Two for the Dough (25 page)

“They all checked out. Registered nice and legal.”

So much for usefulness.

“Stephanie,” my mother called from inside. “Are you out there without a coat? You’re going to catch your death.”

“Speaking of death,” Morelli said. “They found a body to go with your foot. It floated into one of the bridge supports this morning.”

“Sandeman?”

“Yeah.”

“You think Kenny is self-destructing, looking to get caught?”

“I think it’s not that complicated. He’s a squirrel. This started out as a clever way to make a lot of money. Something went wrong, the operation got fucked up, and Kenny couldn’t handle it. Now he’s wound up so tight his eyes are crossed, and he’s looking for people to blame … Moogey, Spiro, you.”

“He’s lost it, hasn’t he?”

“Big time.”

“You think Spiro is as crazy as Kenny?”

“Spiro isn’t crazy. Spiro is small.”

It was true. Spiro was a pimple on the burg’s butt. I glanced over at Morelli’s car. It didn’t look drivable. “You need a ride somewhere?”

“I can manage.”

Stiva’s lot was already filled at seven o’clock, and cars lined the curb for two blocks down Hamilton. I double-parked just short of the service driveway and told Grandma she should go in without me.

She’d changed into a dress and the big blue coat and looked very colorful marching up Stiva’s front steps with her apricot hair. She had her black patent leather purse tucked into the crook of her arm, and her bandaged hand stood out like a white flag, proclaiming her as one of the walking wounded in the war against Kenny Mancuso.

I circled the block twice before finding a spot. I hustled to the funeral parlor, entered through the side door, and steeled myself against the claustrophobic hothouse heat and crowd murmur. When this was over I was never again going into a funeral parlor. I didn’t care who died. I wasn’t having any part of it. Could be my mother or my grandmother. They were going to have to manage on their own.

I sidled up to Roche at the tea table. “I see your brother’s being buried tomorrow morning.”

“Yeah. Boy, I sure am going to miss this place. I’m going to miss these cheapskate, sawdust cookies. And I’m going to miss the tea. Yum, I sure do love tea.” He looked around. “Hell, I don’t know what I’m complaining about. I’ve had worse assignments. Last year I was on a stakeout, dressed up like a bag lady, and I got mugged. Got two broken ribs.”

“Have you seen my grandmother?”

“Yeah. I saw her come in, but then I lost her in the crowd. I imagine she’s trying to get a look at the guy that had his … um, thing, whacked off.”

I put my head down and muscled my way into the room where Joe Loosey was laid out. I elbowed to the front until I reached the casket and the widow Loosey. I’d expected Grandma to have insinuated herself into the space reserved for the immediate family, her reasoning being that she’d seen Joe’s penis and was now on intimate terms.

“I’m sorry for your loss,” I said to Mrs. Loosey. “Have you seen Grandmother Mazur?”

She looked alarmed. “Edna is here?”

“I dropped her off about ten minutes ago. I expected she’d have come to pay her respects.”

Mrs. Loosey put a protective hand on the casket. “I haven’t seen her.”

I pushed through the crowd and dropped in on Roche’s fake brother. A handful of people were in the back of the room. From the level of animation I’d guess they were talking about the great penis scandal. I asked if anyone had seen Grandma Mazur. The answers were negative. I returned to the lobby. I checked the kitchen, the ladies’ room, the porch to the side door. I questioned everyone in my path.

No one had seen a little old lady in a big blue coat.

Prickles of alarm had begun to dance along my spine. This was uncharacteristic of Grandma. She liked to be in the thick of things. I’d seen her walk through Stiva’s front door, so I knew she was in the house … at least for a short time. I didn’t think it likely she’d gone back outside. I hadn’t seen her on the street while I was searching for a parking space. And I couldn’t imagine her leaving without taking a peek at Loosey.

I walked upstairs and prowled through the second story rooms where caskets and files were stored. I cracked the door to the business office and flipped the light switch. The office was empty. The upstairs bathroom was empty. The walk-in linen closet that was filled with office supplies was empty.

I returned to the lobby and noticed Roche was no longer at the tea table. Spiro was alone at the front door, looking sour.

“I can’t find Grandma Mazur,” I said to him.

“Congratulations.”

“Not funny. I’m worried about her.”

“You should be. She’s nuts.”

“Have you seen her?”

“No. And it’s the only decent thing that’s happened to me in two days.”

“I thought maybe I should check the back rooms.”

“She’s not in the back. I keep the doors locked during public hours.”

“She can be sort of ingenious when she has her mind set on something.”

“If she managed to get back there she wouldn’t stay long. Fred Dagusto is on table number one, and he’s not a pretty sight. Three hundred and ten pounds of ugly flesh. Fat as far as the eye can see. Gonna have to grease him up to shoehorn him into a casket.”

“I want to look at those rooms.”

Spiro glanced at his watch. “You’re going to have to wait until hours are over. I can’t leave these ghouls unsupervised. You get a big crowd like this, and people start walking off with souvenirs. You don’t watch the door, and you could loose the shirt off your back.”

“I don’t need a guide. Just give me the key.”

“Forget it. I’m liable when there’s a stiff on the table. I’m not taking any chances after Loosey.”

“Where’s Louie?”

“Has the day off.”

I went out onto the front porch and stared across the street. The windows in the surveillance apartment were dark. Roche was probably there, listening and looking. Maybe Morelli was there, too. I was worried about Grandma Mazur, but I wasn’t ready to drag Morelli into it. Better to let him watch the exterior of the building, for now.

I stepped off the porch and made my way to the side entrance. I scanned the parking lot and continued on to the garages at the rear, cupping my hands to see through the tinted hearse windows, examining the bed of the open-backed flower car, knocking on the trunk lid to Spiro’s Lincoln.

The door to the cellar was locked, but the service door to the kitchen was open. I let myself in and did another run-through of the house, trying the door to the workrooms and finding it sealed tight, as promised.

I slipped into Spiro’s office and used his phone to call home.

“Is Grandma Mazur there?” I asked my mother.

“Oh God,” my mother said. “You’ve lost your grandmother. Where are you?”

“I’m at the funeral parlor. I’m sure Grandma is here somewhere. It’s just that there’s a crush of people, and I’m having a hard time finding her.”

“She isn’t here.”

“If she shows up, call me at Stiva’s.”

I dialed Ranger next and told him my problem, and that I might need help.

I went back to Spiro and told him if he didn’t give me a tour of the embalming room I’d zing some electricity into his worthless hide. He thought about it for a moment, whirled on his heel, and stalked past the viewing rooms. He threw the hall door open with a crash and snapped back at me to make it fast.

As if I’d want to dawdle over Fred Dagusto.

“She isn’t here,” I said, returning to Spiro, who was straddling the doorjamb, keeping an eagle eye out for unusual bulges in overcoats that might indicate a mourner was absconding with a stolen roll of toilet paper.

“Yeah, right,” he said. “Big surprise.”

“The only place I haven’t looked is the basement.”

“She isn’t in the basement. The door is locked. Just like this one was locked.”

“I want to see.”

“Listen,” Spiro said. “She’s probably gone off with some other old broad. She’s probably at some diner, driving some poor waitress nuts.”

“Let me into the cellar, and I swear I won’t bother you anymore.”

“That’s a cheery thought.”

An old man clapped a hand on Spiro’s shoulder. “How’s Con doing? He outta the hospital yet?”

“Yeah,” Spiro said, brushing past. “He’s out of the hospital. He’ll be back to work next week. Monday.”

“Bet you’ll be happy to see him come back.”

“Yeah, I’m jumping for joy just thinking about it.”

Spiro crossed to the other side of the lobby, slithering between knots of people, ignoring some, toadying up to others. I followed him to the cellar door and waited impatiently while he fumbled with keys. My heart was skittering in my chest, fearful of what I might find at the foot of the stairs.

I wanted Spiro to be right. I wanted Grandma to be at a diner somewhere with one of her croonies, but I didn’t think it was likely.

If she’d been forcibly removed from the house, Morelli or Roche would have acted. Unless she’d been taken out the back door. The back door was their blind spot. Still, they’d compensated for that by planting a bug. And if the bugs were working, Morelli and Roche would have heard me looking for Grandma and would be doing their thing … whatever that was.

I flipped the stairwell light switch and called out. “Grandma?”

The furnace roared in some far-off place, and there was the murmur of voices in the rooms behind me. A small circle of light brightened the cellar floor at the bottom of the stairs. I squinted to see beyond the light, strained to hear whatever small sound the cellar might offer up.

My stomach clenched at the silence. Someone was down there. I could feel it, just as surely as I could feel Spiro’s breath on my neck.

The truth is, I’m not the heroic type. I’m afraid of spiders and extraterrestrials and sometimes feel the need to check under my bed for drooly guys with claws. If I ever found one I’d run screaming out of my apartment and never come back.

“The meter’s running,” Spiro said. “You going down there, or what?”

I rummaged through my pocketbook for my .38 and descended the stairs with gun drawn. Stephanie Plum, chickenshit bounty hunter, takes stairs one at a time, practically blinded because her heart is beating in her throat so hard it’s knocking her head back and forth, blurring her vision.

I steadied myself on the last step, reached left, and flipped the light switch. Nothing happened.

“Hey, Spiro,” I called. “The lights won’t go on.”

He hunkered down at the top of the stairs. “Must be the circuit breaker.”

“Where’s the box?”

“To your right, behind the furnace.”

Damn. Everything was black to my right. I reached for my flashlight, and before I could withdraw my hand from my pocketbook, Kenny sprang out of the shadows. He hit me from the side, and we both crashed to the floor, the impact knocking me breathless, the jolt sending my .38 skittering off into the dark, beyond my grasp. I scrambled to my feet and was slammed flat onto my chest. A knee jammed between my shoulderblades, and there was the prick of something very sharp pressed against the side of my neck.

“Don’t fucking move,” Kenny said. “You move an inch, and I’ll shove this knife into your throat.”

I heard the door close at the top of the stairs, heard Spiro hurry down. “Kenny? What the hell are you doing down here? How’d you get in?”

“I got in through the cellar door. I used the key you gave me. How the hell else would I get in.”

“I didn’t know you were coming back. I thought you got all the stuff stashed last night.”

“Came back to check on things. Wanted to make sure everything was still here.”

“What the hell’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means you make me nervous,” Kenny said.

“I make
you
nervous? That’s good. You’re the one who’s fucking squirrelly, and I make
you
nervous.”

“Better watch who you’re calling fucking squirrelly.”

“Let me tell you the difference between you and me,” Spiro said. “This is all business for me. I act like a professional. Somebody stole the caskets, so I hired an expert to find them. I didn’t go around shooting my partner in the knee because I was pissed. And I wasn’t so stupid that I used a fucking stolen gun to shoot him with and then got myself caught by an off-duty cop. I wasn’t so fucking nuts that I thought my partners were plotting against me. I didn’t think this was some fucking coup.

“And I didn’t go wacko over sweetie pie here. You know what your problem is, Kenny? You get on an idea, and you can’t get off. You get obsessed with shit, and then you can’t see anything else. And you always have to be the fucking show-off. You could have gotten rid of Sandeman nice and quiet, but no, you had to hack off his fucking foot.”

Kenny chuckled. “And I’ll tell you what
your
problem is, Spiro. You don’t know how to have fun. Always the serious undertaker. You should try sticking that big-bore needle into something alive for a change.”

“You’re sick.”

“Yeah, you’re not so healthy yourself. You’ve spent enough time watching me work my magic.”

I could hear Spiro shift behind me. “You’re talking too much.”

“Doesn’t matter. Sweetie pie isn’t going to tell anyone. She and her granny are going to disappear.”

“Fine by me. Just don’t do it here. I don’t want to be involved.” Spiro crossed the room, flipped the circuit breaker, and the lights flashed on.

Five crated caskets lined one wall, the furnace and water heater sat in the middle of the room, and a jumble of crates and boxes had been stacked next to the back door. It didn’t take a genius to guess the contents of the crates and boxes.

“I don’t get it,” I said. “Why did you bring the stuff here? Con is coming back to work on Monday. How will you keep this from him?”

“It’ll be gone by Monday,” Spiro said. “We brought everything in yesterday, so we could take inventory. Sandeman was carrying the whole shitload around in his pickup, doing fucking tailgate sales. Lucky for us you saw the furniture truck in Delio’s. Another couple of weeks with Sandeman running loose and nothing would have been left.”

“I don’t know how you got it in, but you’ll never get it out,” I said. “Morelli is watching the house.”