Briggs washed his pot roast down with two beers, and I thought he looked a little glassy-eyed.
“Are you okay?” I asked him.
“Mmmm,” he said. “Mmmmarvelous.” And his eyes drooped closed.
“Maybe he needs some cake to perk him up,” Grandma said.
“He’s trashed,” my father said.
Grandma looked at him. “Guess he’s not so good with liquor.”
Considering he was only about three feet tall and had just chugged down a water glass of hooch plus two beers, I thought he’d done okay. If I drank all that, I’d be under the table.
I helped Grandma clear the dishes, and my mom brought the cake to the table. Briggs opened his eyes and tried to focus.
“Cake,” he said. “Cake good.”
He plowed through his piece of cake and slumped in his seat. His eyes slid closed, and a little chocolate drool oozed from the side of his mouth.
“Maybe we should get him to the couch and let him sleep it off,” I said.
“There’s no way in hell I’m sharing my living room with him,” my father said. “If you want him to keep breathing, you’ll dump him someplace far away from my television.”
“We could lay him out on the kitchen floor,” Grandma said. “That way he won’t mess anything up with his drooling. And if we put him behind the table, no one will step on him.”
My mother took one foot, Grandma took the other, I got Briggs under the armpits, and we lugged him into the kitchen. We stretched him out behind the table, and Grandma put a kitchen towel under his head.
“He looks real peaceful there,” Grandma said.
I thought about handcuffing him to the stove so he wouldn’t wake up and wander away, but I only had one pair of handcuffs with me, and I might need them if I found Poletti.
I was lucky enough to get the last spot in the small parking lot attached to the funeral home. A few people were gathered on the big front porch, and more people were milling around in the lobby. Mrs. Poletti was in Slumber Room No. 1, which was a spot of honor reserved for the deceased who were expected to draw larger than usual crowds—mob bosses, victims of violent deaths, minor celebrities, and Grand Poobahs of the Knights of Columbus.
Grandma marched straight to the viewing room without so much as a nod to the cookie table. Her eyes narrowed and her lips compressed when she saw that the first row in front of the casket was already taken by the Poletti family. She would have to settle for a seat in the second row.
“Some of them family members should be standing at the head of the casket with the husband of the deceased,” Grandma said. “This new generation don’t know much.”
I recognized the two grandsons, Oswald and Aaron, Aaron’s wife, and Buster. “Who’s the man sitting next to Buster?” I asked Grandma. “He was at the house the day Mrs. Poletti died.”
“He’s some out-of-state relative who was visiting while he was on a job interview,” Grandma said.
“And the three older women next to him?”
“Sisters of the deceased. All of them spinsters. There was rumors of them always being a little off.”
“In what way?”
“I heard they liked each other too much, if you know what I mean.”
People were pouring in after us, filling all the seats, forming a line to give condolences and check out Mrs. Poletti’s hair and makeup.
Grandma knew everyone.
“Who’s that man?” I asked her.
“Buster’s father,” Grandma said. “He was a construction expeditor. The woman behind him knows Mrs. Poletti from Bingo.”
After an hour, the river of mourners dwindled to a small trickle, and I left my seat to eavesdrop and ask questions. Everyone had some connection to the Poletti family, whether it was blood or Bingo. Except for Grandma, who was just plain nosy.
Jimmy Poletti’s wife, Trudy, was noticeably absent. Silvio and Miriam Pepper arrived late, gave their condolences to the family, and left through a side door before I had a chance to talk to them. Aaron and his wife also left early. Oswald Poletti ambled out of the Slumber Room fifteen minutes before the viewing ended and pushed through the crowd to the cookie table. He was shoving Oreos into his rumpled jacket pocket when I cornered him.
“Sorry about your grandmother,” I said.
“She was, like, old,” he said.
“I don’t suppose you’ve heard from your father.”
“Dear old Dad don’t call much.”
“I don’t mean to be judgmental, but is there ever a moment in the day when you aren’t stoned?”
“What?”
Buster moved into my line of vision on his way to the door, and I ran after him.
“Stephanie Plum,” I said, extending my hand. “I’ve been wanting to talk to you.”
“You’re the bounty hunter who broke into my apartment and found Bernie.”
“I didn’t break in. The door was open.”
“I heard you were with Jimmy’s bookkeeper. For a little guy, he gets around.”
“He’s helping me find Jimmy.”
“Whatever.” He focused on my breasts in the stretchy white tanktop. “You’re cuter than I expected. I bet you’re good with handcuffs.”
“I’m even better with a stun gun,” I said. “And I’ve been known to shoot people on occasion.”
“Stop. You’re getting me excited. I’m getting a boner.”
“I guess that’s an accomplishment at your age,” I said.
Buster grimaced. “Jeez, you really know how to ruin a moment.”
“About Jimmy …”
“I don’t know anything about Jimmy. Personally, I think he was framed. And I don’t know where he is now. End of story.”
“He was in your apartment.”
“Yeah, but I wasn’t there. He has a key. Lots of people have keys. I’m that kind of guy. I never took the keys back when I moved in.”
“You don’t talk to Jimmy?”
“Who, me? He’s a felon. Do I look like the kind of guy who would talk to a felon?”
“Yes.”
“Boy, that hurts. I’m a law-abiding citizen.”
“Did you get the blood out of the carpet?”
“No. I tossed it. Some people have no consideration for other people’s property. Somebody had a lot of nerve popping Bernie in my apartment.”
“So you have no idea who killed Bernie?”
“If I knew who killed Bernie, I’d send him a bill for my carpet.”
“Everybody thinks it was Jimmy.”
“That’s jumping to conclusions. I don’t see Jimmy killing someone.”
“He tried to kill his bookkeeper.”
“Yeah, but everyone wants to kill Briggs. He’s annoying. Anyway, Jimmy only tried to run him over. Briggs pissed Jimmy off when he boinked the missus.”
“Excuse me?”
“You didn’t know?”
“Randy Briggs and Trudy Poletti?”
Buster grinned. “Yeah, Briggs is an animal. He probably humped the dog when he was done with Trudy.”
I felt my upper lip curl back. “Ewwwww.”
“We all knew Trudy fooled around, and Jimmy mostly looked the other way, but doing the bookkeeper was insulting. Briggs was a fucking employee. Not to mention people were making unflattering comparisons between Briggs and Jimmy. And just between you and me, I’ve seen Jimmy, and Briggs might be bigger in the old shlongarooni department.” Buster rocked back on his heels. “I guess you would know more about that than me.”
“I know nothing! Briggs had a firebomb shot into his apartment. He asked me for protection, and in return he’s helping me find Jimmy. Are you sure you don’t know where Jimmy is hiding?”
“Maybe I’ll remember if you show me your tits.”
“That’s disgusting. This is a viewing. There’s a dead woman in there.”
“How about if I ask to see them in a bar?”
“No.”
“Suppose I bought you dinner?”
/>
“No.”
“What if I was in the hospital with a heart attack?”
“No.”
“Boy, you’re tough. Most women would go for the heart attack.”
TEN
BRIGGS WAS STILL asleep on the kitchen floor when I brought Grandma home. I nudged him with my foot, and he mumbled something, but he didn’t wake up.
“Is it okay if I leave him here?” I asked my mom. “I’ll come get him first thing in the morning.”
“As long as it’s first thing.”
I drove home, parked in my lot, and noticed that the lights were on in my apartment. Morelli had a key, but his green SUV wasn’t in the lot. Ranger’s black Porsche wasn’t there either, but that didn’t mean much. Ranger has a lot of cars available to him.
My cellphone rang and Ranger said, “Babe.”
“Are you in my apartment?” I asked him.
“Are you alone?”
“Yes.”
“Then I’m in your apartment.”
He was in my kitchen with a bottle of water in his hand. He was wearing jeans and a black T-shirt, a Glock, and an unzipped flak vest. Not his usual all black perfectly tailored uniform. No Rangeman logo.
“This must be casual Tuesday,” I said to him.
“They won’t let anything leave the building. Ella had to do some fast shopping.”
Ella is half of a housekeeping couple that maintains Ranger’s building. She makes sure everyone is appropriately dressed and well fed, she supervises the cleaning crew, and she personally tends to Ranger’s private apartment.
“Are you okay?” I asked him.
“Yes. I wasn’t onsite when the poison was released. Bruce McCready discovered Gardi with the canister. There was a struggle, the canister was activated, and McCready and Gardi were contaminated. Gardi panicked and told McCready everything he knew, hoping he could get treatment in time to save himself. Fortunately, McCready was able to evacuate the building before the poison spread.”
“Is McCready going to be okay?”
“No one is saying, but from the limited information I have, I suspect McCready and Gardi received a lethal dose. This stuff takes a while to kill. McCready is a good man. He’s a team player. Everyone likes him. There are a lot of prayers being said at Rangeman.”
“That’s horrible. How did this happen?”
“We didn’t do a body cavity check. Technically, we’re not empowered. Gardi obviously knew this, because he had a delayed-action aerosol cartridge of polonium-210 hidden in him. The plan was for him to release it into the air-conditioning system just before he left for Miami. At least that’s what he told McCready, and what McCready passed on to us before he was hospitalized. I haven’t been able to talk to either McCready or Gardi since they were admitted. They’re both in isolation under heavy guard.”
“I’ve never heard of polonium.”
“It’s produced in nuclear reactors. It’s rare, and it’s difficult to detect. If it enters the body through an open wound, if it’s eaten, if a person breathes contaminated air, it’s deadly. It causes multiple organ failure.
“McCready was watching the cell video feed when Gardi pulled the canister out, and McCready went to investigate. If the poison had gone undetected into the building ventilation system, it would have infected everyone in the building.”
“Morelli said he thought Gardi was working for someone who had a vendetta against you.”
Ranger was leaning against my kitchen counter, looking relaxed, his brown eyes mostly black in the dim light. “I’ve made some enemies.”
“That’s it? That’s all you’ve got? Some enemies?”
The corners of his mouth turned up into the smallest of smiles. “Are you worried about me?”
“Of course I’m worried about you.”
“Nice.” He looked at his watch. “I have to go.”
“What? Are you serious? You didn’t tell me anything.”
“This is why I’m not married,” Ranger said. “Women ask questions.”
“Unh!” I said, smacking my forehead with the heel of my hand. “That’s not why you’re not married. You’re not married because you’re … impossible.”
He dragged me to him and kissed me, and I felt the kiss travel like lava to my doo-dah.
“I have some issues to resolve,” he said.
No kidding.
He gave my ponytail a playful tug and left.
It was almost eight A.M. when I got to my parents’ house. Grandma was looking out the front door with her arms crossed over her chest, and Briggs was pacing on the sidewalk. His hair was a mess, and his shirt was stained and disheveled.
“Why are you out here?” I asked. “And what have you got all over your shirt?”
Grandma leaned out the open door. “It’s chocolate,” she said. “He woke up and snarfed down the cake. All of it. Your father went after him with a baseball bat. Lucky for Briggs it was your father’s duty time. You know how your father has to keep on schedule with his morning duties. Good thing you got here before he was done in the bathroom.”
“Somebody had to eat it,” Briggs said. “It was just sitting there.”
“The funeral is tomorrow morning,” Grandma said to me. “Are you going?”
“Maybe.”
“I hear there’s going to be undercover cops there in case Jimmy shows up. There might even be a shootout. I’m thinking I might wear my flak vest just in case.”
“You have a flak vest?”
“I got it a while ago from one of them home shopping shows on television. I thought you never know when you might need one. It’s navy, and it would look good with my navy pantsuit.”
I loaded Briggs into the Buick and drove him back to my apartment.
“Honestly,” I said. “Did you have to eat all the cake?”
“I got carried away. I was hungry.”
“I have things to do at the office. I’m going to drop you off so you can get cleaned up, and I’m going to pick you up later. I’m going to trust you to behave yourself.”
“I might take a nap. The cake made me sort of sick.”
“Do not take a nap in my bed.”
“I’ll take a shower first.”
“No! You can sleep on the couch. If I find any evidence, a single new wrinkle in my sheets, you’ll be sleeping in the parking lot.”
“Boy, you’d think I had cooties or something.”
“I’m sure you have cooties.”
I watched Briggs amble through the back door of my apartment building, gave a shudder, and headed for the office.
“Where’s half pint?” Lula asked when I walked in.
“I left him home. He was tired this morning.”
“I thought you didn’t trust him alone in your apartment.”
“I don’t, but I can’t keep babysitting him every minute.”
Connie waved a file at me. “I just got a new FTA. It’s not worth a lot of money, but it should be easy to clear. It’s Stanley Kulicky.”
“I know Stanley,” I said. “I went to school with him. What’s his problem?”
“He broke into the Sunshine Diner and stole a couple five-gallon jugs of rice pudding. I guess he was high and he got the munchies for rice pudding. The diner was closed so he helped himself.”
“That don’t sound like much of a crime,” Lula said.
“After he got the rice pudding strapped into his backseat, he went back in and tried to make himself a burger and fries and ended up setting the kitchen on fire. He panicked and took off, and on the way out of the parking lot he rammed a cop car. No one was hurt, but the cop car was trashed. Kulicky said he didn’t see it. Said it jumped out at him from nowhere.”
I looked at the file. “Unemployed and living with his parents.” I flipped the page to his photo. “Whoa! What happened to him?”
Lula looked over my shoulder. “He’s fat,” Lula said. “I don’t use that term a lot on account of it could be derogatory, but there’s no other
way to describe him. He’s all swelled up.”
“He was a skinny guy in high school,” I said.
“Maybe he got a glandular thing going,” Lula said.
I thought it was more likely a rice pudding thing.
I dropped the file into my messenger bag and took a donut from the box on Connie’s desk. “I’m on it,” I said.
“Me too,” Lula said. “You might need help.”
“I called him earlier,” Connie said. “His parents are at work, but he’s at home. He sounded cooperative. He said he forgot about the court date.”
“They all say that,” Lula said. “Then they shoot at you.”
Stanley’s parents lived just outside the Burg on Cobb Street. The house was a small bungalow with a long narrow backyard and a detached single-car garage at the back of the property. Stanley was sitting on the garage roof. And he was naked.
“This might not be a good time,” Lula said, looking the length of the driveway.
“At least we know he’s not armed.”
We walked back to the garage and stood, hands on hips, staring up at Stanley.
“How’s it going?” I said to him.
“Pretty good. How’s with you?”
“Not bad. What are you doing on the roof?”
“I like it up here. It’s peaceful. I have a nice view of the yard. And I can look in Mrs. Zahn’s bedroom window. Sometimes she’s naked.”
“Is that why you’re naked?”
“No. I’m doing the laundry, and I didn’t have anything to wear.”
“Do you have any of that rice pudding left?” Lula asked.
“No,” he said. “I didn’t get to keep it. The cops took it.”
“Case closed,” Lula said. “I’m thinking we’re out of here.”
Fortunately, I had the keys to the car. And I wasn’t ready to leave just yet. I wasn’t leaving without Stanley.
“I need to take you downtown to get your court date rescheduled,” I said to Stanley.
“I don’t want to do that. They’ll put me in jail again.”
“Only for a little while, until you get rebonded.”
“No.”
“You told Connie you’d cooperate.”
“I changed my mind.”
Top Secret Twenty-One: A Stephanie Plum Novel Page 7