Джанет Иванович - Twisted Twenty-Six

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.”