11 Eleven On Top (5 page)

“I got a job at Kan Klean. I start tomorrow.”

“We should celebrate.”

“No celebrating! That's what lost me the button factory job. Don't you want to ask me if I can get you discount cleaning?”

“I don't clean my clothes. I wear them until they fall apart and then I throw them away.”

I finished the sandwich and chugged the beer. “I've got to go,” I told Morelli. “I told Grandma I'd pick her up at seven. We're going to Harry Farstein's viewing at Stiva's.”

“I can't compete with that,” Morelli said.

Grandma was waiting at the door when I drove up. She was dressed in powder blue slacks, a matching floral-print blouse, a white cotton cardigan, and white tennis shoes. She had her big black patent-leather purse in the crook of her arm. Her gray hair was freshly set in tight little baloney curls that marched across her pink skull. Her nails were newly manicured and painted fire-engine red. Her lipstick matched her nails.

“I'm ready to go,” she said, hurrying over to the car. “We don't get a move on, we're not gonna get a good seat. There's gonna be a crowd tonight and ever since Spiro took off, Stiva hasn't been all that good with organization. Spiro was a nasty little cockroach but he could organize a crowd like no one else.”

Spiro was Constantine Stiva's kid. I went to school with Spiro and near the end I guess I inadvertently helped him disappear. He was a miserable excuse for a human being, involved in running guns and God knows what else. He tried to kill Grandma and me, there was a shoot-out and a spectacular fire at the funeral home, and somehow, in the confusion, Spiro vanished into thin air.

When I got the notes saying I'm back and did you think I was dead? Spiro was one of the potential psychos who came to mind. Sad to say, he was just one name among many. And he wasn't the most likely candidate. Spiro had been a lot of things... dumb wasn't one of them. Plus I couldn't see Spiro being obsessed with revenge. Spiro had wanted money and power.

The funeral home was on Hamilton, a couple blocks down from the bail bonds office. It had been rebuilt after the fire and was now a jumble of new brick construction and old Victorian mansion. The two-story front half of the house was white aluminum siding with black shutters. A large porch wrapped around the front and south side of the house. Some of the viewing rooms and all of the embalming rooms were located in the new brick addition at the rear. The preferred viewing rooms were in the front and Stiva had given them names: the Blue Salon, the Rest in Peace Salon, and the Executive Slumber Salon.

It was a five-minute drive from my parents' house to Stiva's. I dropped Grandma at the door and found street parking half a block away. When I got to the funeral home Grandma was waiting for me at the entrance to the Executive Slumber Salon.

“I don't know why they call this the Executive Salon,” she said. “It's not like Stiva's laying a lot of executives to rest. Think it's just a big phony-baloney name.”

The Executive Slumber Salon was the largest of the viewing rooms and was already packed with people. Lydia Farstein was at the far end, one hand dramatically touching the open casket. She was in her seventies and looked surprisingly happy for a woman who had just lost her husband of fifty-odd years.

“Looks like Lydia's been hitting the sauce,” Grandma said. “Last time I saw her that happy was... never. I'm going back to give her my condolences and take a look at Harry.”

Looking at dead people wasn't high on my list of favorite activities, so I separated from Grandma and wandered to the far side of the entrance hall, where complimentary cookies had been set out.

I scarfed down a couple sugar cookies and a couple spice cookies and I felt a prickling sensation at the back of my neck. I turned and looked across the room and saw Morelli's Grandma Bella glaring at me. Grandma Bella is a white-haired old lady who dresses in black and looks like an extra out of a Godfather flashback. She has visions, and she puts spells on people. And she scares the crap out of me.

Bitsy Mullen was standing next to me at the cookie table. “Omigod,” Bitsy said. “I hope she's glaring at you and not me. Last week she put the eye on Francine Blainey, and Francine got a bunch of big herpes sores all over her face.”

The eye is like Grandma Bella voodoo. She puts her finger to her eye and she mumbles something and whatever calamity happens to you after that you can pin on the eye. I guess it's a little like believing in hell. You hope it's bogus, but you never really know for sure, do you?

“I'm betting Francine got herpes from her worthless boyfriend,” I said to Bitsy.

“I'm not taking any chances,” Bitsy said. “I'm going to hide in the ladies' room until the viewing is over. Oh no! Omigod. Here she comes. What should I do? I can't breathe. I'm gonna faint.”

“Probably she just wants a cookie,” I said to Bitsy. Not that I believed it. Grandma Bella had her beady eyes fixed on me. I'd seen the look before and it wasn't good.

“You!” Grandma Bella said, pointing her finger at me. “You broke my Joseph's heart.”

“No way,” I said. “Swear to God.”

“Is there a ring on your finger?”

“N-N-No.”

“It's a scandal,” she said. “You've brought disgrace to my house. A respectable woman would be married and have children by now. You go to his house and tempt him with your body and then you leave. Shame on you. Shame. Shame. I should put the eye on you. Make your teeth fall out of your head. Turn your hair gray. Cause your female parts to shrink away until there's nothing left of them.”

Grandma Mazur elbowed her way through the crush of people around the cookie table. “What's going on here?” she asked. “What'd I miss about female parts?”

“Your granddaughter is a Jezebel,” Grandma Bella said. “Jumping in and out of my Joseph's bed.”

“Half the women in the Burg have been in and out of his bed,” Grandma Mazur said. “Heck, half the women in the state...”

“Not lately,” I said. “He's different now.”

“I'm going to put the eye on her,” Grandma Bella said. “I'm going to make her female parts turn to dust.”

“Over my dead body,” Grandma Mazur said.

Bella scrunched up her face. “That could be arranged.”

“You better watch it, sister,” Grandma Mazur said. “You don't want to get me mad. I'm a holy terror when I'm mad.”

“Hah, you don't scare me,” Bella said. “Stand back. I'm going to give the eye.”

Grandma Mazur pulled a.45 long barrel out of her big black patent-leather purse and pointed it at Bella. “You put your finger to your eye and I'll put a hole in your head that's so big you could push a potato through it.”

Bellas eyes rolled around in her head. “I'm having a vision. I'm having a vision.”

I grabbed the gun from Grandma and shoved it back into her bag. “No shooting! She's just a crazy old lady.”

Bella snapped to attention. “Crazy old lady? Crazy old lady? I'll show you crazy old lady. I'll give you a thrashing. Someone get me a stick. I'll put the eye on everyone if someone doesn't give me a stick.”

“No one thrashes my granddaughter,” Grandma Mazur said. “And besides, look around. Do you see any sticks? It's not like you're in the woods. You know what your problem is? You gotta learn how to chill.”

Bella grabbed Grandma Mazur by the nose. She was so fast Grandma never saw it coming. “You're a demon woman!” Bella shouted.

Grandma Mazur clocked Bella on the side of the head with the big patent-leather purse, but Bella had a death grip on Grandma Mazur. Grandma hit her a second time and Bella hunkered in. Bella scrunched up her face and held tight to the nose.

I was in the mix, trying to wrestle Bella away. Grandma accidentally caught me with a roundhouse swing of the purse that knocked me off my feet.

Bitsy Mullen was jumping around, wringing her hands and shrieking. “Help! Stop! Someone do something!”

Mrs. Lubchek was behind Bitsy, at the cookie table, watching the whole thing. “Oh, for the love of God,” Mrs. Lubchek said with an eyeroll. And Mrs. Lubchek grabbed the pitcher of iced tea off the cookie table and dumped it on Grandma Bella and Grandma Mazur.

Grandma Bella released Grandma Mazur's nose and looked down at herself. “I'm wet. What is this?”

“Iced tea,” Mrs. Lubchek said. “I poured iced tea on you.”

“I'll turn you into an artichoke.”

“You need to take a pill,” Mrs. Lubchek said. “You're nutsy cuckoo.”

Stiva hurried across the room with Joe's mother close on his heels.

“We're out of iced tea,” Mrs. Lubchek said to Stiva.

“I'm having a vision,” Grandma Bella said, her eyes rolling around in her head. “I see fire. A terrible fire. I see rats escaping, running from the fire. Big, ugly, sick rats. And one of the rats has come back.” Bella's eyes snapped open and focused on me. “He's come back to get you.”

“Omigod,” Bitsy said. “Omigod. Omigod!”

“I need to lay down now. I always get tired after I have a vision,” Bella said.

“Wait,” I said to her. “What kind of a vision is that? A rat? Are you sure about this vision thing?”

“Yeah, and what do you mean the rat's sick?” Grandma Mazur wanted to know. “Does it have rabies?”

“That's all I'm going to say,” Bella said. “It's a vision. A vision is a vision. I'm going home.”

Bella whirled on her heel and walked to the door with her back ramrod straight and Joe's mom behind her, scurrying to keep up.

Grandma Mazur turned to the cookie tray and picked through the cookies, looking for a chocolate chip. “I tell you a person's gotta get here early or there's only leftovers.”

We were both dripping iced tea. And Grandma Mazur's nose was red and swollen.

“We should go home,” I said to Grandma Mazur. “I have to get out of this shirt.”

“Yeah,” Grandma Mazur said. “I guess I could go. I paid my respects to the deceased and this cookie tray's a big disappointment.”

“Did you hear anything about Michael Barroni?”

Grandma dabbed at her shirt with a napkin. "Only that he's still missing. The boys are running the store, but Emma Wilson tells me they're not getting along.

Emma works there part-time. She said the young one is a trial."

“Anthony.”

“That's the one. He was always a troublemaker. Remember there was that business with Mary Jane Roman.”

“Date rape.”

“Nothing ever came of that,” Grandma said. “But I never doubted Mary Jane. There was always something off about Anthony.”

We'd walked out of the funeral home and down the street to the car. I looked inside the car and saw a note on the drivers seat.

“How'd that get in there?” Grandma wanted to know. “Don't you lock your car?”

“I stopped locking it. I'm hoping someone will steal it.”

Grandma took a good look at the car. “That makes sense.”

We both got in and I read the note, your turn to burn, bitch.

“Such language,” Grandma said. “I tell you the world's going to heck in a handbasket.”

Grandma was upset about the language. I was upset about the threat. I wasn't exactly sure what it meant, but it didn't feel good. It was crazy and scary.

Who was this person, anyway?

I pulled away from the curb and headed for my parents' house.

“I can't get that dumb note out of my head,” Grandma said when we were half a block from home. “I could swear I even smell smoke.”

Now that she mentioned it...

I glanced in the rearview mirror and saw flames licking up the backseat. I raced the half block to my parents' house, careened into the driveway, and jerked to a stop.

“Get out,” I yelled. “The backseats on fire.”

Grandma turned and looked. “Danged if it isn't.”

I ran into the house, told my mother to call the fire department, grabbed the fire extinguisher that was kept in the kitchen under the sink, and ran back to the car. I broke the seal on the extinguisher and sprayed the flaming backseat. My father appeared with the garden hose and between the two of us we got the fire under control.

A half hour later, the backseat of the Saturn was pronounced dead and flame free by the fire department. The fire truck rumbled away down the street, and the crowd of curious neighbors dispersed. The sun had set, but the Saturn could be seen in the ambient light from the house. Water dripped from the undercarriage and pooled on the cement driveway in grease-slicked puddles. The stench of cooked upholstery hung in the air.

Morelli had arrived seconds behind the fire truck. He was now standing in my parents' front yard with his hands in his pockets, wearing his unreadable cop face.

“So,” I said to him. “What's up?”

“Where's the note?”

“What note?”

His eyes narrowed ever so slightly.

“How do you know there was a note?” I asked.

“Just another one of those feelings.”

I took the note from my pocket and handed it over.

“Do you think this has something to do with the rat?” Grandma asked me. “Remember how Bella had that vision about the fire and the rat? And she said the rat was gonna get you. Well, I bet it was the rat that wrote the note and started the fire.”

“Rats can't write,” I said.

“What about human rats?” Grandma wanted to know. “What about big mutant human rats?”

Morelli cut his eyes to me. “Do I want to know about this vision?”

“No,” I told him. “And you also don't want to know about the fight in the funeral home between Bella and Grandma Mazur when Grandma tried to stop Bella from putting a curse on me for breaking your heart.”

Morelli smiled. “I've always been her favorite.”

“I didn't break your heart.”

“Cupcake, you've been breaking my heart for as long as I've known you.”

“How did you know about the fire?” I asked Morelli.

“Dispatch called me. They always call me when your car explodes or goes up in flames.”

“I'm surprised Ranger isn't here.”

“He got me on my cell. I told him you were okay.”

I moved closer to the Saturn and peered inside. Most of the water and fire damage was confined to the backseat.

Morelli had his hand at the nape of my neck. “You're not thinking of driving this, are you?”

“It doesn't look so bad. It probably runs fine.”