12 Twelve Sharp (6 page)

I've had occasion to lose people, and I had a route that worked. I wound through the Burg, took Chambers to Liberty and returned to the Burg. Between traffic and lights and the back alleys of the Burg I was always able to lose the faint of heart. And I lost Carmen. Probably she'd eventually go to my apartment building, but I thought eventually was better than now.

TwelveSharpbyJanetEvanovich

I had the phone beside me while I worked at the dining room table. I was prioritizing the skips, making calls to check on addresses and employment histories, trying to determine who was where. And I was hoping for a call from Ranger. The call that finally came in was from my grandmother.

'Big news,' she said. The funeral parlor is having a viewing tonight. It's the first viewing with the new owners. Catherine Machenko is getting laid out. Dolly did her hair, and she gave me all the dirt. She said the new owners are from Jersey City. Never owned a funeral parlor before. Fresh out of mortuary school. Dolly said they were a nice young gay couple. Dave and Scooter. Dave is the mortician, and Scooter makes the cookies for the viewings. Isn't that something?'

Some communities have country clubs, some have senior centers, some have shopping malls and movie theaters. The Burg has two funeral parlors. Only Thursday night bingo occasionally draws a bigger crowd than a well-run viewing in the Burg.

'I tell you those homosexuals are all over the place,' Grandma said. 'And they get all the good jobs, too. They get to be cowboys and morticians. I never wanted to be a homosexual, but I always wanted to be a cowboy. What do you suppose it's like to be a homosexual? Do you think their privates look different?'

'All privates look different,' I told her.

'I haven't seen too many. Mostly your grandfathers… and that wasn't a real pretty sight. I wouldn't mind seeing some others. I'd like to see some minority privates and maybe some blue ones. I was listening to one of them late-night radio shows and they were talking about blue balls. I thought that sounded colorful. I wouldn't mind seeing some blue balls.'

My mother groaned in the background.

'Hold on, dear,' Grandma Mazur said. 'Your mother wants to talk to you.'

'I'll do your laundry if you take your grandmother to the viewing,' my mother said. 'And I'll iron it if you make sure she doesn't get into trouble. If it's closed casket, I don't want her trying to get it open.'

Grandma thinks if she made an effort to come out to a viewing the least they can do is let her take a look at the dead guy. I guess I understand her point of view, but it makes for a scene when the lid is nailed down.

'That's asking a lot,' I said to my mother. 'I'll give her a ride, but I can't guarantee no trouble.'

'Please,' my mother said. 'I'm begging you.'

Carmen was in my lot when I exited the building. She was parked one space over from my Mini, and her windows were down to allow air into the car.

I waved when I walked past. 'I'm going to pick up my grandmother,' I said. 'I'm taking her to a viewing on Hamilton. Then I'll take her home and probably stop in to see Morelli.'

Carmen didn't say anything. She was wearing mirrored lenses, and she wasn't smiling. She followed me out of the lot, into the Burg, and she parked half a block down while I went in to get Grandma.

Grandma was at the door when I arrived. Her grey hair was tightly curled. Her face was powdered. Her nails were newly manicured and matched her red lipstick. She was wearing a navy dress and low-heeled patent leather pumps. She was ready to go.

'Isn't this exciting,' Grandma said. 'A new funeral director! Catherine is lucky to be his first. There'll be a real crowd there tonight.'

My mother was in the foyer with my grandmother. 'Try to behave yourself,' she said to my grandmother. 'Constantine had years of experience. He knew how to manage all the little disasters that happen when people get together. These two young men are brand new at this.'

For as long as I can remember, Constantine Stiva owned the funeral parlor. He was a pillar of the community and the funeral director of choice for the Burg bereaved. As it turned out, he was also a little insane and had a homicidal past, and he's now spending his remaining years in maximum security at Rahway prison.

I've heard rumors that Con prefers prison life to seeing Grandma Mazur walk through his front door, but I'm not sure they're true.

My father was in the living room watching television. His eyes never left the screen, but he mumbled something that sounded like 'poor unsuspecting bastard funeral director.'

My father used to keep an old army-issue .45 in the house as protection against intruders. When Grandma Mazur moved in, my mother quietly got rid of the .45, fearing someday my father would lose patience and blow Grandma away. If it had been me, I would have also gotten rid of sharp knives. Personally, I think Grandma Mazur is a hoot. But then, I don't have to live with her.

'We'll be fine,' I said to my mother. 'Don't worry.'

My mother made the sign of the cross and bit into her lower lip.

I drove the short distance to the funeral parlor and dropped Grandma in front of the building. 'I'll find a parking place and meet you in there,' I said.

Grandma tottered up the stairs to the big wide front porch, and I motored slowly down the street, followed by Carmen. I parked one block north, Carmen chugged past me, hooked a U-turn, and parked across the street.

I was in no rush to get back to the funeral parlor, so I called Ranger again. 'Hi,' I said to his answering service, 'it's me. Things are looking up. Your wife is tailing me, but she hasn't shot at me yet today, so that's a good thing, right? And you need to answer your damn phone calls.'

I cracked my knuckles and looked at my watch. I hated viewings. I hated the cloying smell of too many flowers. I hated the small talk I'd be forced to make. I hated the inevitable dead person. Maybe I could procrastinate with another phone call.

I called Morelli and told him I might be stopping around after the viewing. He said he'd take a nap in anticipation. That didn't take up nearly enough time so I called my best friend, Mary Lou.

'What?' she yelled into the phone. 'I can't hear you. I'm putting the kids to bed.'

Bedlam in the background.

'I'll call some other time,' I said.

I disconnected Mary Lou and called my sister Valerie. I'm feeding the baby,' she said. 'Is it important?'

'Just checking in,' I said. 'Nothing that can't wait.'

Since I couldn't think of anyone else to call, I left the comfort of my Mini and trudged off to the funeral parlor.

I worked my way through the crush of people to slumber room number one where Catherine Machenko was laid to rest. Grandma was close to the casket, not wanting to miss any of the action. She was with Catherine Machenko's sisters and two young men dressed in black.

'This is the new funeral director,' Grandma said to me. 'Dave Nelson. And this is his partner Scooter.'

Dave looked like Paul Bunyan in a suit. He was huge. Dark hair, slightly receding. Head insignificant on his tree-trunk neck. Barrel-chested. Thighs bulging against his pants fabric.

'Dave used to be a wrestler,' Grandma said.

No shit.

Scooter and Dave were yin and yang. Scooter was average height, slight build, blond hair nicely cut, pale blue eyes. Very Norwegian. Or maybe German. Definitely Nordic. I was guessing his suit was Armani and probably his tie cost more than my car.

They were wearing wedding bands. And when they looked at each other you knew they liked being together. I was a little jealous. Again. But in an entirely different way. I wondered if I ever looked like that when I was with Morelli.

Lucky for Dave and Scooter, the Burg wouldn't care about their sexual orientation as long as the cookies were good and they had some expertise at plugging the occasional bullet hole.

Both Dave and Scooter were beaming, proud of their first viewing, flushed with the success of the party. Very different from the calm, cool solicitous demeanor always displayed by Constantine Stiva.

'I just heard they have one of those alerts out here in Trenton for a kidnapping,' Grandma said to me. 'A little girl was kidnapped in Florida, and they think she might be here in Trenton, because she was kidnapped by her father, and her father lives here. I bet you could find her.'

'The little girl's name is Julie Martine,' Scooter said. 'It's all over the television. She's ten years old. And they think she's with her birth father, Carlos Manoso.'

My heart stuttered in my chest, and for a moment there was no air around me. Ranger's legal name is Ricardo Carlos Manoso, but he never uses the Ricardo.

'What else did they say on television?' I asked him.

'That was mostly it. They showed a picture of the man from when he was in the army. Special Forces. And they showed a picture of the little girl.'

I looked at my watch. 'We can't stay much longer,' I said to Grandma. 'I promised Joe I'd come over tonight.'

That works perfectly for me,' Grandma said. 'I've seen everything, and there's a television show on in a half hour that I like to watch. It's a rerun of the Crocodile Hunter. That crocodile guy is a real curie in those little shorts.'

'Make sure you get a cookie before you leave,' Scooter said. 'I baked them myself. Chocolate chip and oatmeal raisin.'

We hit the cookie table on the way out.

'Look at this,' Grandma said, taking two cookies, 'Scooter put them on doilies and everything. Such a nice young man. You can entrust your loved one to a funeral parlor that takes the time to use doilies.'

I dropped Grandma off, and I went home to my apartment. I said hello to Rex, hung my bag and jacket on a hook in the hall, and went straight to my computer. I surfed a couple news sites and then went to the site for missing children. The little girl was pretty with an infectious smile. She had brown hair pulled into a ponytail and big brown eyes. She lived with her mom and stepdad in Miami. She was picked up on her way home from school and not seen since. She was with two girlfriends who said she got into a car with a man police believe to be her birth father. The description of the man that the girls gave to the police fit Ranger. And the photo shown was of Ranger.

I shut the computer down and called Morelli. 'Have you gotten the missing child alert?' I asked him.

'Oswald just called me.'

'Do you know anything I don't know?'

'Oswald got all his information from television.'

'What do you think?'

'Ranger's not my favorite person. I think his wiring isn't code. And it wouldn't surprise me to hear he's kidnapped his daughter, but I'd be very surprised if he didn't have a good reason. Are you still planning on coming over?'

'I don't know. I'm really thrown by this. Carmen showing up, and now the little girl getting kidnapped.'

'I have a cake,' Morelli said. 'Got it just for you.'

'You don't!'

'Only one way to find out.'

'Okay, I'll be there in ten minutes.'

I hung up and called Tank.

'What's going on?' I asked him.

'Business as usual.'

'What's going on with Ranger?'

'He's off-line.'

'And?'

'Keep the faith.'

I disconnected and made a mental note not to call Tank unless I was bleeding profusely, and he was the only other person on earth.

Morelli was slow to kill the alarm on his clock radio. 'You purposely let that ring, so I'd wake up,' I said to him.

'I didn't want you to miss anything.'

'Such as… oh God, give me a break. What time is it? It's still dark out.'

'There's this thing that happens when I wake up next to you,' Morelli said. 'It's very uncomfortable… in a good way.'

'What about the cake you promised?'

'It's baking.'

That was obvious.

'Can't you go back to sleep and pick this up in an hour or two?' I asked Morelli.

'I have to be at my desk in an hour or two. And my body doesn't work like that. Once the cake's in the oven, it keeps baking until it's done.'

'I'm tired. Maybe this is one of those times when you can have your cake and eat it too. You know, all by yourself.'

'Do you want to watch?'

'No! I want to sleep.'

Morelli nibbled on my neck, and his hand snaked around to my breast. 'Okay,' he said with his voice all soft and old-whiskey smooth. 'Go back to sleep. We'll do this some other time.'

I blew out a sigh. 'What kind of cake is it?' I asked. 'Coffee cake? Birthday cake?'

We were lying spoon fashion, and I could feel Morelli laughing behind me.

'It's a cannoli,' he said.

'Oh boy,' Lula said when I swung into the office. 'Only one thing puts that kind of smile on your face.'

'I had cake for breakfast.'

'Must have been damn good cake.'

Melvin Pickle was working at filing. 'I can't eat cake for breakfast,' he said. 'It's bad for my blood sugar level.'

'She didn't mean cake cake,' Lula said. 'That was one of them double entendre things. Boy you're awful slow on the pickup for a pervert.'

'Did you hear about Ranger?' I asked Connie and Lula.

'It came up on my news service this morning,' Connie said.

'What did the service say? Have they found him or his daughter?'

'No. It just said she was picked up after school by a man who met Ranger's description and not seen since. I tried paging him but he's not answering.'

I glanced out the front window. 'I see Carmen is back at the curb.'

'This just gets weirder and weirder,' Lula said. 'This is like Twilight Zone shit.'

Connie gave me a clipboard and then gave one to Lula. 'I don't have time to think about it this morning. We have people coming in for the BEA job. I cut the group of applicants in half by eliminating everyone with a criminal record,' she said. 'The rest have been divided into three groups. I'm calling those groups Best, Okay, and God Help Us. Hopefully we'll find someone before we get to God Help Us. The Best group is coming in this morning. We're going to give everyone a fifteen-minute interview, so this shouldn't take all day. I know you're anxious to go out there and round up some bad guys.'