Free 22 Tricky Twenty-Two by Janet Evanovich

She got something growing on her lip that you only see in a horror movie.”
    We sat in the Mercedes and watched the street for a while. No one went in or out of the apartment building. Billy Bacon didn’t magically appear.
    “Maybe we should check out his former place of employment,” Lula said. “He might have gone back to cooking burgers.”
    I drove to Mike’s Burgers and idled at the curb while Lula went in to ask about Billy. She returned with a giant soda and a bucket of fries. No Billy.
    “They don’t know where he is,” Lula said. “They said they think he’s hiding on account of some crazy-ass bounty hunter almost got him killed.”
    “That would be you,” I said to Lula.
    “I was an innocent bystander. I was minding my own business and I got carjacked. You want some fries?”
    “They’re green.”
    “They said it was some special potatoes, and they didn’t even charge me extra for it.”
    “I’ll pass.”

NINE
    IT WAS MIDMORNING when I got to Kiltman. I parked in a lot behind the administration building and we cut across campus to the Zeta house.
    Three women were marching back and forth across the front lawn. They were holding signs that called for the annihilation of the Zetas.
    “What’s the deal?” Lula asked one of the women. “What’s wrong with the Zetas?”
    “Everything. They’re all pigs. It’s a totally sexist fraternity.”
    “I’m pretty sure fraternities are supposed to be sexist,” Lula said to her. “Now, if people started vomiting up cockroaches when they were in there, that would be something. You ever see anything like that?”
    “Not cockroaches,” one of the women said. “Just normal vomit.”
    “That makes me feel a lot better,” Lula said. “I was worried about the cockroaches.”
    The front door was open so we walked in. All was quiet. No pigs milling around. No cockroaches that we could see.
    “It’s a big house,” Lula said. “Gobbles could be hiding somewhere here. Are you going to go door to door?”
    “No. I don’t want to see what’s behind some of these doors.”
    “Evil?”
    “Naked men.”
    “Do you want me to look?” Lula asked.
    “Not without cause.”
    “I think he’d be in the cellar,” Lula said. “They’re always hiding either in the cellar or the attic. ’Course sometimes they’re in a closet or under the bed. And remember that time that little person was in the clothes dryer? Although I don’t think he got in there voluntarily since he was getting tumbled and someone had to have pushed the button.”
    “My experience is that fraternities usually have bars in the cellar. Or at least a cold room for storing kegs of beer.”
    “Hey,” Lula called to a guy who was heading for the front door. “How do we get into the cellar?”
    “Cellar’s locked. Stuff gets stored there.”
    “Who has a key to the cellar?” I asked him.
    “I don’t know. A bunch of people. Gobbles had a key. Professor Pooka has a key.”
    “Why Professor Pooka?”
    “He’s our faculty advisor. Some of the fraternities have house mothers, but we got a house dude.”
    “I guess that’s on account of you’re sexist,” Lula said.
    “It’s on account of the last house mother enjoyed the parties too much and got pregnant, so we got assigned Pooka.”
    “Does he live here?” I asked.
    “No, but he stops in every day to check on things. What’s your deal with the cellar?”
    “We’re meter readers,” Lula said. “We gotta check on the gas and water shit.”
    “I think the meters are outside. Just walk around the house. I think they’re in the back.”
    “I told her they’d be in the back,” Lula said, “but Stephanie here thought they were in the cellar.”
    Lula and I exited the house and walked around outside.
    “There’s no windows or doors in the cellar,” Lula said. “We’ve been all around the house and there’s no cellar windows.”
    “I want to check in with Julie Ruley but according to the schedule I have she’s