Motor Mouth by Janet Evanovich Page B

part…the worker said this was the work of some kind of monster killer who eats dead flesh. He said Mr. Dead Guy was all wrapped up like a mummy, but that he could see through the plastic wrap that he was shot in the head and that someone ate part of Mr. Dead Guy’s shoulder. And it was someone with real big teeth.”
    “And then there was a press conference and the police person said it was true that someone or some
thing
had eaten part of the deceased. And they think the fact he was all wrapped up might be part of some devil ritual,” Rosa said.
    “They didn’t say devil,” Felicia said. “They just said ritual.”
    “They didn’t have to say devil,” Rosa said. “What other kind of ritual could it be? You think they used him for shrink-wrap practice at butcher school? Of course it would be a devil ritual.”
    “Then they showed some pictures of him before he got wrapped up,” Felicia said. “Pictures of him with his wife. And a picture of him with his race driver.”
    “What about the hauler?” Hooker asked Rosa and Felicia. “Did anyone say anything about the missing sixty-nine car hauler?”
    “No,” Rosa said. “Nobody said anything about that. And I got a theory. You ever see the girlfriend that goes along with the Mr. Dead Guy race driver? I bet she’s the one ate Mr. Dead Guy.”
    “Beans ate Mr. Dead Guy,” Felicia said. “We saw it.”
    “Oh yeah,” Rosa said. “I forgot.”
    “We gotta get back to work,” Felicia said, heading for the door. “We just wanted to tell you.”
    “We need to talk,” Hooker said to me. “Let’s take a break here and find a diner. I didn’t get a chance to eat at Felicia’s house. And after the diner, I need to go shopping. You took your bag with you, but I’ve just got the clothes on my back. I thought I’d be home by now.”
    I pulled my gloves off and peeled myself out of the jumpsuit. Hooker snapped the leash on Beans and we locked up and loaded ourselves into the SUV. It was a couple blocks to a bunch of coffee houses and small restaurants on Calle Ocho. Hooker chose a restaurant that advertised breakfast and had a shaded parking lot attached. We cracked the window for Beans and told him to hang tight and promised to bring him a muffin.
    It was a medium-size restaurant with booths against the wall and tables in the middle of the floor. No breakfast bar. Lots of signed photographs on the wall of people I didn’t recognize. Most of the booths were filled. The tables were empty. Hooker and I slid into one of the two empty booths, and Hooker studied the menu.
    “Do you think the fact that Oscar was shot while naked and flying his colors would suggest angry husband?” I asked Hooker.
    “It’s possible. What I don’t get is the shrink-wrap, hide him in the hauler, and ship him to Mexico thing. Wouldn’t it have been easier and safer to dump him in the ocean? Or turn him over to an undertaker for transport? Why would someone want to smuggle him across the border?”
    The waitress brought coffee and gave Hooker the once-over. Even if you didn’t recognize Hooker, he was worth a second look. Hooker ordered eggs, sausage, a short stack of pancakes with extra syrup, home fries, a blueberry muffin for Beans, and juice. I stayed with my coffee. I figured I wasn’t going to look great in prison clothes. Best not to compound it by getting fat.
    Hooker had his cell phone in his hand. “I have a friend who works for Huevo. He should be at the shop by now. I want to see what the guys know.”
    Five minutes later, Hooker disconnected and the waitress showed up with his food. She gave him extra syrup, a complimentary second muffin, more juice, and she topped off his coffee.
    “I’d like more coffee,” I said.
    “Sure,” she said. “Let me get a fresh pot.” And she left.
    I looked over at Hooker. “She’s not coming back.”
    “Darlin’, you’ve gotta have more faith in people. Of course she’ll come back.”
    “Yeah, she’ll come back