07 Seven Up (14 page)

Morelli looked around. “I didn't see him when I came in. I didn't know Ronald and Loretta Ricci moved in the same circles.”

“Maybe Ronald is here for the same reason Ziggy and Benny and Tom Bell are here.”

Mrs. Dugan came over to us, all smiles. “Congratulations,” she said. “I heard about the wedding. I'm so thrilled for you. And you are so lucky to have gotten the PNA Hall for your reception. Your grandmother must have pulled some strings on that one.”

PNA Hall? I looked up at Morelli and rolled my eyes and Morelli gave me the silent head-shake.

“Excuse me,” I said to Mrs. Dugan, “I have to find Grandma Mazur.”

I put my head down and plowed through the crowd to Grandma. “Mrs. Dugan just told me we have the PNA Hall rented for my reception,” I stage-whispered to her. “Is that true?”

“Lucille Stiller had it reserved for her parents' fiftieth wedding anniversary and her mother died just last night. As soon as we heard we snapped the hall right up. Things like this don't happen every day!”

“I don't want a reception in the PNA Hall.”

“Everyone wants a reception in the PNA,” Grandma said. “It's the best place in the Burg.”

“I don't want a big reception. I want to have the reception in the backyard.” Or not at all. I'm not even sure if I'm having a wedding!

“What if it rains? Where will we put all the people?”

“I don't want a lot of people.”

“There's gotta be a hundred people in Joe's family alone,” Grandma said.

Joe was standing behind me. “I'm having a panic attack,” I said to him. “I can't breathe. My tongue is swelling. I'm going to choke.”

“Choking might be the best thing,” Joe said.

I looked at my watch. The viewing wasn't over for an hour and a half. My luck, I'd leave and Eddie would waltz in. “I need some air,” I said. “I'm going outside for a couple minutes.”

“There's people I haven't talked to yet,” Grandma said. “I'll meet up with you later.”

Joe followed me out and we stood on the porch, breathing in street air, happy to get away from the carnations, enjoying the car fumes. Lights were on and there was a steady stream of traffic on the street. The funeral home sounded festive behind us. No rock music, but plenty of talking and laughing. We sat on a step and watched the traffic in companionable silence. We were sitting there relaxing when the white Cadillac rolled by.

“Was that Eddie DeChooch?” I asked Joe.

“Looked like him to me,” Joe said.

Neither of us moved. Not much we could do about DeChooch driving by. Our cars were parked two blocks away.

“We should do something to apprehend him,” I said to Joe.

“What do you have in mind?”

“Well, it's too late now, but you should have shot out a tire.”

“I'll have to remember that for next time.”

Five minutes later we were still sitting there, and DeChooch rolled by again.

“Jesus,” Joe said. “What's with this guy?”

“Maybe he's looking for a parking place.”

Morelli was on his feet. “I'm getting my truck. You go inside and tell Tom Bell.”

Morelli took off and I went to get Bell. I passed Myron Birnbaum on the stairs. Hold on. Myron Birnbaum was leaving. He was giving up his parking place and DeChooch was looking for a parking place. And knowing Myron Birnbaum, I was betting he'd parked close by. All I had to do was keep Birnbaum's space open until DeChooch came along. DeChooch would park and I'd have him trapped. Goddamn, I was so clever.

I followed Birnbaum, and just as I'd expected he was parked at the corner, three cars down from Stiva's, nicely sandwiched between a Toyota and a Ford SUV. I waited for him to pull out, and then I jumped into the empty space and started waving people away. Eddie DeChooch could barely see past the front bumper of his car, so I didn't have to worry about him spotting me from a distance. My plan was to save the space for him and then hide behind the SUV when the Cadillac came into view.

I heard heels clacking on the sidewalk and turned to see Valerie clippity-clopping over to me.

“What's going on?” Valerie said. “Are you holding a parking place for someone? Do you want me to help?”

An old lady in a ten-year-old Oldsmobile stopped short of the parking space and put her right turn signal on.

“Sorry,” I said, motioning for her to move on. “This spot is taken.”

The old lady responded by gesturing for me to get out of the way.

I shook my head no. “Try the parking lot.”

Valerie was standing to my side, waving her arms, pointing to the lot, looking like one of those guys who direct planes onto the runway. She was dressed almost exactly like me with the exception of a slightly different color scheme. Valerie's shoes were lavender.

The old lady beeped her horn at me and started creeping forward into the space. Valerie jumped back but I put my hands on my hips and glared at the woman and refused to budge.

There was another old lady in the passenger seat. She rolled her window down and stuck her head out. “This is our parking place.”

“This is a police operation,” I said. “You're going to have to park someplace else.”

“Are you a police officer?”

“I'm bail enforcement.”

“That's right,” Valerie said. “This is my sister and she's a bail bonds enforcement person.”

“Bail bonds is different from police,” the woman said.

“The police are on their way,” I told her.

“I think you're a big fibber. I think you're saving this spot for your boyfriend. Nobody in police work would dress like you.”

The Oldsmobile was about a third into the parking space with the rear of the car blocking off half of Hamilton. From the corner of my eye I caught a flash of white and before I had a chance to react, DeChooch smashed into the Oldsmobile. The Oldsmobile bounced forward and smashed into the back of the SUV, missing me by half an inch. The Cadillac careened off the left rear quarter panel of the Oldsmobile, and I could see DeChooch struggling to get control. He turned and looked directly at me, for a moment we all seemed suspended in time, and then he took off.

Damn!

The two old ladies wrenched open the doors to the Oldsmobile and struggled out.

“Look at my car!” the driver said. “It's a wreck!” She whirled around at me. “It's all your fault. You did this. I hate you.” And she hit me in the shoulder with her purse.

“Yow,” I said, “that hurts.”

She was a couple inches shorter than me but had me by a few pounds. Her hair was cut short and was newly permed. She looked to be in her sixties. She was wearing bright red lipstick, had crayoned dark brown eyebrows onto herself, and her cheeks were decorated with spots of rose-toned rouge. Definitely not from the Burg. Probably Hamilton Township.

“I should have run you over when I had the chance,” she said.

She hit me with the purse again, and this time I grabbed it by the strap and yanked it out of her hand.

Behind me I could hear Valerie give a little yelp of surprise.

“My purse,” the woman shrieked. “Thief! Help. She took my purse!”

A crowd had started to form around us. Motorists and mourners. The old lady grabbed one of the men on the fringe. “She's stealing my purse. She caused the accident and now she's stealing my purse. Get the police.”

Grandma jumped out of the crowd. “What's going on? I just got here. What's the ruckus about?”

“She stole my purse,” the woman said.

“Did not,” I said back.

“Did so.”

“Did not!”

“Yes you did,” the woman said, and she shoved me back with a hand to my shoulder.

“Keep your hands off my granddaughter,” Grandma said.

“Yes. And she's my sister,” Valerie chimed in.

“Mind your own business,” the woman yelled at Grandma and Valerie.

The woman shoved Grandma and Grandma shoved back and next thing they were slapping at each other and Valerie was standing to the side, shrieking.

I stepped forward to stop them and in the confusion of flailing arms and shrill threats someone smacked me in the nose. Little twinkle lights spread across my field of vision and I went down on one knee. Grandma and the old lady stopped slapping at each other and offered me tissues and advice on bow to stop the blood that was dripping from my nose.

“Someone get a paramedic,” Valerie shouted. “Call nine-one-one. Get a doctor. Get the undertaker.”

Morelli arrived and hauled me to my feet. “I think we can cross boxing off the list of possible alternative professions.”

“The old lady started it.”

“From the way your nose looks I'd say she also finished it.”

“Lucky punch.”

“DeChooch passed me going about seventy in the opposite direction,” Morelli said. “I couldn't turn in time to go after him.”

“That is the story of my life.”

WHEN MY NOSE stopped bleeding Morelli loaded Grandma and Valerie and me into my CR-V and followed us to my parents' house. He waved good-bye at that point, not wanting to be around when my mother saw us. I had bloodstains on Valerie's skirt and knit shirt. The skirt had a small tear in it. My knee was skinned and bleeding. And I had the beginning of a black eye. Grandma was in about the same condition but without the black eye and torn skirt. And something had happened to Grandma's hair so that it was standing straight up, making her look like Don King.

Because news travels at the speed of light in the Burg, by the time we got home, my mother had already taken six phone calls on the subject and knew every detail of our brawl. She clamped her mouth shut tight when we walked in and ran to get ice for my eye.

“It wasn't so bad,” Valerie said to my mother. “The police got it all straightened out. And the EMT people said they didn't think Stephanie's nose was broken. And they don't do much for a broken nose, anyway, do they, Stephanie? Maybe put a Band-Aid on it.” She took the ice pack from my mother and put it on her own head. “Do we have any liquor in the house?”

Mooner ambled over from the television. “Dude,” he said. “What's up?”

“Had a little dispute over a parking place.”

He nodded his head. “It's all about standing in line, isn't it?” And he went back to the television.

“You're not leaving him here, are you?” my mother asked. “He's not living with me, too, is he?”

“Do you think that would work?” I asked hopefully.

“No!”

“Then I guess I'm not leaving him.”

Angie looked around from the television. “Is it true you got hit by an old lady?”

“It was an accident,” I told her.

“When a person gets hit in the head the blow makes their brain swell. It kills brain cells and they don't regenerate.”

“Isn't it late for you to be watching television?”

“I don't have to go to bed because I don't have to go to school tomorrow,” Angie said. “We haven't registered in this new school system. And besides, we're used to staying up late. My father frequently had business dinners, and we were allowed to stay up until he got home.”

“Only now he's gone,” Mary Alice said. “He left us so he could sleep with the baby-sitter. I saw them kissing once and Daddy had a fork in his pants and it was sticking straight out.”

“Forks do that sometimes,” Grandma said.

I collected my clothes and Mooner and headed for home. If I was in better shape I would have driven over to The Snake Pit, but that was going to have to wait for another day.

“So tell me again why everyone is looking for this Eddie DeChooch guy,” Mooner said.

“I'm looking for him because he failed to appear for a court date. And the police are looking for him because they think he might be involved in a murder.”

“And he thinks I've got something that's his.”

“Yeah.” I watched Mooner as I drove, wondering if something was shaking loose in his head, wondering if a piece of important information would float to the surface.

“So what do you think?” Mooner said. “Do you think Samantha can do all that magic stuff if she doesn't twitch her nose?”

“No,” I said. “I think she has to twitch her nose.”

Mooner gave this serious consideration. “That's what I think, too.”

IT WAS MONDAY morning, and I felt like I'd been run over by a truck. A scab had formed on my knee and my nose ached. I dragged myself out of bed and limped into the bathroom. Eck! I had two black eyes. One was considerably blacker than the other. I got into the shower and stood there for what might have been a couple hours. When I staggered out my nose felt better, but my eyes looked worse.

Mental note. Two hours in a hot shower not good in early stages of black eye.

I blasted my hair with the dryer and pulled it back into a ponytail. I dressed in my usual uniform of jeans and stretchy T-shirt and went out to the kitchen in search of breakfast. Ever since Valerie showed up, my mother had been too distracted to send me home with the traditional food bag, so there was no pineapple upside-down cake in my refrigerator. I poured a glass of orange juice and dropped a slice of bread in the toaster. It was quiet in my apartment. Peaceful. Nice. Too nice. Too peaceful. I stepped out of the kitchen and looked around. Everything seemed to be in order. Except for the rumpled quilt and pillow on the couch.

Oh shit! There was no Mooner. Damn, damn, damn.

I ran to the door. It was closed and locked. The security chain was hanging loose, not securing the door. I opened the door and looked out. No one in the hall. I looked out the living room window, down at the parking lot. No Mooner. No suspicious characters or cars. I called Mooner's house. No answer. I scribbled a note to Mooner that I'd be back and he should wait for me. He could wait in the hall or he could break into my apartment. Hell, everybody breaks into my apartment. I taped the note to my front door and took off.

First stop was Mooner's house. Two roommates. No Mooner. Second stop, Dougie's house. No luck there. I cruised by the social club, Eddie's house, and Ziggy's house. I went back to my apartment. No sign of Mooner.

I called Morelli. “He's gone,” I said. “He was gone when I got up this morning.”

“Is that bad?”

“Yes, it's bad.”

“I'll keep my eyes open.”

“There haven't been any, uh . . .”