Smokin' Seventeen (19 page)

Ten minutes later I rechecked the peephole. Dave was still there. I retreated to my bedroom and folded the clean laundry that had been sitting in my laundry basket all week. I made my bed. I brushed my teeth. I went back and looked out the peephole. Dave was still there. Criminy. What did it take to get rid of this guy?

I very quietly made myself a peanut butter sandwich and washed it down with a beer. I checked my email. I admired my toes. I fell asleep at the dining room table and awoke with a start when the phone rang.

“Thank goodness you’re home,” Grandma Mazur said. “This is an emergency. I was supposed to go to the funeral parlor tonight with Lucille Ticker, and she just called and said
her hemorrhoids were acting up, and she’s staying home. I need a ride real bad. Your mother is at some church function, and your father is at the lodge doing whatever it is he does there. The viewing starts in ten minutes, and it’s going to be the event of the year. Lou Dugan is laid out.”

Viewings weren’t high on my list of favorite things to do, but Lou Dugan’s viewing could be worthwhile. There was a chance Nick Alpha would be there. What better place to confront a killer than at his victim’s viewing?

“I’m on my way,” I told grandma.

I ran into my bedroom and made a quick wardrobe change into black heels, a black pencil skirt, and a white wrap shirt. God forbid my mother found out I went to a viewing in jeans and a T-shirt. Dave was still in the hall when I burst out the door.

“Omigosh,” I said. “What are you doing here?”

“I knocked, but no one answered.”

“I must have been in the shower. Sorry, but I have to go. I’m late picking Grandma up.”

“I could go in and cook,” Dave said.

“Here’s the thing, Dave. This isn’t working. You need to find a different twirler.”

“I don’t want a different twirler.”

I rolled my eyes, grunted, and locked my door. “Gotta go,” I said. And I hustled down the hall and into the elevator.

He took the stairs, and we reached the lobby at the same time.

“It’s Morelli, right?” Dave said. “Morelli doesn’t want you spending time with me.”

I crossed the lot and unlocked the Shelby. “Morelli doesn’t care. You’re not a threat. And besides, Morelli would trade me in for a lamb chop.”

“New car?” Dave asked.

“Yeah. Someone dumped a dead guy in my SUV.”

“It’s hard to keep up with your cars.”

I got behind the wheel, locked my doors, waved good-bye to Dave, and drove out of the lot. I felt kind of bad leaving him standing there with his wine and his grocery bag, but honestly I didn’t know what else to do with him. He wasn’t paying attention.

Grandma was waiting for me at the curb. She was wearing a cherry red dress with a matching jacket, little black heels, and a pearl necklace, and she was holding her big black leather purse. Grandma carried a .45 long barrel, and it didn’t fit into a more dainty purse. Her lipstick matched her dress, and her hair was perfectly curled.

I pulled up next to her, and she got in.

“This is a beaut of a car,” she said, buckling her seat belt. “I bet this car belongs to Ranger.”

“Yep.”

“It’s a shame he doesn’t want to marry you. He’d get my vote. He’s sexy as all get out, and he’s got badass cars.”

“Do you like him better than Dave?”

“Don’t get me wrong. I like Dave okay, but I’d take sex over
cooking any day of the week. You can buy a burger, but it’s not every day you find a man with a package like Ranger. And I’m not talking about what you’re thinking, although I noticed, and it looks pretty good. I’m talking about the
whole
package from his sideburns on down. He’s hot. And I think he’s smart. He’s made a success of himself.”

“He has baggage,” I said. “He’s not willing to take on more.”

“Then I guess I’d go with the guy who can cook.”

“What about Morelli?”

“He’s okay. He’s hot, too, but I don’t see you making much progress there.”

I pulled into the funeral home lot, but there were no spaces left. I let Grandma out and found a parking place a block away. Everyone was here to see Lou Dugan. I walked back to the funeral home and made my way through the crush of people on the porch, through the open doors, and into the lobby. I worked my way through the crowd, head down to minimize social contact, breathing shallow to minimize the smell of funeral flowers and senior citizens.

Someone snagged my elbow, and I was forced to pick my head up. It was Mrs. Gooley. I went to school with her daughter Grace.

“Stephanie Plum!” she said. “I haven’t seen you in years, but I read about you in the paper. Remember when you burned this funeral home down? That was something.”

“It was an accident.”

“I hear you were the one to discover poor Lou, God rest his soul.”

“Actually he was dug up by a backhoe. I got there a little later.”

“Is it true he was reaching up, trying to get out of his grave?”

“You’ll have to excuse me,” I said, easing away. “I’m trying to find Grandma.”

A sign advertised the Dugan viewing in slumber room number one. This was big time. Not everyone got to have a viewing in slumber room number one. It was the largest room and was located directly off the lobby.

I inched my way through the mob to slumber room one and was stopped at the door by two women I didn’t recognize.

“Omigosh,” the one said. “You’re Stephanie Plum. You were right there when Lou tried to climb out of his grave. What was it like?”

“He didn’t try to climb out of his grave,” I said.

An older woman joined the group. “Are you Stephanie Plum?” she asked.

“No,” I said.

“You look a little like the picture on the bus, except for your chest.”

“Yeah, I get that a lot,” I said.

THIRTY-TWO

I PUSHED INTO
the funeral home viewing room and took a position on the back wall. I couldn’t see Grandma, but I knew she would be working her way up to the casket. And when she finally got up there she’d be in a snit because it was closed. It didn’t matter what was left of the deceased, Grandma wanted to see it. She figured if she made the effort to come out and got all dressed up, she at least deserved a peek.

I’d hoped to find Nick Alpha here, or at least someone who might be associated with him, but people were too smashed together. It was impossible to circulate through the room, and I couldn’t see over the heads of the people standing in front of me. My hope was that it would clear out a little toward the end of the viewing time.

There were no chairs and standing in the heels was getting
old. Temperature in the room had to be hovering around ninety, and I could feel my hair frizzing. I checked my iPhone for text messages. One from Connie telling me she was waiting for a reply from Alpha’s parole officer. Mr. Mikowitz came over to tell me he thought I looked good on the bus. His nose was red, he smelled heavily of Jim Beam, and his pink scalp was sweating under his five-strand comb-over. I thanked him for the compliment, and he moved on.

I could hear a disturbance going on in the front of the room by the casket, and a funeral home attendant in a black suit moved toward it. I assumed this was Grandma trying to get the lid up. I’d been through this before, and I wasn’t stepping in unless a free-for-all broke out, or I heard gunshots.

Someone jostled against me, I looked around, and I locked eyes with Nick Alpha.

“The whole time I was in prison I lived for the day when I’d get out and set things right for Jimmy,” he said, leaning in close, talking low. “I’m going to kill you just like you killed my little brother, but I’m going to let you worry about it for a while. Not too much longer, but for a while. It won’t be the first time I’ve had to kill someone, but it’s going to be the most enjoyable.”

His eyes were cold and his mouth was set hard. He stepped back and disappeared into the sea of mourners, snoops, and partygoers.

Sometimes you want to be careful what you wish for because you might get it. I’d wanted to talk to Nick Alpha, and
now not so much. At least he wanted me to worry a little. That meant he probably wouldn’t kill me on my way out of the funeral home, so everything was good. And if he was the guy who was killing everyone else, he’d choke me first. I liked my odds with that better than getting shot. In my mind I played out a scenario where I stabbed the assailant in the leg with my nail file and was able to foil the choking.

The black-suited funeral director moved people out of his way, and escorted Grandma over to me. “Take her home,” he said.
“Please.”

“I’m not going until I get a cookie,” Grandma said. “I always like to have a cookie after I’ve paid my respects.”

The funeral director gave me a five-dollar bill. “Buy her a cookie. Buy her a whole
box
of cookies. Just get her out of here.”

“You better be nice to me,” Grandma said to the director. “I’m old, and I’m going to die soon, and I got my eye on the deluxe slumber bed with the mahogany carvings. I’m going out first class.”

The director sagged a little. “I’d like to count on that, but life is cruel, and I can’t imagine you leaving us anytime in the near future.”

I took Grandma by the elbow and helped steer her out of the viewing room. We made a fast detour to the cookie table, she wrapped three in a napkin and put them in her purse, and we hustled to the car.

“What did you do this time?” I asked her when we were on the way home.

“I didn’t do anything. I was a perfect lady.”

“You must have done
something.
”

“I might have tried to get the lid up, but it was nailed closed, and then I sort of knocked over a vase of flowers onto the dearly departed’s wife, and she got a little wet.”

“A
little
wet?”

“She got
real
wet. It was a big vase. She looked like she’d been left out in the rain all day. And it would never have happened if they hadn’t nailed the lid down.”

“The man was nothing but rotted bones.”

“Yeah, but
you
got to see him. I don’t know why
I
couldn’t get to see him. I wanted to see what his rotted bones looked like.”

I dropped Grandma off and made sure she got into the house, and then I drove to the end of the block and turned out of the Burg, into Morelli’s neighborhood. I drove to his house and idled. His SUV wasn’t there. No lights on. I could call him, but I was half afraid he’d be on a date. The very thought gave me a knot in my stomach. But then lately almost everything in my life gave me a knot.

I continued on home, parked, and took the elevator to the second floor. I stepped out of the elevator and saw Dave. He was sitting on the floor, his back to my door.

“Hi,” he said, standing, retrieving his wine and grocery bag.

“What the heck are you doing here?”

“Waiting for you?”

“Why?”

“I feel like cooking.”

I blew out a sigh and opened my door. “Does the word ‘stalker’ mean anything to you?”

“Do you have a stalker?”

“You! You’re turning into a stalker.”

He unpacked his groceries and hunted for the corkscrew. “I’m not a stalker. Stalkers don’t cook dinner.”

I poured myself a glass of wine. “What are we having?”

“Pasta. I’m going to make a light sauce with fresh vegetables and herbs. I have a loaf of French bread and cheese for you to grate.”

“I don’t have a cheese grater. I buy cheese already grated. Actually I don’t do that either. I eat out when I want pasta. I only eat in when I want peanut butter.”

“I bought you a cheese grater. It’s in the bag.”

“Why do you have to cook? Did you have a bad day?”

He rinsed tomatoes and set them on the counter. “I had a good day. Successful. I feel energized.” He looked over at me. “How was your day?”

“Same ol’, same ol’. Dead guy in my car. Death threat at the funeral home. Stalker in my hall.”

“I heard about the dead guy. Gordon Kulicki, right?”

“That’s what they tell me.”

He poured olive oil into my large fry pan and put heat under it. “That had to be what … scary?”

I kicked my heels off. “Yeah. Scary.”

He chopped onion and dumped it into the hot oil. “You don’t look scared.”

“It’s been a long day.” I found my big pot, filled it with water, and set it on a burner. “And after a while I guess you get used to scary. Scary gets to be the new normal.”

“That’s disappointing. I thought I’d be the big, strong guy coming here to comfort poor scared little you.”

“Too late.” I looked at the sauce he was making. “How much longer until dinner?”

“Half hour.”

“I’m going to take a fast shower. I smell like funeral home.”

I locked the bathroom door, got undressed, and stepped into the shower. After a lot of soap, shampoo, and hot water I emerged without so much as a hint of carnations. I wrapped a towel around myself and was about to dry my hair when there was some jiggling at the doorknob, the knob turned, and the Dave walked in totally naked.

I shrieked and grabbed at my towel. “Get out!”

“Don’t play coy,” he said. “We’re both adults.”

He reached for me, and I hit him in the face with the hair dryer. His eyes glazed over, and he crashed to the floor. Out cold. Bleeding from the nose. His Mr. Hopeful looking less perky by the second.

I grabbed his feet and dragged him through my apartment to the front door, being careful not to get blood on the carpet. I opened the door and dragged him into the hall. I ran to my bedroom, scooped up his clothes, ran back to the door, and threw his clothes out. Then I locked and bolted the door and looked at him through the peephole. If he didn’t come around in the next couple minutes I’d call 911.

“Why me?” I said.

After a moment Dave’s eyes fluttered open, and he moaned a little. He put his hand to his face and gingerly touched what used to be his nose. He lay there for a couple more beats, collecting himself, probably waiting for the cobwebs to clear. He pushed himself up to a sitting position and looked at my door, and I instinctively jumped back. I squelched a nervous whimper and did an internal eye roll. He couldn’t see me. The door was locked. Not like the bathroom that could be opened by sticking a straightened paper clip into the lock. This door had a security chain, two deadbolts, and a door lock.