High Five

by Janet Evanovich

  Morelli parked the truck in the lot and walked me up to my apartment. He backed me against my door and kissed me lightly on the lips. “Do I get to come in?”

  “I have coffee grounds in my hair.” And Randy Briggs in my apartment.

  “Yeah,” Morelli said. “Makes you smell kind of homey.”

  “I don't know if I'm up to being romantic tonight.”

  “We don't have to be romantic,” Morelli said. “We could just have some really dirty sex.”

  I rolled my eyes.

  Morelli kissed me again. A good-​night kiss this time. “Call me when you want some,” he said.

  “Some what?” As if I didn't know.

  “Some anything.”

  I let myself into my apartment and tiptoed past Briggs, who was asleep on my couch.

  SUNDAY MORNING I woke up to rain. It was coming down in a steady drone on my fire escape, spattering against my window. I opened the curtains and thought, ick. The world was gray. Beyond the parking lot, the world didn't exist at all. I looked at the bed. Very tempting. I could crawl into bed and stay there until the rain stopped, or the world came to an end, or until someone showed up with a bag of doughnuts.

  Unfortunately, if I went back to bed I might lie there taking stock of my life. And my life had some problems. The project that was taking most of my time and mental energy wasn't going to get me lunch money. Not that it mattered, I was determined to find Fred, dead or alive. The projects Ranger gave me weren't working out. And the bounty hunter projects were a big goose egg. If I thought about my life long enough I might reach the conclusion I needed to go out and get a real job. Something that required pantyhose every day and a good attitude.

  Even worse, I might get to thinking about Morelli, and that I was an idiot not to have invited him to spend the night. Or worse still, I might think about Ranger, and I didn't want to go there at all!

  And then I remembered why I hadn't invited Morelli into my apartment. Briggs. I closed my eyes. Let it all be a bad dream.

  Bam, bam, bam, on my door. “Hey!” Briggs yelled. “You haven't got any coffee. How am I supposed to work without coffee? Do you know what time it is, Sleeping Beauty? What, do you sleep all day? No wonder you can't afford any food in this hellhole.”

  I got up and got dressed and stomped out to the living room. “Listen, Shorty, who the hell do you think you are, anyway?”

  “I'm the guy who's gonna sue your ass. That's who I am.”

  “Give me a little time, and I could really learn to hate you.”

  “Jeez, and just when I was thinking you were my soul mate.”

  I gave him my best eat-​dirt-​and-​die look, zipped myself into my rain jacket, and grabbed my shoulder bag. “How do you like your coffee?”

  “Black. Lots of it.”

  I sprinted through the rain to the Buick and drove to Giovichinni's. The front of the store was redbrick, sandwiched between other businesses. On either side of Giovichinni's the buildings were single story. Giovichinni's was two stories, but the second floor wasn't used for much. Storage and an office. I drove to the end of the block and took the service alley that ran behind the store. The back side of Giovichinni's was redbrick, just like the front. And the back door opened to a small yard. At the end of the yard was a dirt parking area for delivery trucks. Two doors down was a real estate office. The back wall was stuccoed over and painted beige. And the back door opened to a small asphalt parking lot.

  So suppose cheapskate Fred drives his leaves to Giovichinni's in the dark of night. He parks the car and turns off his lights. Doesn't want to get caught. He unloads the leaves and hears a car coming. What would he do? Hide. Then maybe he's there hiding, and he sees someone come along and deposit a garbage bag behind the real estate office.

  After that I was lost. I had to think about after that some more.

  Next stop was the 7-Eleven and then home with a large coffee for me and a Big Gulp of coffee for Briggs and a box of chocolate-​covered doughnuts . . . because if I had to put up with Briggs, I needed doughnuts.

  I shucked my wet jacket and settled down at the dining room table with the coffee and doughnuts and a steno pad, doing my best to ignore the fact that I had a man typing away at my coffee table. I listed out all the things I knew about Fred's disappearance. No doubt now that the photographs played a large role. When I ran out of things to write in the steno pad, I locked myself in my bedroom and watched cartoons on television. This took me to lunchtime. I didn't feel like eating lamb leftovers, so I finished off the box of doughnuts.

  “Cripes,” Briggs said, “do you always eat like this? Don't you know about the major food groups? No wonder you have to wear those 'romantic' dresses.”

  I retreated to my bedroom, and while I was retreating I took a nap. I was startled awake by the phone ringing.

  “Just wanted to make sure you were going to come take me to the Lipinski viewing tonight,” Grandma said.

  The Lipinski viewing. Ugh. Trekking out in the rain to see some dead guy wasn't high on my list of desirable things to do. “How about Harriet Schnable?” I suggested. “Maybe Harriet could take you.”

  “Harriet's car's on the fritz.”

  “Effie Reeder?”

  “Effie died.”

  “Oh! I didn't know that.”

  “Almost everybody I know has died,” Grandma said. “Bunch of wimps.”

  “Okay, I'll take you.”

  “Good. And your mother says you should come for dinner.”

  I BUZZED THROUGH the living room, but before I could get to the door Briggs was on his feet.

  “Hey, where are you going?” he asked.

  “Out.”

  “Out where?”

  “My parents' house.”

  “I bet you're going there for dinner. Man, that's the pits. You're gonna leave me here with nothing to eat, and you're going to your parents' house for dinner.”

  “There's some cold lamb in the refrigerator.”

  “I ate that for lunch. Hold on, I'll go with you.”

  “No! You will not go with me.”

  “What, are you ashamed of me?”

  “Yes!”

  “WELL, WHO'S THIS little guy?” Grandma asked when I walked in with Briggs.

  “This is my . . . friend, Randy.”

  “Aren't you something,” Grandma said. “I never saw a midget up close.”

  “Little person,” Briggs said. “And I never saw anyone as old as you up close, either.”

  I gave him a smack on the top of his head. “Behave yourself,” I said.

  “What happened to your face?” Grandma wanted to know.

  “Your granddaughter beat me up.”

  “No kidding?” Grandma said. “She did a pip of a job.”

  My father was in front of the TV. He turned in his chair and looked at us. “Oh, cripes, now what?” he said.

  “This is Randy,” I told him.

  “He's kinda short, isn't he?”

  “He's not a boyfriend.”

  My father went back to the television. “Thank God for that.”

  There were five places set at the table. “Who's the fifth person?” I asked.

  “Mabel,” my mother said. “Your grandmother invited her.”

  “I thought it would give us a chance to grill her. See if she's holding something out,” Grandma said.

  “There will be no grilling,” my mother said to my grandmother. “You invited Mabel over for dinner, and that's what we're going to have . . . a nice dinner.”

  “Sure,” Grandma said, “but it wouldn't hurt to ask her a few questions.”

  A car door slammed at the front of the house and everyone migrated to the foyer.

  “What's that car Mabel's driving?” Grandma asked. “That's not the station wagon.”

  “Mabel bought a new car,” I said. “She thought the old one was too big.”

  “Good for her,” my mother said. “She should be able to make those decisions.”

 
; “Yeah,” Grandma said. “But she better hope Fred's dead.”

  “Who's Mabel and Fred?” Briggs asked.

  I gave him the condensed explanation.

  “Cool,” Briggs said. “I'm starting to like this family.”

  “I brought a coffee cake,” Mabel said, handing a box to my mother, closing the door with her other hand. “It's prune. I know Frank likes prune.” She craned her neck to the living room. “Hello, Frank,” she called.

  “Mabel,” my father said.

  “Nice car,” Grandma said to Mabel. “Aren't you afraid Fred'll come back and have a cow?”

  “He shouldn't have left,” Mabel said. “And anyway, how am I to know he'll come back? I got a new bedroom set, too. It's getting delivered tomorrow. New mattress and everything.”

  “Maybe you were the one who bumped Fred off,” Grandma said. “Maybe you did it for the money.”

  My mother slammed a bowl of creamed peas down on the table. “Mother!” she said.

  “It was just a thought,” Grandma said to Mabel.

  We all took our seats, and my mother set a highball down for Mabel and a beer for my father and brought a kid cushion for Briggs to sit on.

  “My grandchildren use these,” she said.

  Briggs looked over at me.

  “My sister Valerie's kids,” I said.

  “Hah,” he said. “So you're a loser in the grandchildren race, too.”

  “I have a hamster,” I told him.

  My father forked some roast chicken onto his plate and reached for the mashed potatoes.

  Mabel swilled down half her highball.

  “What else you gonna buy?” Grandma asked her.

  “I might go on a vacation,” Mabel said. “I might go to Hawaii. Or I might go on a cruise. I always wanted to go on a cruise. Of course I wouldn't do that for a while. Unless Stephanie finds that man. Then that might speed things up.”

  “What man?” Grandma wanted to know.

  I told her about the woman at the Grand Union.

  “Now we're getting somewhere,” Grandma said. “This is more like it. All we have to do is find that man.” She turned to me. “You have any suspects?”

  “No.”

  “Nobody at all?”

  “I'll tell you who I suspect,” Mabel said. “I suspect that garbage company. They didn't like Fred.”

  Grandma waved a chicken leg at her. “That's just what I said the other day. There's something funny going on with that garbage company. We're going to the viewing tonight to look into it.” She ate some chicken while she thought. “You met the deceased when you went to the garbage office, didn't you?” she asked me. “What did he look like? He look like the guy who took Fred for a ride?”

  “I guess he could fit the description.”

  “Too bad it's gonna be a closed casket. If it was open we could take the Grand Union woman with us and see if she recognizes Lipinski.”

  “Hell,” my father said, “why don't you just haul Lipinski out and put him in a lineup?”

  Grandma looked at my father. “You think we could do that? I imagine he'd be stiff enough.”

  My mother sucked in some air.

  “I don't know if you stay stiff,” Mabel said. “I think you might loosen up again.”

  “How about passing the gravy,” my father said. “Could I get some gravy down here?”

  Grandma's face lit with inspiration. “There'll be lots of Lipinski's relatives there tonight. Maybe one of them will give us a picture! Then we can show the picture to the Grand Union lady.”

  I thought this was all a little grim, considering Mabel was at the table, but Mabel seemed unfazed.

  “What do you think, Stephanie?” she asked. “Do you think I should go to Hawaii? Or do you think I should take a cruise?”

  “Jesus,” Briggs said to me, “you turned out pretty good considering your gene pool.”

  Stephanie Plum 5 - High Five

  Stephanie Plum 5 - High Five

  Stephanie Plum 5 - High Five

  9

  “WOW, LOOK AT this,” Grandma said, peering out at the parking lot. “This place is packed tonight. That's on account of Stiva has a full house. He's got somebody in every room. I was talking to Jean Moon, and she said her cousin Dorothy died yesterday morning, and they couldn't get her into Stiva's. Had to take her to Mosel.”

  “What's wrong with Mosel?” Briggs asked.

  “He don't know nothing about makeup,” Grandma said. “Uses too much rouge. I like when the deceased looks nice and natural.”

  “Yeah, I like that, too,” Briggs said. “Nothing worse than an unnatural corpse.”

  The rain had slowed to a drizzle, but it still wasn't a glorious night to be out, so I dropped Grandma and Briggs off at the door and went in search of a parking place on the street. I found one a block away, and by the time I reached Stiva's front porch my hair was more frizz than curl and my cotton knit sweater had grown two inches.

  Larry Lipinski was in room number one, as was befitting a suicidal killer. Family and friends were clustered in a knot around the casket. The rest of the room was filled with the same crowd I'd seen at the Deeter viewing. There were the professional mourners like Grandma Mazur and Sue Ann Schmatz. And there were the garbage people.

  Grandma Mazur marched over to me with Briggs running after her. “I already gave my condolences,” she said. “And I want to tell you they're a real standoffish group. It's a shame when people like that get to take rooms away from people like Dorothy Moon.”

  “I guess that means they wouldn't give you a picture.”

  “Zip,” Grandma said. “They gave me zip.”

  “They gave it to her in a big way, too,” Briggs said, smiling. “You should have been there.”

  “I don't think he's the one, anyway,” I said.

  “I'm not so sure,” Grandma said. “These people look to me like they got something to hide. I think this is a shifty lot.”

  If I was related to someone who'd confessed to murder, I'd probably be feeling a little uncomfortable, too.

  “Don't worry,” Grandma said. “I thought this might happen, and I've got a plan.”

  “Yeah, the plan is we forget about it,” I said.

  Grandma slid her uppers around while she scanned the crowd. “Emma Getz told me the deceased in room number four is done up real nice. I thought I might take a look.”

  “Me too,” Briggs said. “I don't want to miss anything.”

  I wasn't interested in how room four was done up, so I volunteered to wait in the lobby. Waiting got old after a couple minutes, so I wandered over to the tea table and helped myself to some cookies. Then the cookies got old, so I went to the ladies' room to check out my hair. Big mistake. Best not to look at my hair. I went back to the cookies and put one in my pocket for Rex.

  I was counting the ceiling tiles, wondering what to do next, when the fire alarm went off. Since not that long ago Stiva's almost burned to the ground, no one was wasting any time vacating the premises. People poured from the viewing rooms into the lobby and ran for the door. I didn't see Grandma Mazur, so I struggled through the crowd to viewing room four. The room was empty when I got there, with the exception of Mrs. Kunkle, who was serene in her twelve-​thousand-​dollar mahogany and solid brass slumber chamber. I ran back to the lobby and was about to check outside for Grandma Mazur when I noticed the door to room one was closed. All the other doors were open, but the Lipinski door was closed.

  Sirens whined in the distance, and I had a bad feeling about room one. Stiva was on the other side of the lobby, yelling to his assistant to check the back rooms. He turned and looked at me, and his face went white.

  “It wasn't me!” I said. “I swear!”

  He followed after the assistant, and the second he was out of sight I ran to room one and tried the door. The knob turned but the door wouldn't open, so I put my weight behind it and gave it a shove. The door flew open, and Briggs fell over backward.

  “Shit,”
he said, “close the door, you big oaf.”

  “What are you doing?”

  “I'm doing lookout for your grandma. What do you think I'm doing?”

  At the other end of the room, Grandma had the lid up on Larry Lipinski. She was standing one foot on a folding chair, one foot on the edge of the casket, and she was taking pictures with a disposable camera.