Twisted Twenty-Six (Stephanie Plum 26)

by Janet Evanovich

  “That’s only going to happen if Miracle Fitness is handing out miracles.”

  I disconnected, ran upstairs and got Grandma’s necklace, then went back to the kitchen and put it on her.

  “I have to go to work,” I said. “I’ll check back later.”

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  LULA WAS TRYING to touch her toes when I rolled into the office. She was doing a lot of grunting, and her fingertips weren’t anywhere near her toes.

  “My problem is I’m not wearing the right clothes,” Lula said. “I’m not in my workout clothes. These clothes are too restrictive.”

  Lula was wearing a black spandex miniskirt, and every time she bent over there was a flash of red thong, which was ultimately lost in the Grand Canyon of Lula.

  Connie had her hands over her eyes. “Tell me when she stops.”

  “I’m on a self-improvement plan like Stephanie, only mine is physical. I need to lose three or four pounds,” Lula said, standing straight, tugging her skirt down over her ass.

  Lula needed to lose fifty or sixty if she wanted to look like the woman behind the Miracle desk. An alternative would be to grow six inches, but that wasn’t likely to happen either.

  I called Morelli and told him about Barbara Rosolli and Sidney DeSalle.

  “I’ll talk to them,” he said. “We looked at the recording from the security camera that covers the parking lot next to the bail bonds office. A car drove past at one A.M. Tuesday. Couldn’t make out the occupants or the license plate. We also talked to Lucca’s neighbors, but that was a bust. He lives in a big apartment complex where no one knows anyone else.”

  “What about the three sisters?”

  “Angie, Tootie, and Rose? It looks like they were responsible for the searches and the firebomb. They don’t seem to be interested in kidnapping Grandma. They just want to harass her. And they wouldn’t mind finding the keys in the process.”

  “You have a snitch?” I asked.

  “Yeah. My mom.”

  Never underestimate the value of the Burg gossip network. More news gets passed during bingo at the firehouse and daily mass at the Catholic church than from CBS, NBC, and Fox News combined.

  “What’s going on tonight?” Morelli asked.

  “I need a night at home. I’ve gone through all my emergency clothes at your house, and I have to clean Rex’s cage.”

  “How’s your arm?”

  “It’s good. Nothing oozing out of the incision. Stitches are intact. Only aches a little when I use it.”

  “I know big, strong cops who would be sidelined for two weeks with your gunshot wound.”

  “I don’t have that luxury. And I was lucky. It was only a flesh wound.” I hung up and hooked a thumb at Lula. “Let’s go.”

  I got behind the wheel and pulled the hijacker file out of my bag.

  “Looks like we’re going after a new guy,” Lula said.

  “Emory Lindal. Wanted for hijacking a truck full of beer. Took it while the driver was eating dinner. Made the mistake of drinking a six-pack, and the police found him asleep behind the wheel. Didn’t show up for court.”

  “Probably embarrassed to show his face because he’s an alcoholic idiot,” Lula said. “Any priors?”

  “Traffic violations. Domestic violence. Seventy-two years old and lives in a mobile home south of town.”

  “He doesn’t sound like much of a hijacker,” Lula said. “It sounds to me like he committed a crime of convenience. He probably doesn’t even have a warehouse.”

  I drove south toward White Horse and turned off onto Old Bridge Pike. After five miles we still hadn’t come to an old bridge, and we’d passed only one other car.

  “According to my phone map, this guy’s road is a quarter mile on the right,” Lula said.

  I got to the road and stopped. It was narrow and it was dirt.

  “I don’t like this road,” Lula said.

  “There’s a sign on it that says Applegate Road. So this is it.”

  “I know what’s going to be at the end of this road. There’s going to be some nasty old guy living in a broken-down, rusted-out trailer, and he’s going to have a pet snake. A big one. That’s always the way it is with dirt roads going through the woods.”

  I turned onto the road and took it slow over the rutted surface. “That only applies to one guy and one snake,” I said. “Maybe there are others, but we only know one. Simon Diggery and Ethel. And I think Ethel likes you.”

  I drove past a shack made of random lumber and half of a VW van. It didn’t look habitable, and I didn’t see any sign of recent use.

  “I’m telling you this isn’t going to end good,” Lula said. “I’m totally creeped out. I don’t even like woods when they got flowers, and this woods only has woods.”

  We came to the end of the road and stared out at a small mobile home. It was pocked with rust, and the windows were painted black. It was surrounded by high grass. A crude dirt path led to the door. There were signs plastered all over it warning off intruders. KEEP OUT. SURVIVALIST HABITAT. DO NOT ENTER. SECOND AMENDMENT IN FORCE. Vultures hunkered down on the roof and circled overhead. Some of the roof vultures were working at trying to rip the roof open.

  “That’s a lot of vultures,” Lula said.

  I agreed. It was a lot of vultures.

  “You know what vultures like?” Lula said. “Dead things.”

  “We should go check it out,” I said.

  Lula’s eyes bugged out. “Are you nuts? This is a horror movie. You step out of this car, and some freak is going to rush out of the woods with an ax and chop you up into tiny pieces. He’s going to be bleeding out of his eyes, and his skin is going to be green and falling off him in chunks.”

  “I’m thinking that the dead thing in the trailer is Emory Lindal, and that’s why he went FTA.”

  “I guess that’s possible,” Lula said. “The guy with the ax could have got to him.”

  “You stay here,” I said. “I’m going to take a fast look.”

  I opened the car door and stepped out and was almost knocked over by the smell. I jumped back into the car and jerked the door closed. “Wow!”

  “You know what that smell is?” Lula said. “It’s the death cooties. I told you not to go out there, but do you listen to Lula? Hell, no. You have to see for yourself. Now we got death cootie smell in our car.”

  I put the SUV in reverse, backed up about a quarter mile, stopped, and called the police. Twenty minutes later a patrol car pulled up behind us.

  Lula checked the car out in the rearview mirror. “Twenty minutes and all that responds is this lame-ass patrol car. Did you tell them about the guy in the woods with the ax?”

  “No. I told them about the vultures and the smell.”

  The cop got out of his car and walked up to us. I rolled my window down, showed him my credentials, and gave him the short version of the story, omitting the guy with the ax.

  He got back into his car, pulled around us, and drove to the end of the road. I rolled my window up and followed him. He parked, got out of his car, took a couple steps toward the trailer, and returned to his car. Ten minutes later a fire truck and an EMT rolled in, followed by another patrol car.

  “This is more like it,” Lula said. “Only thing missing is the helicopter.”

  I was getting antsy. I hadn’t intended to spend this much time here. I didn’t like leaving Grandma unattended, and I wanted to work on the Sidney DeSalle angle. I called Morelli a couple times, but he didn’t pick up.

  Two firefighters went into the trailer. They had their respirators on, and Lula pointed out that they carried axes. They came out after a couple minutes and walked back to the cop cars. None of this activity seemed to affect the vultures. They kept pecking and clawing and ripping at the top of the trailer.

  I put my hand over my nose and mouth and joined the group of men at the cop cars. They were sufficiently far enough away from the trailer that the smell was almost bearable.

  “What�
�s in there?” I asked.

  The fire guy had his respirator off and was smiling. “Raccoons,” he said. “A lot of them. It looks like they broke in, ate everything they could find, including rat poison, and couldn’t get out. Then they died and exploded. I don’t know who owns this rust bucket, but he’s got wall-to-wall raccoon guts in there.”

  “No human guts?”

  “None immediately visible.”

  I went back to Lula and inched the Porsche around the fire truck and EMT.

  “Raccoons,” I said, leaving the cop cars behind, bumping my way over the crude road.

  “Say what?”

  “Raccoons broke in, died there, and exploded. No humans. No snakes.”

  “That’s damn disappointing,” Lula said. “That’s anticlimactic.”

  I called Morelli again and still no answer. I called Grandma, and she said she was on her way to the bakery. She was in the mood for a cannoli.

  “Are you alone?” I asked her.

  “Yep,” she said, “but it’s okay because I’m wearing my necklace. After I get my cannoli, I thought I’d stop in to see if Dolly has time to fluff up my hair. Stanley Bonino is at Stiva’s tonight. He was a big deal in the K of C, and he was friendly with Jimmy. I hear he’s laid out in Slumber Room Number One. They’re expecting a crowd. Shirley Balog said she’d pick me up.”

  “Are you sure you want to go to Stiva’s tonight? The sisters might be there.”

  “I don’t care about the sisters. I already picked out my outfit. I’m going to wear my navy and red dress. It has a good neckline to show off my necklace.”

  “Tell Shirley she doesn’t have to pick you up,” I said. “I’ll go to the viewing with you.”

  “You’re a good granddaughter,” Lula said when I hung up. “That viewing is going to be a nightmare.”

  I was in my apartment reading Connie’s report on Sidney DeSalle when Morelli called.

  “Sorry about the missed calls,” he said. “My phone isn’t holding a charge. I have to get a new one.”

  “Anything interesting to tell me?”

  “DeSalle was out of town when Lucca was killed. That doesn’t mean he didn’t order the hit.”

  “I had Connie run a credit report on him. He’s in the money with Miracle Fitness, so I’m struggling to find his motive for wanting the keys.”

  “We don’t know what the keys unlock,” Morelli said. “Everyone assumes it’s money, but it could be incriminating evidence.”

  “The other player is Barbara Rosolli.”

  “She’s a real nutcase,” Morelli said. “I haven’t had a chance to talk to her yet. Not looking forward to it. She hated Jimmy, and she thinks she deserves to get all his money. The entire Burg and beyond knows this. She’s already got a lawyer ready to contest the settlement. If Grandma is out of the way, the money will go to Barbara’s daughter, Jeanine. So there’s a lot of motivation here.”

  “Is she capable of murder?”

  “I’m not sure she could strangle someone, but murder once removed might not seem like a crime to her. She comes from a mob family, and she married into the mob.”

  “My quiet night of hamster cage cleaning has turned into a night spent at Stiva’s.”

  “Stanley Bonino, right? Should be interesting. I’m sure the sisters will be there. Probably Barbara and some of the La-Z-Boys. Make sure you’ve got your medallion on.”

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  BY SIX-THIRTY I’d finished all my reading, cleaned Rex’s cage, and chugged a bottle of beer and ate a peanut butter and olive sandwich. I was dressed in my go-to outfit of black pencil skirt and stretchy white scoop neck sweater. I debated flats or heels and went with flats. Just in case I had to chase down a bad guy. I added a short, fitted red jacket and hung my messenger bag on my shoulder.

  Grandma was waiting for me on the porch when I pulled to the curb. Five minutes later, we were at Stiva’s, and Grandma was pushing her way through the crowd to the front door.

  “As soon as they let us in, we go straight for the casket,” Grandma said. “That way I get to see the deceased, we get the condolences taken care of, and then we can hit the cookie table. That’s where you get all the dirt.”

  Sounded like an okay plan. Maybe someone at the cookie table would know something useful.

  The doors opened, and we all surged forward. I was directly behind Grandma and was scanning the area, watching to make sure no one came rushing at her. There was some initial jockeying for position, and then the line stabilized. We had about twenty people in front of us. The three sisters had elected to sit rather than get in the line. They were five rows back on the far side of the room. I didn’t see Barbara Rosolli. Julius Roman took a seat behind the sisters. Our eyes met and he nodded at me. I nodded back.

  My attention went back to Grandma. She was patiently waiting in line, and I couldn’t imagine what she was thinking. My own thoughts were running in the direction of Snow White, who got saved when some hot guy kissed her, as opposed to more modern-day fairy-tale heroines who enjoyed kicking ass and saving the world. World saving was okay if you knew what you were doing. I wasn’t in that category. I knew nothing. I had no martial arts skills. I wasn’t comfortable with a gun. The thought of sticking a knife in someone made me gag. Of course, this was also true of my mom, but when it mattered, she came through with the iron. I’d like to think I have some of that same grit. I just wish I had a larger selection of tools in my toolbox.

  We inched our way along and said our words to the bereaved. We headed out of the slumber room and into the packed foyer. The women had congregated around the cookie table, and the men were collected in small groups around the perimeter of the room, talking quietly, checking their watches, and wondering how much longer they would have to stay. The cocktails-before-dinner mourners were on the porch, smoking cigars and telling off-color, politically incorrect jokes. The wives and widows were enjoying the coffee and cookies and critiquing the viewing.

  Grandma selected a couple cookies from the Nabisco collection and took a step back when Jeanine and Bernie Stupe approached us. Jeanine was the same age as my mom, and there were other similarities. Short brown hair, average height and weight, friendly but reserved. Bernie’s sandy brown hair was showing male-pattern baldness. He was slightly paunchy and an inch shorter than his wife. He was standing behind her, looking like he needed a Red Bull.

  “I didn’t get a chance to talk to you at the wake,” Jeanine said to Grandma. “There was such a crush of people, and I’m a little claustrophobic. Bernie and I left early.”

  “I’m sorry about you losing your dad,” Grandma said.

  “Thank you,” Jeanine said. “And I’m sorry you weren’t able to enjoy more time with him.”

  “If it’s any consolation, he didn’t suffer at all. It was so fast. One minute he was winning at the slots, and then he was gone.”

  “Not even a last word?” Jeanine asked.

  “Well, he swore a little on the way down to the ground,” Grandma said, “but that was it.”

  Jeanine nodded and pressed her lips together. “I should be going,” she said. “I’m feeling a little sad . . . and panicky.”

  “Take care,” Grandma said. “God bless.”

  We watched Jeanine and Bernie leave, and Grandma shook her head.

  “Poor Jeanine,” Grandma said. “It’s hard when you lose someone so sudden. Even at Jimmy’s age, no one expected him to go like that.”

  I followed Grandma as she made her way around the cookie table, sampling the cookies and talking to the other women. The conversation ranged from comments on the deceased’s complexion, to Melanie Glick’s divorce, to the sudden disappearance of Bubbies pickles from Dittman’s Meat Market. No one mentioned the missing keys.

  We left shortly before closing and were ambushed on our way out by Barbara Rosolli.

  “Edna!” she said, rushing up to Grandma. “I almost missed you. I didn’t get to talk to you at Jimmy’s wake, and I wanted to share sym
pathies on our loss. Just tragic.”

  “He was a good man,” Grandma said.

  “He was a vicious, cheating bastard,” Barbara said, “but we loved him anyway, didn’t we?”

  “God don’t like when you talk ill of the dead,” Grandma said.

  Barbara made the sign of the cross. “God knows what I went through with that man. I’m sure God understands when I speak candidly.”

  “You got something else you want to say?” Grandma asked.

  “I didn’t get a chance to drop something off for the wake, so I brought a box of cookies for you,” Barbara said, handing Grandma a cookie tin decorated with a black bow. “Better late than never, right? I baked them myself.”

  “That’s real nice of you,” Grandma said. “Thank you.”

  “I need to be getting home now,” Barbara said. “We should get together sometime. Have a coffee or a drink.”

  “Sure,” Grandma said. “That would be okay.”

  Barbara walked away, and I looked at the cookie tin Grandma was holding.

  “You aren’t going to eat those, are you?” I asked.

  “Heck, no,” Grandma said. “I don’t even like holding the tin. I can feel the evil burning my fingertips.”

  “Is she usually friendly like that to you?”

  “I wouldn’t say we were ever friendly. She moved out of the Burg after the divorce, and I didn’t see much of her. Five years ago, she bought a house next to Jeanine on Chambers Street and she started going to bingo. All she could talk about was how Jimmy’s second wife took all his money and she didn’t get any of it even though she raised their daughter. I never sat by her, so I didn’t have much to do with her. Then all of a sudden when word got out that Jimmy had died and we were married she went nuts. Emma Gorse said Barbara was going around telling everyone that I killed Jimmy for his money. She said that she had proof it wasn’t a heart attack, and that three people at the casino saw him give me the keys. Can you imagine?”

  I looked over Grandma’s shoulder and saw the Rosolli sisters coming our way. Rose was leading the pack, shoulders hunched, mouth set.