Twisted Twenty-Six (Stephanie Plum 26) Page 6

  I drove home on autopilot, parked, and took the stairs to the second floor. I walked the hall and stopped at my door. It was partially open. My heart stuttered in my chest. I took a couple steps back and called Rangeman. Three minutes later, my Rangeman escorts were in my apartment, guns drawn, doing a security check while I waited in the hall.

  One of the guys came out to get me. “It’s clear,” he said, “but it’s a mess.”

  I stepped inside and looked around. Drawers had been dumped out, cushions thrown onto the floor and slashed, linens torn off the bed, cereal boxes emptied. The lid was off Rex’s cage, and his soup can sleeping den had been emptied onto the kitchen counter. Rex wasn’t in his soup can or his cage. I had several moments of breathless panic until I saw Rex peeking out from behind my brown bear cookie jar.

  I scooped Rex up, told him I loved him, and gently set him back into his cage. I replaced his soup can and gave him a corn chip from the food spread across the counter.

  Ranger called. “Are you okay?” he asked. “Someone tossed my apartment.”

  “Was there much damage?”

  “Rex is safe. The rest is just stuff.”

  “Babe,” Ranger said and disconnected.

  I declined the offer of cleanup help from the Rangeman guys. They had good intentions, but I doubted their domestic skills. Not that mine were all that wonderful, but I wanted to do my own cleanup. I wanted to put my handprint on everything that had been disturbed. I wanted to put things back where they were before my apartment was violated. My household possessions weren’t expensive and I didn’t even like half of them, but they were mine. They shared my life . . . such as it was.

  I called my mom and asked if everything was okay there.

  “As okay as it could get,” my mother said. “We ate one of the casseroles for dinner. Noodles and some kind of ground meat. I’ll be glad to get all of this out of the house. It doesn’t feel right.”

  “How’s Grandma doing?”

  “Better than I am.”

  “Is she going out tonight?”

  “No. Old Mr. Jameson is laid out at Stiva’s tonight, and she said hardly anyone is going to the viewing. I guess everyone is gearing up for Jimmy’s funeral.”

  “Make sure you keep your doors locked,” I said. “Grandma kind of has a target on her back right now.”

  Not that a locked door had done me any good.

  I said good night to my mom and browsed through the kitchen debris for dinner, settling on a peanut butter and pickle sandwich.

  I vacuumed up the cereal and washed the counters. I returned the cushions to the couch, placing them slashed side down so they couldn’t be seen. I slid drawers back into the dresser in my bedroom, folded the clothes that had been thrown around the room, and returned them to their appropriate places. I made my bed with fresh linens and crawled in.

  I shut the light off, but I couldn’t sleep. My door was more secure now that the bolt was thrown, but I still didn’t feel safe. And knowing that someone had pawed through my stuff was creepy. I turned the light back on and checked my phone messages and email. I got up and looked in on Rex to make sure he was okay. He was running on his wheel, and he stopped and blinked at me when I flipped the kitchen light on.

  “Hey, little guy,” I said. “I guess you had a pretty exciting day. Big adventure for you, getting dumped out of your can and everything.” I filled his food cup with fresh hamster crunchies, shut the light off, and padded barefoot into the living room. I curled up on the couch, channel surfed, and finally settled on House Hunters International. A couple from Houston was looking for a place in Oslo, and the woman was obsessed with getting an apartment with a bathtub. I gave up on the woman and her bathtub search, and I did more channel surfing. I’m not sure when I fell asleep, but one of the morning shows was on and the sun was shining when I woke up on the couch.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  SATURDAYS ARE ALMOST always workdays . . . depending on how bad I need money. If I’m having a good month and my rent is paid, I might go to the shore, but that doesn’t happen often. This Saturday was different. This Saturday was going to be hideous. Besides the funeral thing, I was going to have to convince the people who ransacked my apartment that Grandma had no knowledge of the keys.

  I staggered to the bathroom and stood in the shower until I was moderately awake. I made a halfway serious effort at drying my hair, being careful not to melt my electric blue extensions. In the end, I concluded that the styling effort wasn’t entirely successful, and this would be another ponytail day.

  I have a black suit that I use for funerals and the occasional job at Rangeman. Tailored jacket. Knee-length pencil skirt. I coupled it with a short-sleeved, scoop neck white sweater and plain black pumps. I looked in the mirror and thought about applying mascara but decided it would take too much energy. Ditto coffee and breakfast. I could get it at my parents’ house.

  Rex was still asleep in his cage when I entered the kitchen. No doubt exhausted from running on his wheel all night. I had a pang of anxiety about leaving him alone. It wasn’t a big deal to have my cushions slashed. The threat of having Rex hurt or worse was a very big deal. I squelched the anxiety by reminding myself that my apartment had already been searched, and it wasn’t likely that it would be searched again.

  A new Rangeman crew was in my parking lot when I walked to my car. I waved at them and they waved back. I would rather they sat in my apartment and watched over Rex, but I didn’t think the idea would fly with Ranger.

  It was a couple minutes after eight o’clock when I pulled into my parents’ driveway. The church service was at nine o’clock, and Stiva’s big black limo was already at the curb. I took a deep breath and went inside. My father was in his chair in the living room, and the television was droning on in front of him. He was wearing his gray suit and a facial expression that could best be described as just shoot me.

  I bypassed my father and went to the kitchen, where my mother and grandmother were fluttering around. The cakes and casseroles were gone, and the kitchen looked a little bare without them.

  “Thank goodness you’re here,” Grandma said to me. “I need help with my makeup. Your mother thinks I’m wearing too much mascara. And I can’t decide on a lipstick. The queen has been wearing pink lately, but I’m not sure that’s a good color with my red hair.”

  I helped myself to coffee and looked in the fridge for leftovers. “Pink is okay with red hair.”

  “Stiva’s driver brought us fresh bagels this morning,” my mother said. “They’re in the bag on the counter.”

  I selected a bagel, sliced it in half, and gave it a layer of cream cheese.

  “Anyone want half of this?” I asked.

  “Not me,” Grandma said. “I can’t eat. My stomach is a mess, and I just brushed my teeth. I’ll be glad when this is over. I wanted to do the right thing for Jimmy, but having a big to-do like this is nerve-racking. What do you think of this dress? I had a hard time finding a good black one.”

  My mother squinted at me. “What’s in your hair?”

  “Extensions,” I said. “I had them put in yesterday.”

  Grandma came closer and looked at them. “They’re sort of glittery under the light. I wish I knew about this. I would have got some put in my hair. You need something like that when you gotta wear black. It breaks up the frump factor.”

  I didn’t think Grandma had to worry about the frump factor. She had flame red hair all punked out, and she was wearing a black cocktail dress that would have showed cleavage if she had any. As it was, Grandma’s cleavage was somewhere in the vicinity of her belly button.

  I heard the front door open and close, and Morelli sauntered into the kitchen. He was wearing jeans and a black blazer over a blue button-down shirt. When you put Morelli in a suit he looks like a casino pit boss. This isn’t a good look for a cop, so he almost always dresses down. His eyes instantly focused on my hair. His eyebrows raised ever so slightly and he smiled. He moved closer and draped
an arm across my shoulders.

  “I’m guessing this is one step beyond two coats of mascara,” Morelli said.

  “It’s experimental.”

  He nodded. “Not necessary, but fun.”

  “Do I look like an idiot?”

  “No. You look hot. Do we really have to go to the funeral?”

  “Unfortunately, yes. It’s important to Grandma. And it’s even more important that I talk to the La-Z-Boys. Someone tossed my apartment yesterday. I’m sure they were looking for the keys, but they were also leaving a message.”

  “Would you like me to talk to them?”

  “No. I need to do it. I need to make them understand that Jimmy didn’t pass the keys on to Grandma.”

  “Are you sure she doesn’t have them?”

  “Almost positive.”

  I looked over at Grandma. She was sitting at the kitchen table all by herself. She had a cup of tea in front of her but wasn’t drinking it. She was staring into the mug, her mouth set in a tight line.

  I gave Morelli the second half of my bagel and went to Grandma. “Is everything okay?”

  “I’m worried about the church service. I can get through everything else okay, but there’s things to think about when you’re in the Lord’s house. Especially when it’s for the last time, like Jimmy. You gotta look at your life and wonder if you should have done better. Jimmy might have made some bad choices. His chosen profession might not have been the best.”

  “You mean, that he worked for the mob.”

  “Yeah,” Grandma said. “I’m pretty sure he whacked people. Maybe a lot of people.”

  I went through a mental search, looking for a way to put a positive spin on Jimmy, but I came up empty.

  “He had a long, successful career,” Grandma finally said. “You gotta give him that.”

  “It’s time to get in the car,” my mother said. “Everyone take their things. We’ll go directly from the church to the cemetery, so take a sweater. It might be chilly. I have cough drops and tissues if anybody needs them.”

  We all trooped out of the house, climbed into the big black Lincoln, and sat in silence for the short ride to the church. We took our seats in the pew reserved for us. The pew reserved for Jimmy’s relatives was wisely located on the opposite side of the church. I looked at the flower-draped casket in front of the altar and got a chill. Grandma could be resting there next if I failed to protect her.

  Grandma dabbed at her eyes. “He was always nice to me,” she said.

  We managed to get through the service and back to our limo without incident, mainly because we surrounded Grandma and shielded her from seeing Tootie give her “the eye” and Rose give her the finger.

  “That wasn’t so bad,” Grandma said on the way to the cemetery. “There was no mention of Jimmy burning in hell, and the organist did a real good job.”

  Morelli was next to me, smiling. His family was even crazier and more dysfunctional than mine. This was a walk in the park for Morelli.

  Jimmy’s family had primo property at the cemetery. It was at the top of a medium-sized hill and overlooked acres of graves. It was a nice fall day. Seventy degrees and sunny. Blue sky. Puffy white clouds. Neatly trimmed green grass dotted with granite headstones. Yellow backhoe idling in the near distance.

  We parked a short distance from the gravesite, and what seemed like a mile of white-flagged cars parked behind us. We all got out and took stock of the walk ahead of us.

  “Okay,” Morelli said. “Let’s do it.”

  He took a firm grip on Grandma’s arm, I took the other arm, and we helped her navigate the slope in her fashionable pumps.

  Graveside seating was similar to church seating. The Rosollis and the Plums were separated by a section of chairs reserved for the La-Z-Boys and their top wiseguys. Lesser wiseguys stood at the rear along with ordinary mourners, plainclothes cops, and a couple photographers.

  “This is a good location for the Rosollis,” Morelli said. “Hard to get ambushed up here. You’d have to have a sharpshooter in those trees down by the road.”

  “You mean the trees that are being guarded by all those cops?”

  “Yeah, those trees.”

  “So, all you have to worry about are the people who are sitting next to us and want to kill each other.”

  “Ordinarily that would be the case, but I can’t see anyone risking getting taken into custody this morning. No one is going to want to miss the wake at the nudie bar.”

  Grandma was sitting between me and my mom. She had her hands clasped tight in her lap, and she was staring straight ahead. The casket was in her line of sight, but I didn’t think she was seeing it. She looked like her thoughts were elsewhere.

  “This is a strange place where we live,” she said.

  “You mean Trenton?”

  “I mean Earth. One minute you think you know where you’re going, and then in a second it could all change. You don’t even have to make a bad decision. You could be doing everything right, and the bad thing happens. It’s like we’re one of them videogames. Someone pushes a button, and BANG you’re dead. It’s gotta make you wonder what’s next.”

  “What do you think is next?” I asked Grandma.

  “Alien invasion. I don’t mean Mexicans, either. It’s only a matter of time. I wouldn’t be surprised to have them landing in the backyard tonight. Or maybe they wouldn’t land at all. Maybe they’d just wipe us all out in a flash of light, and we’d be gone. Like the dinosaurs.”

  “Jeez.”

  “Yeah, it would be a real bummer to get wiped out in a flash of light. I prepaid my funeral. Picked out my casket and everything. I didn’t scrimp, either. I hate to think I wouldn’t be laid to rest in that casket. I was counting on a good send-off.”

  “Aliens aren’t a sure thing,” I said.

  Grandma nodded. “That’s a comforting thought.”

  The priest took his place at the side of the grave, welcomed all attending, and began the recitation of rites. Some of the older mourners nodded off. Tootie fiddled with her oxygen machine. A few people discreetly checked their Twitter accounts.

  “I should have gone with the shortened interment version,” Grandma said on the final commendation. “I’d forgotten how this could drag on. My behind is asleep.”

  The priest finished with his remarks and invited everyone to pay their last respects. Grandma was given a flower to place on the casket. She rose and took a couple steps forward. Jimmy’s sisters rushed up behind her. Tootie rammed her walker into Grandma’s back, and Grandma almost took a header onto the casket. Grandma regained her footing, whirled around, and clocked Tootie on the side of her head with her handbag. Tootie fell down to the ground, still tethered to her oxygen.

  “Excuse me,” Grandma said to Tootie. “That was an accidental reflex reaction caused by you being rude at my honey’s funeral.”

  Angie muttered something in Italian and rushed at Grandma, waving her bandaged hands in the air. Morelli restrained her before she got in striking range.

  The funeral director stepped in and suggested that in spite of the brilliant blue sky he thought it might rain and everyone should immediately go to their cars. The suggestion was taken, and there was a mad scramble to be first out of the cemetery.

  Grandma put her flower on the casket and told Jimmy he was invited to the wake but she’d understand if he didn’t show up, being that he might have other things to do. We made our way down to the waiting car. Grandma took one last look up the hill, perhaps checking for aliens, and we all piled into the limo.

  “That’s a good-size purse you’re carrying,” Morelli said to Grandma. “Really packs a wallop.”

  “I gotta fit my essentials into it,” Grandma said.

  We all knew one of her essentials was a .45 long-barrel.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  BY THE TIME we arrived at the Mole Hole, the parking lot was full, and cars lined both sides of the street. The front door was open, and people were spilling out onto the si
dewalk.

  “I knew Jimmy would get a crowd, but this is even more than I expected,” Grandma said.

  “Don’t kid yourself,” my father said. “It’s about the free potato salad and the girls with the big hooters. You can’t work here unless you’ve got big hooters. Even the men have hooters.”

  “Jimmy didn’t have hooters,” Grandma said.

  We pushed our way in with Morelli leading the way. I was behind Grandma, keeping watch over her. My parents trailed behind me. The donated food had been set out on the bar. Liquor was flowing, compliments of the La-Z-Boys. Emma Gorse and Mary Ann Wozinski found Grandma and offered their condolences. Three more women lined up behind them.

  Lula bustled over. “Your extensions are smokin’,” she said. “I could see them all the way across the room.” She elbowed Grandma. “Condolences.”

  “Thank you,” Grandma said. “Have some kielbasa.”

  Connie pushed her way through the crowd. “This is insane,” Connie said. “I’ve never seen this many people at a wake. They’re going through the buffet like they haven’t eaten in a week, and some of them want to know when the pole girls arrive and the show starts.”

  My father was at the bar shoveling food onto his plate. My mother looked like she wanted to iron a shirt.

  “You’re in charge of my family,” I told Morelli. “I’m looking for Charlie Shine or Stan or Benny the Skootch.”

  “Benny was at the church and the cemetery. I haven’t seen Charlie Shine, and I don’t know Stan,” Morelli said. “Lou Salgusta and Julius Roman are also club members. They were with Benny earlier. I don’t see any of them now, so I’m guessing they’re in the back room.”

  I glanced over at the door to the back room. Crap. Been there. Done that. Not a good experience.

  “Is there a problem?” Morelli asked.

  “Nope,” I said. “Easy-peasy.”