LULA DROVE THE length of Stark Street, passed the junkyard, and after a half mile we saw the rusted mailbox with boot painted on it. The rutted dirt driveway led to a bedraggled bungalow that was surrounded by thigh-high grass.

Lula parked, and we got out of the Firebird and set out on the narrow path to the front door. A big white chicken ran across the path in front of Lula.

“Holy heck,” Lula said. “What the hell?”

All around us we could hear grass rustling and chickens clucking.

“This is freaking me out,” Lula said. “I only like supermarket chickens. The naked ones with no feathers. And I prefer them  shrink-wrapped and air-chilled and previously fed non-GMO shit.”

I preferred them as frozen and breaded nuggets or else cooked by my mother.

“Watch where you’re walking,” I said. “You don’t want to step on a chicken or whatever it leaves behind.”

“That’s a disgusting thought,” Lula said. “I got on my open-toe fashionista gladiator shoes.”

We reached the rickety front stoop, and I knocked on the door. Minnie Mouse answered on the second knock.

“Mrs. Boot,” I said. “Perhaps you remember me. I’m Stephanie Plum.”

Darlene Boot was sixty-seven years old, five feet two inches tall, and had a shape like an apple. Skinny legs encased in black tights. Short curly gray hair held in place by a red and white polka-dotted Minnie Mouse bow with mouse ears. The dress was straight from vintage Disney. Black top and fluffy red skirt with more white polka dots. Short puffy sleeves. Finished off with bright yellow rubber boots that I’m sure were excellent for walking behind chickens.

“Oh dear,” she said. “I suppose you’re here to repossess Darren.”

“Is he home?”

“No. I’m so sorry. He had some errands to run.”

“What sort of errands?” I asked.

“He was going to the feed store. It’s somewhere across the river. And then he was going to gas up the truck and get some beer. The chickens like a little beer now and again.”

“I see you still got the Minnie Mouse thing going,” Lula said.

Darlene smiled. “Sometimes I wear one of the princess dresses, but I like Minnie the best.”

“Yeah,” Lula said. “You can’t go wrong with Minnie. Do you know you got a lot of chickens running around out there in your front yard? What’s with that?”

“It’s our new business,” Darlene said. “The mushrooms didn’t work out, so we’re trying chickens. Would you like to come in and have a cup of tea while you wait for Darren?”

We stepped inside and froze. Wire cages filled with roosting chickens were stacked everywhere, and a bunch of chickens were meandering around, pecking at the furniture.

“These are our egg producers,” Darlene said. “We’re real proud of them.”

“What about the outside chickens?” Lula asked, keeping her eyes on the meandering chickens.

“We sort of lost control over them,” Darlene said. “We thought it would be nice to let them go free-range, but then we couldn’t find the eggs in the grass, and they kept multiplying. I guess you might say they’re feral chickens now.”

There was a bloodcurdling squawk from the front yard.

“What the heck was that?” Lula asked. “We also got some feral cats,” Darlene said. “Big ones.” Especially Miss Kitty, Suzy, and Apple Puff.

“Maybe we’ll come back some other time,” I said to Darlene, giving her my card. “Tell Darren we were here, and we’ll be happy to give him a ride to the courthouse, so he can get his court date rescheduled.”

“That’s real nice of you,” Darlene said. “I’ll pass it along.”

Lula and I stood on the stoop and looked at the path to her car. There was some blood and feathers on the path, but no chicken.

“Do you think it’s safe to walk there?” Lula asked me. “What if that feral cat is still hungry, and he’s lurking in the grass? Or what if the chickens are planning a counterattack?”

“Like a chicken army?”

“Exactly! Chickens aren’t smart. They got a brain the size of a pea. They could attack us by mistake.”

“I’ll chance it,” I said. “I’m pretty sure I could take on a chicken.”

“I saw you get attacked by a goose once, and you were screaming like a little girl.”

“That was a goose. Entirely different.”

We started down the path, and a big red rooster rushed out of the grass at Lula and pecked her big toe. Lula shrieked, put her foot to the rooster, and punted it about twenty feet in the air.

“I’ve been pecked!” she yelled. “I’ve been pecked.” She drew her gun, and fired off a shot.

“What are you shooting at?” I asked her.

“I don’t know,” she said. “Reflex action.”

I looked down at her foot. “I don’t see any blood.”

“He caught me by surprise. Lucky thing for him that he flew away and didn’t get shot.”

“He didn’t fly away. You kicked him about a quarter of a mile. He might have done some fluttering on the descent.”

A Rangeman SUV was idling behind Lula’s Firebird. I didn’t recognize the man at the wheel, but I waved and he waved back.

“It’s strange not to be heading for the deli now,” Lula said. “I don’t know what I’m supposed to do with myself.”

“I’m going back to the office. I want to do some research on Leonard Skoogie and Victor Waggle.”

“Sounds good to me,” Lula said. “I’m gonna do some research on my ancestry. I might sign up for one of those DNA kits they advertise on television. It would be fun to know more about my roots. Do you know all about your ancestors?”

“My father’s side is Italian as far back as we can trace. His relatives were all farmers. Not especially successful. Always too many kids and not enough land. My great-grandparents Plumeri immigrated when they were in their twenties. They came over as indentured servants. The name was shorted on Ellis Island. My other great-grandparents met after they were already in America. My great-grandmother came with her parents. My great-grandfather stowed away on a boat and was arrested when it docked in Perth Amboy. I’m told there was some bribery involved, and he managed to walk away.”

“What about on your mother’s side?”

“Hungarian, mostly. There might have been some border crossings. My great-grandfather Mazur deserted from the army. We aren’t sure which one. Apparently, it was a topic no one would discuss. He hopped a boat and came to America. My great-grandmother was pregnant at the time and unmarried. The story goes that she followed my great-grandfather and put a gun to his head to marry her.”

“And they lived happily ever after?”

“Grandma Mazur said my grandfather told her they fought like cats and dogs.”

“See, that’s what I’m talking about. You know all kinds of interesting things. All I know is that my momma was a ’ho, and I followed in her footsteps. Just about all the women in my family were professional. I don’t know anything past that.”

Lula parked in front of the bonds office, and the Rangeman SUV pulled in behind her. I waved at Ranger’s man on my way into the office, and he gave me a thumbs-up.

“It’s like you’re the president or something,” Lula said. “It’s a wonder they don’t follow you into the bathroom and check behind the shower curtain.”

Connie was standing at her desk with her purse in her hand.

“You got here just in time,” she said. “I was going to lock up. Vinnie is at physical therapy, and I have to go downtown to bond someone out.”

Physical therapy was code for a nooner. Or in this case an afternooner.

“Is it okay if I use your computer?” I asked.

“Sure,” Connie said. “I should be about an hour. I’ll be back to close up.”

Lula settled onto the couch with her iPad, and I went to Connie’s desk. I ran Skoogie through a couple programs but didn’t turn up anything new.

“Here’s something weird,” Lula said. “I’ve been surfing around, checking up on my fame as a celebrity sandwich maker. There’s a unflattering video of me waiting tables. And there’s a couple newspaper articles and some local television pieces on how people have been disappearing and leaving their shoe behind at the deli. I asked for more on the subject, and I got a video someone made about the deli kidnapping. It’s like an amateur reality-show thing. There’s five of them. And one of them looks like Hal.”

I looked over at her. “How much like Hal?”

“A lot like Hal.”

Lula brought her iPad over and passed it to me.

I was dumbstruck. “This is Hal,” I said.

I scrolled back, looked at all five, and also recognized Wayne Kulicki. The videos had been uploaded by someone named Hotshot. They were grainy night shots showing a man walking out of the deli’s back door, carrying a garbage bag. There was a blinding flash of light and the next scene was a single shoe on the asphalt parking lot. This was followed by a visual of crime scene tape and police doing their job investigating.

I called Morelli.

“Lula stumbled across some YouTube videos that seem to be recording the deli kidnappings,” I said.

“Seriously?”

“Yeah. I recognized Hal and Wayne Kulicki. You’ll want to look at this.”

“I’m just getting into my car to leave for the day. Are you at the office? I’ll head over.”

“I’ll wait for you.”

I called Ranger and told him about the videos.

“I got them,” Ranger said, moments later. “That’s Hal.”

“What do you make of this? Can you trace down Hotshot?”

“Doubtful if I can trace Hotshot through YouTube, but the feds might be able, and I can hack into the feds.”

“Why is this up on YouTube?” I asked.

“Someone wanted it seen.”

“They wanted to get caught? They were proud of their photography? What?”

“Tell Lula to keep surfing. Maybe she’ll stumble on something else.”

“Morelli is on his way over to the office, and then I’ll go home with him. Your guy can clock out. Tell him thank you from me.”

“Babe,” Ranger said. And he hung up.

It took Morelli twenty minutes to get to the office, and Connie was three minutes behind him. I had the videos on Connie’s computer, and we all crowded together to look.

“I did a fast review of the kidnap victims before I left,” Morelli said. “This first one is Elroy Ruiz. Age thirty-two. It’s difficult to see his face in the video, but he has the right build. The next up is Kenny Brown. The video is dark but this looks like our man. The next victim is more recognizable. He gets to the dumpster and turns toward the camera. His name is Ryan Meier. Nineteen years old. In the country on a student visa.”

“Where’s he from?” I asked.

“Switzerland.”

I had an immediate aha! moment. Wulf is a Swiss national. This is the Wulf connection.

I advanced to the fourth video, and Wayne Kulicki walked out of the deli. He had a bag of garbage, and he didn’t seem concerned. He didn’t look around. Nothing caught his attention on his way to the dumpster. He tossed the bag in, turned and faced the camera, and there was the blinding flash. Next frame was of his shoe.

The last video was Hal. He walked to the dumpster, tossed the bag, turned and walked toward the camera, smiling. Flash of light. No more Hal.

“There are three different camera angles here,” I said. “The first video was shot from the second floor of the deli building. That’s why you can’t see the manager’s face. The second, third, and fourth were shot from a camera just to the right of the deli’s back door at a height of about six feet. And it looks like Hal was captured on video by a camera that was placed in the dry cleaner’s parking lot.”

“It’s like making these movies was all part of the kidnapping,” Lula said. “I want to see season two where they show you what happens next.”

“There’s no Vinnie video,” I said.

Vinnie walked in from the back entrance. “What do you mean, ‘There’s no Vinnie video’?”

“Lula found videos of the kidnap victims on YouTube, but you aren’t included. Are you remembering anything at all from the kidnapping?” Morelli asked Vinnie.

“Bananas. Everything was black, and I kept smelling bananas.”

“Was this in the beginning when you were first captured?” Morelli asked.

“I don’t know. I don’t remember anything except bananas.” Vinnie narrowed his eyes. “I hate bananas.”

Morelli made a couple calls to report the videos.

“Will you be able to trace them?” I asked him.

“Possibly. It’ll get passed up the chain of command.”

“What about camera placement? Do you think someone was in the building, on the second floor, for the first kidnapping?”

“Either that or they used a drone,” Morelli said. “After the first guy, Elroy Ruiz, everyone looked directly at the camera. It could be because they saw or heard a drone.”

“I like the idea of a drone taking video,” Lula said. “A drone’s like a miniature alien spaceship, only you could get it on Amazon.”

I stepped away from the computer. I didn’t like looking at the videos. It made my stomach feel icky. I wanted to find the men and see them return to their normal routines. I wanted to know that they were healthy. And I didn’t want them dead. Please, please, please, I thought. Let them all be okay. And let this all be over soon. The protect-Stephanie routine was getting old.

We left the bonds office and drove the short distance to Morelli’s house. His brother Anthony was sitting on the front step when we parked. He had a lumpy white garbage bag with him.

Morelli tried to squelch a grimace but wasn’t entirely successful. “Looks like Anthony got kicked out of his house again.”

Anthony got kicked out of his house all the time. Sometimes his wife even divorced him, but they always remarried.

“I think Anthony likes getting kicked out of his house,” I said. “He drinks beer and shoots pool with you, and doesn’t have to take care of his kids.”

Every time Anthony got kicked out, he returned to have make-up sex, and nine months later his wife popped out another kid. It was like Darlene Boot and her chickens, except it was Anthony and his kids, running around feral in the unmowed grass around his house.

He stood and smiled when he saw us.

“Yo,” Anthony said.

“Yo,” Morelli answered.

This was Morelli man-speak. No more was necessary. We all trooped in and said hello to Bob.

“Now what?” I asked Morelli.

“You take Bob for a walk, and I’ll fire up the grill.”

“Aren’t you afraid someone will snatch me?”

“You aren’t associated with the diner anymore, and you have Bob to protect you.”

Bob was sitting in the kitchen licking his privates. I wasn’t sure how much good Bob was going to be as a guard dog.

“And I’m sure Ranger tracks your every move,” Morelli said. “You’ve probably got GPS in your shoes, your underwear, and woven into your hair.”

I hooked Bob up and walked him for almost an hour. I returned to the house, and the Morelli boys were playing billiards.

I looked out the back door. Nothing cooking on the grill. I looked around the kitchen. No burgers sitting on the counter, waiting to get eaten.

“What about dinner?” I asked.

“I dialed dinner,” Morelli said. “Someone borrowed my propane.”

“Are you sure someone didn’t steal it?” I asked.

“It was me,” Anthony said. “I took it last week and forgot to tell him.”

I filled Bob’s bowl with dog kibble, got a beer out of the fridge, and Richie Schmidt walked in with our Pino’s order. Morelli and I went to school with Richie. He married Morelli’s cousin Doris, and he’s part of the poker night crowd. He’s an electrician, but he moonlights doing Pino’s deliveries a couple times a week.

“I got a chicken parm and two meatball subs,” Richie said. “Looks like someone got thrown out of the house again.”

“I’m not good at the marriage thing,” Anthony said. “I keep having these indiscretions.”

I rolled my eyes so far back into my head I almost fell over. Anthony had a good heart, and he was a charming guy, but he would hit on anything that moved and had a vagina. I wasn’t even sure if the vagina was a requirement.

“Grab a beer,” Anthony said to Richie. “The game’s going to come on right away.”

If I asked Morelli to get rid of the guys, he’d do it in a heartbeat. Truth is, I was happy to have them in his house, helping with my getaway.

I ate a meatball sub and finished my beer. Richie was at the pool table cueing up, and Anthony had the game on Morelli’s big flat screen. Morelli came over and wrapped an arm around me.

“Do you want me to get rid of these idiots?” he asked.

“No. I’m glad they’re here because I have to leave. I need to get back to my apartment. I miss Rex and my pillow.”

“Will you come back tomorrow?”

“No, but you can come to my house.”

“Can I bring my own pillow?” Morelli asked.

“You can bring whatever you want.”

“Deal.”

Morelli kissed me, and I had a moment of reconsidering.

“I like having you here,” Morelli said.

“And I like being here, but I need space. I need my life to be normal.”

“Cupcake, it’s going to take more than a couple hours alone in your apartment for your life to be normal.”

“I guess there’s all kinds of normal.”

Morelli drove me home and walked me to my door.

“I could stay,” he said.

“What about Richie and Anthony?”

“They won’t miss me. Richie will go home after the game, and Anthony will fall asleep on the couch. I’ll call him at nine-thirty and tell him to give Bob a bathroom break.”

“Would you be staying because you think I need protection?”

“No. I’d be staying because I don’t want to watch the game with Richie and Anthony, and because I want to get naked with you. And then after I get naked I want to . . .”

I pulled Morelli inside before he could finish the sentence. Mr. Macko across the hall was known to crank his hearing aid up and listen at the door. He was ninety-three. I didn’t want him to go into A-fib from listening to Morelli’s plans for the night.