Джанет Иванович - Twisted Twenty-Six

“Aliens aren’t a sure thing,” I said.

Grandma nodded. “That’s a comforting thought.”

The priest took his place at the side of the grave, welcomed all attending, and began the recitation of rites. Some of the older mourners nodded off. Tootie fiddled with her oxygen machine. A few people discreetly checked their Twitter accounts.

“I should have gone with the shortened interment version,” Grandma said on the final commendation. “I’d forgotten how this could drag on. My behind is asleep.”

The priest finished with his remarks and invited everyone to pay their last respects. Grandma was given a flower to place on the casket. She rose and took a couple steps forward. Jimmy’s sisters rushed up behind her. Tootie rammed her walker into Grandma’s back, and Grandma almost took a header onto the casket. Grandma regained her footing, whirled around, and clocked Tootie on the side of her head with her handbag. Tootie fell down to the ground, still tethered to her oxygen.

“Excuse me,” Grandma said to Tootie. “That was an accidental reflex reaction caused by you being rude at my honey’s funeral.”

Angie muttered something in Italian and rushed at Grandma, waving her bandaged hands in the air. Morelli restrained her before she got in striking range.

The funeral director stepped in and suggested that in spite of the brilliant blue sky he thought it might rain and everyone should immediately go to their cars. The suggestion was taken, and there was a mad scramble to be first out of the cemetery.

Grandma put her flower on the casket and told Jimmy he was invited to the wake but she’d understand if he didn’t show up, being that he might have other things to do. We made our way down to the waiting car. Grandma took one last look up the hill, perhaps checking for aliens, and we all piled into the limo.

“That’s a good-size purse you’re carrying,” Morelli said to Grandma. “Really packs a wallop.”

“I gotta fit my essentials into it,” Grandma said.

We all knew one of her essentials was a .45 long-barrel.

CHAPTER EIGHT

BY THE TIME we arrived at the Mole Hole, the parking lot was full, and cars lined both sides of the street. The front door was open, and people were spilling out onto the sidewalk.

“I knew Jimmy would get a crowd, but this is even more than I expected,” Grandma said.

“Don’t kid yourself,” my father said. “It’s about the free potato salad and the girls with the big hooters. You can’t work here unless you’ve got big hooters. Even the men have hooters.”

“Jimmy didn’t have hooters,” Grandma said.

We pushed our way in with Morelli leading the way. I was behind Grandma, keeping watch over her. My parents trailed behind me. The donated food had been set out on the bar. Liquor was flowing, compliments of the La-Z-Boys. Emma Gorse and Mary Ann Wozinski found Grandma and offered their condolences. Three more women lined up behind them.

Lula bustled over. “Your extensions are smokin’,” she said. “I could see them all the way across the room.” She elbowed Grandma. “Condolences.”

“Thank you,” Grandma said. “Have some kielbasa.”

Connie pushed her way through the crowd. “This is insane,” Connie said. “I’ve never seen this many people at a wake. They’re going through the buffet like they haven’t eaten in a week, and some of them want to know when the pole girls arrive and the show starts.”

My father was at the bar shoveling food onto his plate. My mother looked like she wanted to iron a shirt.

“You’re in charge of my family,” I told Morelli. “I’m looking for Charlie Shine or Stan or Benny the Skootch.”

“Benny was at the church and the cemetery. I haven’t seen Charlie Shine, and I don’t know Stan,” Morelli said. “Lou Salgusta and Julius Roman are also club members. They were with Benny earlier. I don’t see any of them now, so I’m guessing they’re in the back room.”

I glanced over at the door to the back room. Crap. Been there. Done that. Not a good experience.

“Is there a problem?” Morelli asked.

“Nope,” I said. “Easy-peasy.”

I marched over and knocked on the back room door. The door opened, and Stan looked out at me.

“My sincere condolences on your loss,” he said.

I nodded politely. “Thank you. I need to talk to the La-Z-Boys.”

Stan was blocking my view of the room, but I heard a voice some distance behind him.

“Who’s there?” a man asked.

“Stephanie Plum,” Stan said.

“Bring her over here. Has she got the keys?”

I stepped around Stan and took stock of the room. There was a huge safe against one wall, with a long folding table in front of it. I assumed this was for the convenience of the bagmen. There was a card table and four folding chairs in a corner, a big brown leather couch against the far wall, and six La-Z-Boy recliners lined up in front of a big flat-screen television. That was pretty much it. Disappointing. At the very least, I’d expected wood paneling and a private bar.

Four of the La-Z-Boy chairs were occupied. Charlie, Benny, Lou, and Julius. I knew the four of them by sight. Jimmy’s chair had a framed picture of him resting in it. The sixth chair was empty. I didn’t know who sat there.

“About the keys,” I said.

“Are you sure you want to talk about this today, what with your recent loss and all?” Benny asked.

“Grandma doesn’t have the keys,” I told him. “Jimmy didn’t pass them on to her. His death was sudden. He was playing at a poker machine, apparently had a massive heart attack, and died on the spot. He didn’t say anything to Grandma. He didn’t pass anything over to her. And he didn’t give her anything that would resemble a key previous to that.”

Benny exchanged glances with the other boys. “That’s her version.”

“It’s the only version,” I said.

“We got a witness who says it didn’t go down like that,” Benny said. “We talked to an attendant who said Jimmy, should he rest in peace, grabbed hold of your granny and said something to her before he fell out of his chair. We’re thinking there was time for Granny to get the keys from Jimmy. We’re thinking that Granny very unwisely has decided to keep the keys for herself.”

“She would have told me.”

“We got no reason to trust you, either,” Benny said. “So, here’s the deal. Because we’re civilized good Catholic men, we’re giving you a grace period due to your loss. You’ve got twenty-four hours, more or less, to get the keys to us. After that we have no choice but to exert some persuasive force on your granny.”

“Why are these keys so important?”

“That’s not for you to know. It’s important to us and that’s enough.”

I narrowed my eyes at Benny. “If you do anything to cause my grandmother discomfort, you’ll answer to me.”

“Haw! We’re real scared about that.”

“I have friends.”

“We know all about your friends, and we might have to take care of them too.”

I took a moment to steady myself. I looked him in the eye and allowed a small smile to surface. “Good luck with that one,” I said. “You would be smart to let this go and start looking for a good locksmith.”

Benny leaned forward and squinted at me. “What’s with your hair? It’s got blue streaks in it. Is that something new? Like a funeral thing?”

“It looks like metal,” Julius said. “It could be a wire.”

“Do you want me to look at it more closely?” Stan asked. “Do you want me to see if she’s got a transmitter hidden somewhere?”

“They’re extensions,” I said. “I got them at the hair salon.”

“What happens if you set them on fire?” Lou asked. “Do they burn or just melt?” He smiled. “I like burning things. It’s my specialty.”