Twisted Twenty-Six (Stephanie Plum 26) Page 5

  “And?”

  “Just sayin’.”

  “No one’s going to get killed. If anything bad goes down, I’ll get kidnapped and tortured while they try to extract information out of me about the keys.”

  “Do you know anything about the keys?”

  “No.”

  “That’s not good. You’ll have to make something up and hope you die before they come back and torture you some more for telling a fib.”

  “I’m glad you’ve thought this through for me.”

  “I always try to be helpful. It’s one of my best qualities.”

  Lula and I got out of her car and went to Shine’s front door. I rang the bell and an elderly woman answered. She was wearing tan walking shoes that looked orthopedic, tan slacks, and a pink floral-print shirt. Her hair was cut short and curled, and the color matched her shoes. She squinted at me over the top of her granny glasses.

  “Yes?” she asked.

  I introduced myself and gave her my business card. “I’m looking for Charles Shine. Are you his wife, Loretta?”

  “Yes, and he’s not here. He’s probably with his honey.”

  “You know about her?” Lula asked.

  “I send her a fruit basket once a month,” Loretta said. “God knows, she deserves it.”

  “Have you seen him lately?” I asked.

  “He was here yesterday, getting clothes. He looked in the refrigerator, didn’t see anything he liked, and he left.”

  “I’d appreciate a call if he returns,” I said.

  “No problem.”

  We left Loretta, and Lula drove slowly down Willet.

  “Now where are we going?” Lula asked.

  “The Mole Hole.”

  “I knew you were going to say that. I think that’s an excellent idea because it’s coming up to lunchtime and I could get a burger there. Plus, we could check it out for Grandma’s wake.”

  The Mole Hole is close to the train station. It’s on a side street along with several other sketchy businesses. A pawnshop. A tattoo parlor. A Chinese restaurant that’s regularly cited for health infractions. Mixed in with the businesses are narrow townhouses owned by slumlords.

  Lula parked in the lot attached to the Mole Hole and marched over to the attendant.

  “I expect my car to be in perfect condition when I get back,” she said. “I don’t want a fingerprint on it.”

  The attendant was a scraggly kid with a gold tooth up front. “You gonna pay for extra protection, Mama?”

  “First off, I’m not your mama. And second, I’m not paying nothing, but you need to take out some insurance on your nuts, because they’re gonna be in your throat if I’m not happy with my car when I come back.”

  I gave the stay signal to the Rangeman guys, and Lula and I went into the Mole Hole. It was aptly named because we went from bright sunshine to no sunshine at all. We stood at the entrance while our eyes adjusted. It was one large room with tables on the perimeter and a circular bar in the center of the room. A stage and three poles were in the middle of the bar. A lone woman slithered around on one of the poles to music I didn’t recognize. She was wearing heels and a G-string and pasties that looked like daisies. Several of the barstools were occupied, and a man and woman sat at one of the tables.

  “Not a lot going on here,” I said to Lula.

  “It’s early for the lunch trade. It’ll pick up. This is going to be a good venue for a wake. It’s got a parking lot and lots of room in here to mingle and hand out condolences. You could even have entertainment up on the stage. Not the daisy nipple lady, but something classy . . . like a harp player or dueling banjos.”

  I moved to the bar and flagged down a bartender. Lula was next to me with a menu.

  “I want one of these man-eater burgers with extra curly fries,” she told the bartender. “And I’ll have that with a glass of chardonnay.”

  He looked at me.

  “I’d like to talk to Charlie Shine,” I said.

  He took a beat. “No food?”

  “No. Just Charlie.”

  “Do you have a name?”

  “Stephanie Plum.”

  He punched Lula’s order into a computer, turned his back to us, and made a phone call. A couple minutes later a guy who looked like he ate way too much pasta came out of a door behind the bar and walked over to us. He was in his early sixties, wearing a golf shirt and pleated pants. He had thick lips, little eyes, and a comb-over.

  “Stephanie Plum?” he asked.

  I raised my hand.

  He pointed to a table. “Let’s sit.”

  Lula started to go to the table with us, and he stopped her.

  “Private conversation,” he said to Lula.

  “Well, I’m staying right here by the bar, and I’m watching,” Lula said.

  I took a seat, and he sat across from me.

  “I’m Stan,” he said. “Who’s your friend?”

  “Lula.”

  “She looks mean. Is she muscle?”

  “No. My muscle is waiting in the black SUV in the parking lot.”

  “Ha. Good one.”

  He thought I was kidding.

  “I hear you’re looking for Charlie Shine,” Stan said.

  I gave him my business card.

  Stan pocketed the card. “I know who you are. You’re the widow’s granddaughter. The boys in the back room wanted to talk to you, but you declined our offer of a ride.”

  “I was walking my boyfriend’s dog.”

  “Well, you’re not walking the dog now, so I’m going to talk to you.”

  “Are you one of the backroom boys?”

  “Yeah, I spend some time there.”

  “Do you have a La-Z-Boy chair?”

  “No. I got a couch. There’s only so many La-Z-Boys.”

  “About Charlie Shine,” I said.

  “About Jimmy’s keys,” Stan said. “What do you know?”

  “I know that they’re lost. That’s it.”

  “We searched everywhere, and we can’t find them. So our conclusion is that your granny has them. She was with Jimmy at his last moment. We think he handed them off to her.” Stan made the sign of the cross. “He should rest in peace.”

  “My understanding is that the last moment was more like half a moment. I don’t think he had time to hand anything off.”

  “You need to have a conversation with Granny. Out of respect for Jimmy we wouldn’t do anything to ruin his funeral, but after the funeral I can’t guarantee your family’s safety if we don’t get the keys. And you should know we aren’t the only ones who want the keys. There are others involved who aren’t as civilized as us.”

  “Others?”

  Stan stood. “So be real careful.”

  “Wait! What about Charlie Shine?”

  Stan lumbered away and disappeared through the door behind the bar.

  Lula was sitting at the bar, sipping her chardonnay and waiting for her burger.

  “Well?” she asked. “Is Shine coming out?”

  “No. I’m going in.”

  “In where?”

  “In whatever is behind the door behind the bar.”

  “Are you taking the Rangeman guys with you?”

  “No. I don’t want to make a big fuss. I just want Shine to go with me to get bonded out again.”

  “I’d go with you but I’m waiting on my burger,” Lula said.

  “No problem. I’ll be right back.”

  I walked around the bar and tried the door. Locked. A little plaque on the door said PRIVATE. I knocked and waited a couple beats. I knocked a second time. Two very large goons appeared out of nowhere.

  “There are gentlemen playing cards in the private salon, and they don’t wish to be disturbed,” one of the goons said. “You’ll have to leave.”

  “I’m not leaving until I have Charlie Shine in custody.”

  “Unfortunately, you’re creating a disturbance for our floor show,” he said. “We’re going to have to remove you.”
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br />   In the next instant I was bookended by the two goons, who each had a hand under an armpit. My feet were four inches off the floor, and I was whisked out of the Mole Hole. Slam! The door closed behind me, and I stood blinking in the bright sun.

  A minute later, the door opened, and Lula joined me. She had her burger and fries in a bag and her chardonnay in a cardboard to-go coffee cup.

  “This worked out good,” Lula said. “They didn’t charge me for my burger. Where are we off to now?”

  “Drop me at the office so I can pick up my car and go to my parents’ house. I want to talk to Grandma. I’ll have lunch there and meet up with you later.”

  CHAPTER SIX

  WHEN I WALKED IN, my mother and grandmother were in the kitchen, staring at the casserole dishes on the kitchen counters. They looked relieved when they saw me.

  “Thank heavens it’s you,” my mother said. “We heard the door open and were worried that it was someone with more food.”

  “We’ve run out of refrigerator space,” Grandma said. “We got seven dishes of lasagna, twelve cakes, at least ten pounds of potato salad, and that’s just the beginning.”

  “It’s for the wake,” my mother said. “I don’t even know half the people who dropped this stuff off. We’re going to have to rent a truck to get it to the Mole Hole.”

  I lifted the lid on one of the casseroles. “This looks good. Do you mind if I have some for lunch?”

  “Take what you want,” my mother said.

  “I’m going to dig in too,” Grandma said. “It’s not just for the wake. It’s to help us through our time of bereavement.”

  I loaded up with mac and cheese, fried chicken, kielbasa, and a bunch of mini hot dogs wrapped in mini rolls.

  “The funeral is at nine o’clock tomorrow,” my mother said, sitting across from me at the kitchen table. “The funeral home is sending a car for us at eight-thirty. Your sister isn’t going. Everyone in her house has the flu. So, there will be room for you in the car.”

  If I’d known about Valerie and the flu I would have gone over a couple days ago and gotten infected. I’d take the flu over the funeral any day of the week.

  “I might be going with Morelli,” I said.

  “He can ride in the car too,” Grandma said. “It’s a big car. It’s a limo. Not every day you get to ride in a limo. And you’ll get to sit up front at the church. They’re reserving a front row pew for us. It’s a shame Jimmy isn’t here. He would have liked riding in the limo.”

  There was a long moment of silence.

  “There’s times when it’s quiet at night, and I wonder about him. And I hope he’s okay,” Grandma said. “I guess he did some bad things, so it’s a crapshoot if he got into heaven.” She pushed some macaroni salad around on her plate. “Truth is I’ll be relieved when all this is over, and I can move on to what’s in front of me instead of what’s behind me. It’s not like I want to forget Jimmy. It’s just that he’s in a different spot in my life now. He’s in the good memories spot. If I didn’t put him there, I’d be sad all the time, and I don’t like being sad. I figure happiness is a choice that you make. Even in terrible times.” Grandma slumped a little. “Sometimes you really gotta work at it.”

  So, here’s Grandma Mazur with hot pink lipstick and flame red hair, dressing up like the Queen of England, appropriating a ten-pound rump roast from the bingo hall . . . and it turns out she’s brilliant. She has a life philosophy. She can articulate it. She consciously tries to live by it. Happiness is a choice that you make. Wow.

  “That’s great, Grandma,” I said. “Good for you.”

  “I got a strong sense of self-preservation,” Grandma said. “You got it too. It’s from our Hungarian farm stock. ’Course there’s also some Gypsy in us, and it’s best not to talk about those tendencies. The Gypsies were a little loosey-goosey, if you know what I mean.”

  I knew exactly what she meant.

  “I ran into one of the Mole Hole back room boys today,” I said. “It seems Jimmy had some keys, and now they’re missing.”

  “Yep. He was Keeper of the Keys,” Grandma said. “It was a big honor.”

  “Did you ever see the keys?”

  “No. He said they were in a safe place.”

  “Did he say where that safe place was?”

  “No, but I know he always kept them close to him in case he needed one.”

  “Did he say what the keys opened?”

  “No,” Grandma said. “I didn’t care about it at the time, but now that it’s a big deal I wish I knew. Everybody is talking about it.”

  “The La-Z-Boys think you have them.”

  “Why would they think I have them?”

  “You were with Jimmy when he . . . you know.”

  “Died?”

  “Yes. They think he passed the keys on to you in his last moments.”

  “There were no last moments,” Grandma said. “He didn’t pass nothing on.”

  “Is it possible that you have them and don’t know you have them?”

  “I guess,” Grandma said. “I’ll keep my eyes open, but seems to me I’d have seen them by now.”

  This was a big bummer. Life would be so much better if Grandma had been able to give me the keys.

  “I don’t like this business with the keys,” my mother said. “Who knows what those old men will do to get them back? They’re all gangsters.” She shook her finger at Grandma. “You should have known better than to get mixed up with one of them.”

  “It seemed like a good idea when he was alive. He had a lot of money and almost all of his teeth. He was a real good dancer. He never said anything about having a bad heart. And he told me he was retired.”

  I finished my mac and cheese and stood. “I have to get back to work.”

  “Who are you after today?” Grandma asked. “A killer or a rapist?”

  “Charlie Shine. Rumor has it he came back for Jimmy’s funeral.”

  “He’s probably with his honey,” Grandma said.

  I turned to Grandma. “You know about that?”

  “Everybody knows about that,” Grandma said. “Loretta would have divorced him if it wasn’t for the honey. This way Loretta gets to keep the house, but she doesn’t have to put up with Charlie. He’s a bit of a drinker.”

  “I have your laundry all done,” my mother said. “I had to throw some of it away. What’s left is in the basket by the front door.”

  I stowed my laundry basket in the trunk and drove to the office. Going with Grandma’s words of wisdom that happiness is a choice, I thought I might choose to keep driving until I got to California. Or at least Colorado. I was deterred by the fact that I was driving a ’53 Buick, and I’d run out of gas money before I got to Ohio.

  I parked at the curb and joined Connie and Lula in the office. Connie was touching up a chipped nail, and Lula was napping on the couch. Vinnie was nowhere.

  “I have a problem,” I said. “The La-Z-Boys think Grandma has the keys, but she doesn’t have them.”

  “Have you explained this to them?” Connie asked.

  “Yes, but they didn’t completely buy it. I’ll try again tomorrow. Out of respect for Jimmy they aren’t going to rough Grandma up until after the funeral.”

  “Those keys must be real important for them to want to pull the fingernails off a nice old lady like Grandma,” Lula said.

  “You have connections,” I said to Connie. “Can you find out what this is all about?”

  “My only La-Z-Boy connection is dead,” Connie said, “but I’ll ask around.”

  “It’s gonna be interesting to see who gets Jimmy’s chair,” Lula said. “Anybody would want a La-Z-Boy. I sat in one of them, and I never wanted to get up. You could put your feet up and everything.”

  “Are you going to the funeral?” I asked Connie.

  Connie nodded. “I have to take my mother. It’s like the event of the century.”

  “I can see that,” Lula said. “Not every day you get to go to a wake
in a titty bar.”

  “I was thinking about putting some bullets in my gun,” I said. “Ranger gave me some.”

  “I have a salon appointment to get glamorized for my date tonight,” Lula said. “You could come with me and get pink streaks in your hair or magenta eyelash extensions. It could be the first step on the road to the new you.”

  It was almost six o’clock when Lula and I left the salon. Lula had silver glitter on her eyelids and her hair was fluffed up into a huge pink puffball. I had a bunch of metallic midnight blue extensions in my hair.

  “You made a good choice on those extensions,” Lula said. “It’s dark as a witch’s bum in the Mole Hole, and your extensions are gonna catch whatever light they got there. You’ll probably be the only one who can tell the potato salad from the mac and cheese. Everyone else is gonna have to use the flashlight app on their smartphone.”

  I rolled my eyes up as if I could see the top of my head. “They look pretty though, right?”

  “Hell, yeah. And they’ll be the shit tomorrow when you gotta wear black. Black isn’t a happy color, if you get what I’m sayin’. You gotta sparkle black up. If you haven’t got a lot of diamonds, then aluminum foil is the next best thing. Or if it’s all black leather you could break it up with chains.”

  “My extensions are aluminum foil?”

  “I can’t say for sure, but they look like foil and that’s what counts.”

  “Can I wash them?”

  “Yeah,” Lula said, “but you might not want to use real high heat with the hair dryer.”

  “Are you coming to the funeral tomorrow?”

  “Wouldn’t miss it.”

  I watched Lula drive away, I waved to the Rangeman guys, and I climbed into the Buick. It was Friday night. Lula had a date. I had the Rangeman guys. I wondered if they’d want to go to dinner. And later we could all watch a movie. I checked them out in my rearview mirror. Dinner and a movie might be awkward. They’d have to clear it first with Ranger. And then they’d be overly polite and afraid to talk to me. And when they went off their shift Ranger would grill them. Okay, dinner with the Rangeman guys was a bad idea. That left my parents and Grandma. An equally bad idea. My mother would take one look at my blue hair and go straight to the liquor cupboard. Better to spring it on her tomorrow when she’s distracted by the funeral. Ordinarily I’d be seeing Morelli on a Friday night, but he was off to Atlantic City with his cousin Mooch. Annual poker tournament. They always lost, but they went every year anyway.