal and piled the wood on top. She poured accelerant on and used the gizmo to light it. WHOOOSH! WHOOOSH! The accelerant caught, flames shot up, and the canopy caught fire. One of the guys in the kitchen next to us rushed over with a fire extinguisher and put the canopy fire out. The accelerant caught, flames shot up, and the canopy caught fire. One of the guys in the kitchen next to us rushed over with a fire extinguisher and put the canopy fire out.

"Thanks," Grandma said to him. "That was quick thinking. Last time that happened, it burned up Lula's chef hat and cremated our maple tree."

"You might want to move the canopy so it's not over the grill," the guy said. "Just a suggestion."

Connie hurried to the table and set two bags on it. "I saw the flames from the parking lot," she said. "What happened?"

"The usual," Grandma said. "No biggie."

Connie, Lula, Grandma, and I each took a pole and moved the canopy back a few feet. There was a large black-rimmed, smoking hole in the top and a smaller one in the front flap where the funeral home name was written. It now said MAYNARD FUN HOME. I thought it was an improvement. G.o.d works in mysterious ways.

We all set to work mixing the sauce and getting the ribs into the marinade.

"I was talking to some people in the parking lot," Connie said. "One of them was on the barbecue committee, and they said Al Roker and his crew were going to be walking around all afternoon. They were waiting for the van to show up."

"Al Roker is a big star," Grandma said. "He might be about the most famous person we've had in Trenton."

"There was that singer last year," Lula said. "Whatsher-name. She was pretty famous. And Cher came through once. I didn't see her, but I heard she rode a elephant."

"We're not as fancy as some of these people," Grandma said. "I don't know if Al Roker is gonna want to film us."

"I got it covered," Lula said. "You'll see soon as Larry gets here, we'll have it locked in."

Connie looked up at the sign. "It just says Flamin'."

"One of the committee people got a stick up her b.u.t.t about cussing," Grandma said. "We tried to explain a.s.sholes wasn't being used as a cuss, that it was the part of the body effected by our sauce, but she wasn't having any of it."

"Bein' that we burned a hole in our roof, it turns out Flamin' isn't such a bad name for us, anyway," Lula said.

Weekday or not, there were a lot of people at the cook-off. Swarms of them were milling around in front of the kitchens and strolling the grounds. I could see Larry's head bobbing above the crowd as they all made their way along the path. He reached us and handed a big box to Lula.

"I can't stay," he said. "I have to work today."

"Thanks," Lula said. "This is gonna make celebrities out of us. This could get me my big break."

"I couldn't get exactly what you wanted," Larry said. "So I got you the next best thing."

Larry left, and Lula tore the box open. "I got the idea from Mister Clucky," she said. "Cluck-in-a-Bucket got Mister Clucky the dancin' chicken, and we're going to have the dancing barbecue sparerib."

No one said anything for a full thirty seconds. I mean, what was there to say? A dancing sparerib. As if the funeral home canopy and the ma.s.sacred sign wasn't enough humiliation for one day.

Grandma was the first to find her voice. "Who's gonna be the sparerib?" she asked.

"I don't know," Lula said. "I didn't decide. Probably everyone wants to be. I guess I could do eenie meenie minie mo."

"There's no way in h.e.l.l you're getting me in a sparerib suit," Connie said.

"Let's see what we got," Lula said, pulling the suit out of the box. "What the heck? This isn't no sparerib. This isn't even a pork chop."

"It looks like a hot dog," Grandma said. "I guess it was all Larry could get on short notice."

"This don't work," Lula said. "How can someone be the Flamin' dancing hot dog when we're cooking ribs?"

"It could be a pork hot dog," Grandma said.

"That's true," Lula said. "A pork hot dog's pretty close to a rib. It's sort of like a ground-up rib."

She held the suit up. It looked to be about six feet from top to bottom. The hot dog was in a padded bun and was enhanced with a stripe of yellow mustard.

"It's a real colorful costume," Grandma said. "I wouldn't mind wearing it, but then no one would know who I was when I was on television."

That sounded like a good deal to me. "I'll wear it," I said.

There were holes in the bottom where my legs could stick out, armholes in the sides of the bun, and part of the hot dog was made of mesh, so I could sort of see. I got the thing on, and Grandma zipped me up.

"This is disappointing," Lula said. "It's not as good as Mister Clucky."

"She's got a saggy bun," Grandma said.

Connie squished my bun. "It's foam. It needs reshaping."

Everyone worked on the bun while I stood there.

"It's hot in this thing," I said. "And I can't see through the hot dog skin. Everything's brown. And there's only a little window to look through."

"I can't hardly hear what you're saying through all that padding," Grandma said. "But don't worry, we got you looking pretty good."

"Yeah," Lula said. "Dance around. Let's see what you got."

"What kind of dance?" I asked her.

"I don't know. Any kind of dance."

I jumped around a little and fell over.

"This is top-heavy," I said.

"It don't look top-heavy," Lula said. "It's all one size top to bottom. Imagine if we got a pork chop instead of a hot dog."

I was on my back, and all I saw was brown sky. I rolled side to side, trying to flip over. No luck. I was stuck in the stupid bun. I flopped around, flailing my arms and kicking my feet. I got some decent momentum going rocking back and forth in my bun, but in the end, it didn't get me anywhere.

Lula looked down at me. "Stop clownin' around. You're scarin' the kids. You're even creepin' out the big people. It's like someone threw away a giant twitching hot dog."

"I can't get up!"

"What?"

"I can't f.u.c.king get up. What part of that don't you understand?"

"Well, you should have said so instead of just layin' there thrashin' around."

Connie and Lula grabbed my arms and hauled me to my feet.

"This might not be a good idea," I told them. "This suit is unwieldy."

"You just gotta get used to it," Lula said. "I bet Al Roker will be here any minute. Anybody seen Al Roker?"

Some people stopped to look at me.

"What is it?" a man asked.

"It's a dancing hot dog," Lula said.

"It's not dancing," the man said.