Джанет Иванович - Fortune and Glory

“What’s your budget?” Potts asked. “We’re in four digits.”

“That’s over my budget but everything looks great.”

“If you take everything, you have a week’s worth of clothes.”

Grandma looked at the bundle of clothes in my arms. “You really need the clothes. I can’t remember when you bought work clothes last. And you can even wear these on a date. If anyone ever asks you out.”

“You need boots or flats,” Potts said. “Maybe both. You can’t wear these outfits with your sneakers.”

By the time we got back to the car I was in a cold sweat and my stomach was sick. I’d blown the entire apprehension check, and I wasn’t sure I was comfortable trading my hooded sweatshirt for tailored jackets and chunky sweaters. The ankle-high rubber soled boots and the black flats were keepers.

“I just got a text from your mother,” Grandma said. “Carla Skootch passed this morning. The viewing is tomorrow with the burial on Saturday. Good thing I didn’t wait to go shopping for a dress.”

“I can’t go to viewings and funerals,” Potts said. “I’m allergic to carnations and there are always carnations in the flower arrangements. Mostly I get congested but sometimes I wheeze if there are carnations and lilies. Lilies are the worst. Most funeral directors know CPR and have defibrillators to counteract the lily reactions.”

“I didn’t know that,” Grandma said.

“I read it somewhere,” Potts said. “It might have been in the AARP magazine, or I might have seen it on YouTube.” The timer went off on his phone. “I have to eat,” he said. “I’m overdue for dinner. Are my lips blue? Am I pale?”

“You’re always pale,” Grandma said. “You need to get more sun.”

“I can stop at Country Diner when I get off the highway,” I said.

“That suits me,” Grandma said. “I eat there sometimes with the girls after bingo. I like their rice pudding.”

“I need a booth,” Potts said. “I get agitated if I sit in the middle of a room.”

“You’ve got a lot of rules,” Grandma said.

“I know,” Potts said. “I’m annoying. I can’t help it.”

“Of course, you can help it,” Grandma said. “Make a list of everything you think is annoying and then stop doing all the things on the list.”

“That’s a good idea,” Potts said. “You tell me when I do something annoying, and I’ll put it on my list.”

I turned off the highway and took Mitchell Street.

“What’s that noise?” Grandma asked.

“It’s Potts,” I said. “He’s humming.”

“Good Lord,” Grandma said.

“Is my humming annoying?” Potts asked. “It annoys some people.”

“It annoys me ,” Grandma said. “Put it on your list.”

“I don’t know if I can stop humming,” he said. “It keeps me calm. I hum during times of stress. Also, when I’m thinking. And I hum when I’m bored.”

“How about if you hum on the side of the road, watching us drive away and go to the diner without you,” Grandma said.

“That would be terrible,” Potts said. “You wouldn’t do that, would you?”

“Problem solved,” I said, pulling into the lot to the diner. “Here we are.”

We snagged a booth and gave the waitress our order.

“It doesn’t seem to me that we’re making much progress getting to my treasure,” Grandma said. “We’ve got clues, but we only have two of them, and we don’t know what they mean without the rest of the clues.”

“I’m good with clues,” Potts said. “What are they?”

“ Ace it. And Philadelphia ,” Grandma said.

“I see your problem. Standing alone those clues aren’t helpful. How many more clues are there?”

“Four more,” Grandma said. “The six gangster owners of the Mole Hole each had a clue to a treasure.”

“And you want their treasure?” Potts asked.

“One of the gangsters was my late husband,” Grandma said. “I got a rightful claim on his share.”

“That sounds fair,” Potts said. “What’s the treasure?”

“We don’t know,” Grandma said, “but we hear it’s worth a lot of money. Three of the gangsters are dead, including my honey, Jimmy. The other two are scumbags who are trying to kidnap Stephanie and me.”

“What about the last one?” Potts asked. “Will he give you his clue?”

“We’re working on it,” Grandma said.

“We should go talk to him,” Potts said.

“His wife just died,” I said.

Potts looked to Grandma and then to me. “Is that a problem?”

“I guess we could offer our condolences and work the treasure into the conversation,” Grandma said.

Our food arrived. Turkey dinner with mashed potatoes and gravy for Grandma. A burger, no bun for Potts. Grilled cheese and fries for me. This is the joy of a Jersey diner. Something for everyone.

“What about the tunnels?” Potts asked. “Did you find any clues down there? Sometimes in the movies there are symbols etched into stones or brick walls or wooden beams.”

“No luck with the tunnels,” I said.

“My friend Morgan is the fry cook at the Lucky Lucy Cafe. He says there’s an old, mostly sealed-up entrance to a tunnel in the basement, and when the Margo blew up it filled the entire café with smoke.”

“I told you about that!” Grandma said to me. “Remember, I heard it from Dottie.”

I had totally forgotten about the Lucky Lucy. I wasn’t too keen on going back into the Mole Hole tunnel to look for symbols that had been carved into now charred wooden braces, but the hope that a tunnel entrance from the Lucky Lucy was still at least partially intact was enough to motivate me. “Do you think your friend would let us see the sealed-up entrance?”

“I don’t see why not. He should be working until closing today.”

I parked in the Lucky Lucy’s small side lot and removed a giant Maglite from the driver door’s pocket. Good for illumination and cracking skulls.

We walked around to the front and looked up. A large sign displayed the Lucky Lucy’s name along with a logo of four playing cards, all aces.

“You think that’s the Ace it ?” Grandma said.

I didn’t want to jinx anything, but I thought there was a pretty good chance.

“Only one way to find out,” I said. “Let’s talk to Morgan.”

The Lucky Lucy had booths along the walls and a few tables in the center of the room. All mostly full.

A waitress noticed Potts. “Hey, Georgie. Looking for Morgan? He’s in the kitchen.”

Morgan was wearing an apron that covered a small portion of him. My guess was that Morgan ate more fried food than he served. His face was sweaty and greasy from standing over the fryer, and he was singing an unintelligible song to himself.

“Potts, my man,” Morgan said, dumping a basket of fries out into a metal tray under a heat lamp. “What’s up? You have a cutie and her grandma standing here. Dude, don’t ask me to play wingman on this one.”

“Nah, it’s cool. I was telling Stephanie and her grandma about the tunnel entrance in the basement,” Potts said. “Is it okay to show them?”

Morgan jerked his thumb toward the back of the room. “Basement door is through the storage closet. I’d go with you, but I have to put some burgers together.”

I led the way past tubs of lard and gallon jugs of mayonnaise. A roach the size of a hamster peered at me from between plastic bags filled with burger rolls. I gave an involuntary shiver and pushed on to the door at the far end. I opened the door and looked at the stairs. Not good. Hastily put together a long time ago and not maintained. A couple of boards were at odd angles and obviously loose. I switched the Maglite on and carefully went down first. At the bottom of the stairs, a long, yellowed string hung down from a bare lightbulb. I gave it a pull and the room lit up enough to show your typical ugly basement. The floor was packed dirt and there were thick cobwebs in every corner. Grandma and Potts followed me down. Grandma went to a crude wooden door on the far side of the cellar. It had a large rusted-out metal padlock and ring handle.