Authors: Janet Evanovich
“All that white,” Kloughn said, sweat popping out on his forehead. “It was all I could see. I could only see white. And then I couldn't breathe.”
“It was a white elevator,” I said to Valerie. “You know how dreams can get weird, right?”
Morelli had Kloughn on his feet, holding him up by the back of his jacket again. “Now what?” Morelli said. “Where do you want him this time?”
“We should lock him up someplace safe where he can't get away,” Grandma said. “Someplace like jail. Maybe you should bust him.”
“What's in his jacket pocket?” Valerie asked, patting the pocket. “It's a candy bar!” She ran her fingers over it. “It feels like a Snickers.”
Some people can read Braille... my sister can feel up a candy bar in a pocket and identify it.
“I need that candy bar,” Valerie said.
“It wouldn't be good for your diet,” I told her.
“Yeah,” Grandma said. “Go eat another green bean.”
“I need that candy bar,” Valerie said, eyes narrowed. “I really need it.”
Kloughn pulled the candy bar out of his pocket, the candy bar slipped through his fingers, flew through the air, and bounced off Valerie's forehead.
Valerie blinked twice and burst into tears. “You hit me,” she wailed.
“You're a nutso bride,” Grandma said, retrieving the candy bar, tucking it into the zippered pocket of her warm-up suit jacket. "You're imagining things.
Just look at Snoogie Boogie here. Does he look like he could hit someone? He don't know the time of day."
“I don't feel so good,” Kloughn said. “I want to lie down.”
“Put him on the couch,” my mother said to Morelli. “He'll be safer there. He's lucky he didn't break his neck when he fell down the stairs.”
We went back to the table and everybody dug in again.
“Maybe I don't want to get married,” Valerie said.
“Of course you want to get married,” Grandma told her. “How could you pass up Snogle Wogle out there? It'll be his job to take the garbage out on garbage day. And he'll get the oil changed in the car. You want to do those things all by yourself? And after we get you married off we gotta work on Stephanie.”
Grandma fixed an eye on Morelli. “How come you don't marry her?”
“Not my fault,” Morelli said. “She won't marry me.”
“Of course it's your fault,” Grandma said. “You must be doing something wrong, if you know what I mean. Maybe you need to buy a book that tells you how to do it. I hear there are books out there with pictures and everything. I saw one in the store the other day. It was called A Sex Guide for Dummies.”
Morelli paused with a chunk of meatloaf halfway to his mouth. No one had ever questioned his expertise in the sack before. His sexual history was legend in the Burg.
My sister gave a bark of laughter and quickly clapped a hand over her mouth. My mother went pale. And my father kept his head down, not wanting to lose the fork-to-mouth rhythm he had going.
Morelli sat frozen in his seat for a long moment and then obviously decided no answer was the way to go. He gave me a small tight smile and got on with his meal. Things quieted down after that until Grandma started checking her watch halfway through dessert.
“No,” my mother said to her. “Don't even think it.”
“Think what?” Grandma asked.
“You know what. You're not going to the viewing. It would be in terrible taste. The Macaronis have suffered enough without us adding to their grief.”
“The Macaronis are probably dancing in their socks,” Grandma said. “Susan Mifflin saw them eating at Artie's Seafood House the day after the accident. She said they were going at the all-you-can-eat crab legs like it was a party.”
When the only thing left of the pineapple upside-down cake was a smudge of whipped cream on the cake plate, I helped my mother clear the table. I promised I'd get the decorations for the cars. And I made a mental note that in the future I would avoid weddings, mine or anyone else's. And while I was making my never-again list, I might add never have another dinner at my parents' house... although it was pretty funny when Grandma suggested Morelli get a Dummies' guide to good sex.
Ten minutes later, Morelli and I were parked on Hamilton, across from the funeral home.
“Tell me again why we're doing this,” Morelli said.
“The bad guy always returns to the scene of the crime. Everybody knows that.”
“This isn't the scene of the crime.”
“Work with me here, okay? It's close enough. Spiro seems like the kind of guy who would hate to be left out. I think he'd want to watch the spectacle.”
We sat for a couple minutes in silence and Morelli turned to me. “You're smiling,” Morelli said. “It's making me uneasy. Anyone in their right mind wouldn't be smiling after that dinner.”
“I thought there were some good moments.”
Morelli was dividing his attention between the people arriving for the viewing and me. “Like when your grandmother suggested I get a book?”
“That was the best moment.”
It was deep twilight. Light pooled on the sidewalk and road from overhead halogens, and Stiva's front porch was glowing. Stiva didn't want the old folks falling down the stairs after visiting with the deceased.
Morelli reached out to me in the darkened car. His fingertips traced along my hairline. "Do you want to throw out a comment here? Was your grandmother right?
Is that why we're not married?"
“You're fishing for compliments.”
That got Morelli smiling. “Busted.”
Someone rapped on the drivers-side window, and we both flinched. Morelli rolled the window down a crack, and Grandma squinted in at us.
“I thought I recognized the car,” Grandma said.
“What are you doing here?” I asked Grandma. “I thought it was settled that you'd stay away.”
"I know your mother means well, but sometimes she can be a real pain in the patoot. This viewing will be the talk of the town. How can I go to the beauty parlor tomorrow if I don't know anything about the viewing? What will I say to people? I got a reputation to uphold. People expect me to know the dirt.
So I sneaked out when your mother went to the bathroom. I was lucky to be able to hitch a ride with Mabel from next door."
“We can't let Grandma go to that viewing,” I said to Morelli. “She'll be nothing but a grease spot on Stiva's carpet after the Macaronis get done with her.”
“You really shouldn't go to the viewing,” he said to Grandma. “Why don't you get in the car, and we'll go to a bar and get wasted?”
“Not a bad offer,” Grandma said. “But no can do. I can't take a chance on them having the lid up.”
“There's no chance they'll have the lid up,” Morelli said. “I saw them collecting the pieces, and they're not going to fit together.”
Grandma slid her dentures around in her mouth while she weighed her choices. “Don't seem right not to pay my respects,” she finally said.
“Here's the deal,” Morelli said. “I'll go in and scope things out. If the lid is up I'll come get you. If the lid is down I'll drive you home.”
“I guess that sounds reasonable,” Grandma said. “I don't want to get torn limb from limb by the Macaronis for no good cause. I'll wait here.”
“And ask Constantine if he's seen Spiro,” I told Morelli.
Morelli got out, and Grandma took his place behind the wheel. We watched Morelli walk into the funeral home.
“He's a keeper,” Grandma said. “He's turned into a real nice young man. And he's nice looking, too. Not as hot as that Ranger but pretty darn close.”
Cars rolled past us on Hamilton. People parked in the lot next to Stiva's and made their way to the big front porch. A group of men stood just outside the door. They were smoking and talking and occasionally there'd be a bark of laughter.
“I guess you're unemployed again,” Grandma said. “You have any ideas where you'll go next?”
“I hear they're hiring at the sanitary products plant.”
“That might work out. That plant is way down Route One and they might not have heard about you yet.”
The light changed at the end of the block and cars began moving again. An SUV slid by us going in the opposite direction... and Spiro was behind the wheel.
I started climbing over the console. “Get out of the car,” I yelled. “I need to follow that SUV.”
“No way. I'm not missing out on this. I can catch him,” Grandma said. “Buckle your seat belt.”
I opened my mouth to say no, but Grandma already had the car in gear. She shot back and rammed the car behind us, knocking him back a couple feet.
“That's better,” Grandma said. “Now I got room to get out.” She wheeled Morelli's SUV into traffic, stopped short, laid on the horn, and cut into the stream of oncoming cars.
Grandma learned to drive a couple years ago. She immediately racked up points for speeding and lost her license. She wasn't all that good a driver back then, and she wasn't any better now. I tightened my seat belt and started making deals with God. I'll be a better person, I told God. I swear I will. I'll even go to church. Okay, maybe that's not going to happen. I'll go to church on holidays. Just don't let Grandma kill us both.
“I'm coming up on him,” Grandma said. “He's just two cars ahead of us.”
“Keep the two cars between us,” I told her. “I don't want him to see us.”
The light changed at the corner. Spiro went through on the yellow, and we were stopped behind the two cars. Grandma yanked the wheel to the right, jumped the curb, and drove on the sidewalk to the intersection. She leaned on the horn, smashed her foot to the floor, and rocketed across two lanes of traffic.
I had my feet braced against the dash and my eyes closed.
“I have a better idea,” I said. “Why don't we go back to the funeral home? You wouldn't want to miss hearing that the lid was up. And maybe it would be a good idea to pull over and let me drive, since you don't have a license.”
“I got him in my sights,” Grandma said, hunched over the wheel, eyes narrowed.
Spiro turned right and Grandma raced to the corner and took it on two wheels. One block ahead of us we saw Spiro right-turn again. Grandma stuck with him, and two turns later we found ourselves back on Hamilton, heading for the funeral home. Spiro was going to make another pass.
“This is convenient,” Grandma said. “We can see if Joseph is waiting for us.”
“Not good,” I said. “He won't be happy to see you behind the wheel. He's a cop, remember? He arrests people who drive without a license.”
“He can't arrest me. I'm an old lady. I got rights. And besides, he's practically family.”
Was that true? Was Morelli practically family? Had I become accidentally married?
My attention returned to Spiro, and I realized Grandma had closed the gap, and we were one car behind him. We sailed past the funeral home, past Morelli standing at the side of the road, hands on hips. He gave his head a small shake as we whizzed by. Probably best not to second-guess his thoughts... they didn't look happy.
“I know I should have stopped to find out about the viewing,” Grandma said, “but I hate to lose this guy. I don't know why I'm following him, but I can't seem to quit.”
Spiro drove three blocks and did another loop, taking himself back down Hamilton. We lost the single-car buffer, and Grandma got on Spiro's bumper just as he came up to the funeral home. Spiro flashed his right-turn signal and after that it was all horror and panic and life in slow motion, because Spiro jumped the curb and plowed into a group of men on the sidewalk. He hit two men I'd never seen before and Morelli. One of the men was knocked aside. One was pitched off the hood. And Morelli spiraled off the right front fender of Spiro's SUV and was thrown to the ground.
Probably I should have gone after Spiro, but I acted without thought. I was out of the car and running to Morelli before Grandma had come to a complete stop. He was on his back, his eyes open, his face white.
“Are you okay?” I asked, dropping to my knees. “Do I look okay?”
“No. You look like you've just been run over by an SUV.” “Last time this happened I got to look up your skirt,” he said. And then he passed out.
It was close to midnight when I was told Morelli was out of surgery. His leg had been broken in two places but aside from that he was fine. I'd taken Grandma home, and I was alone in the hospital. A bunch of cops had stopped by earlier. Eddie Gazarra and Carl Costanza had offered to stay with me, but I'd assured them it wasn't necessary. I'd already been informed Morelli's injuries weren't life threatening. The two other guys that were mowed down by Spiro were going to be okay, too. One had been sent home with scrapes and bruises. The other was being kept overnight with a concussion and broken collarbone.
I was allowed to see Morelli for a moment when he was brought up to his room. He was hooked to an IV drip, his leg was elevated on the bed, and he was still groggy. He was half a day beyond a five o'clock shadow. He had a bruise on his cheek. His eyes were partly closed, and his dark lashes shaded his eyes.
I brushed a light kiss across his lips. “You're okay,” I told him.
“Good to know,” he said. And then the drugs dragged him back into sleep.
I walked the short distance to the parking garage and found a blue-and-white parked next to Morelli's SUV. Gazarra was at the wheel.
“I had late shift and this is as good a place as any to hang,” he said. “Lock the car in Morelli's garage tonight. I wouldn't want to see you in the room next to Mama Mac tomorrow.”
I left the garage and followed Gazarra's instructions. It was a dark moonless night with a chill in the air that ordinarily would have me thinking about pumpkins and winter clothes and football games. As it was, I had a hard time pushing the anger and fear generated by Spiro into the background. Hard to think about anything other than the pain he'd caused Morelli.
Morelli's garage was detached from his house and at the rear of his property. Bob was waiting for me when I let myself into the house through the back door.
He was sleepy-eyed and lethargic, resting his big shaggy orange head against my leg. I scratched him behind his ear and gave him a dog biscuit from the cookie jar on the counter.
“Do you have to tinkle?” I asked Bob.