Three to Get Deadly by Janet Evanovich Page A

Mo’s.
    A counter ran front to rear. The back half of the counter was luncheonette style with five stationary stools. Behind this part of the counter Mo had a small cooktop, a plastic cooler of lemonade, a four-spigot soda dispenser, two milkshake shakers, an ice cream cone dispenser and two hotplates for brewing coffee. The front half of the counter consisted of a display case for tubs of ice cream and another display case devoted to candy.
    I prowled around, not sure what I was looking for, but pretty sure I hadn’t found it. Nothing seemed out of place. Mo had neatened up before he left. There were no dirty dishes or spoons in the sink. No indication that Mo had been disrupted or left in a rush.
    I opened the cash drawer. Empty. Not a nickel. I hadn’t found any money in the apartment either.
    A shadow cut into the ambient light filtering through the front window, and I crouched low behind the counter. The shadow passed,and I wasted no time scuttling to the back of the store. I held up in the hallway, listening.
    Footsteps sounded on the cement walk-way. I stopped breathing and watched the doorknob turn. The door didn’t open. The door was locked. I heard the rasp of a key and stood rooted to the floor in dumbstruck panic. If it was anyone other than Mo I was in very deep shit.
    I quietly took two steps back, listening carefully. The key wasn’t working. Maybe it wasn’t working because it wasn’t a key! Maybe someone else was trying to break into Uncle Mo’s!
    Damn. What were the chances of two people breaking into Mo’s at the same time? I shook my head in disgust. Crime was getting out of hand in Trenton.
    I slipped into the bathroom, silently closed the door and held my breath. I heard the tumbler click and the back door swing open. Two footsteps. Someone was standing in the hall, getting used to the dark.
    Go for the cash drawer and get this over with, I thought. Take all the friggin’ ice cream. Have a party.
    Shoes scuffed on the wood floor, and a door opened next to me. This would be the door to the cellar. It was held open longenough for someone to look down into the darkness and then was quietly closed. Whoever was in Mo’s store was doing the exact same thing I’d done, and I knew with sickening certainty my door would be opened next. There was no way for me to lock the door, and no window to use for escape.
    I had my flashlight in one hand and defense spray in the other. I had a gun in my pocketbook, but I knew from past experience I’d be slow to use it. And besides, I wasn’t sure I’d remembered to load the gun. Better to go with the defense spray. I was willing to gas almost anyone.
    I heard a hand grasp the bathroom doorknob and in the next instant the door to the bathroom was yanked open. I pressed my thumb against the flashlight’s switch, catching angry black eyes in my beam. The plan had been to temporarily blind the intruder, make identification and decide how to act.
    The error in the plan was in assuming blindness led to paralysis.
    Less than a millisecond after hitting the flashlight ON button, I felt myself fly through the air and slam against the back wall of the lavatory. There was a red flash, fireworks exploded in my brain and then everything went black.
     
    My next memory was of struggling to regain consciousness, struggling to open my eyes, struggling to place my surroundings.
    It was dark. Night. I put my hand to my face. My face was sticky. A black stain spread from under my cheek. I dumbly stared at the stain. Blood, I thought. Car crash. No, that wasn’t right. Then I remembered. I was at Mo’s. I was on my side in the little lavatory, my body impossibly twisted around the toilet, my head under the small sink.
    It was very quiet. I didn’t move. I listened to the silence and waited for my head to clear. I ran my tongue over my teeth. No teeth were broken. I gingerly touched my nose. My nose seemed okay.
    The blood had to be coming from somewhere. I was lying in a pool