“No,” I told her. “Put the gun away and give me my cuffs.”
She searched through my bag, found the cuffs, handed them to me, and I clapped them on Shempsky.
Ahmed and I got to our feet, and we all did a high five with each other. And then we did a down low. And then Ahmed and Grandma did some complicated hand thing that I couldn't get the hang of.
CONSTANTINE STIVA STOOD at the entrance to the viewing room, keeping a close watch on the casket at the far end. Grandma Mazur and Mabel stood at the head of the casket, accepting condolences and making apologies.
“We're real sorry,” Grandma Mazur said to Mrs. Patucci. “We had to have a closed casket on account of Fred was in the ground two weeks before we found him and the worms had eaten a lot of his face.”
“That's such a shame,” Mrs. Patucci said. “It takes something away when you can't see the deceased.”
“I feel just like that, too,” Grandma said. “But Stiva couldn't do nothing with him, and he wouldn't let us leave the lid up.”
Mrs. Patucci turned and looked at Stiva. Stiva gave a small sympathetic nod and smiled.
“That Stiva,” Mrs. Patucci said.
“Yeah, and he's watching us like a hawk,” Grandma told her.
Allen Shempsky had buried Fred in a shallow grave in a little patch of woods across from the pet cemetery on Klockner Road. He'd claimed he'd shot Fred by accident, but that was hard to believe since the fatal bullet had gone dead center between Fred's eyes.
Fred had been exhumed early Friday morning, the autopsy had been done on Monday, and now it was Wednesday and Fred was having an evening viewing. Mabel seemed to be enjoying herself, and Fred would have been pleased by the crowd he got, so I guess everything turned out okay.
I was at the back of the room, to one side of the door, counting the minutes until I could leave. I was trying to be as inconspicuous as possible, staring down at the carpet, not especially anxious to engage in conversation about Fred or Shempsky.
A pair of motorcycle boots entered my field of vision. They were attached to Levi's-clad legs I knew all too well.
“Hey, Hotstuff,” Morelli said. “Having fun?”
“Yeah. I love viewings. The Rangers are playing Pittsburgh, but that can't compare to a viewing. Long time, no see.”
“Not since you went into a coma fully dressed in my bedroom.”
“I didn't wake up fully dressed.”
“You noticed.”
I felt my face flush. “I guess you've been busy.”
“I had to wrap up the case with Treasury. They wanted Vito in Washington, and Vito wanted me to go with him. I just got back this afternoon.”
“I caught Shempsky.”
This brought a smile. “I heard. Congratulations.”
“I still don't understand why he felt it necessary to kill people. Wasn't he just doing his banker thing by opening accounts for clients?”
“He was supposed to pass the money through to a bank in the Caymans and establish tax-free accounts. The trouble was Shempsky was skimming the skimmers. When Lipinski and Curly panicked and wanted their money, the money wasn't there.”
Shempsky hadn't told me that part. “Why didn't Shempsky just replace the money?”
“He'd spent it on venture investments that didn't pay off. I think it was just something that got away from him, and it got worse and worse, until it was so bad it was out of control. There were a couple banking irregularities, too. Shempsky knew it was dirty money.”
I felt hot breath on my neck. Morelli looked at the person doing the breathing and gave a grunt of disgust.
It was Bunchy. “Nice collar, Cutie Pie,” he said.
His hair was cut and clean and his face was freshly shaved. He was wearing a button-down shirt, crewneck sweater, and tan slacks. If it wasn't for the eyebrows I might not have recognized him.
“What are you doing here?” I said. “I thought the case was over. Don't you go back to Washington now?”
“Not all of Treasury works in Washington. I happen to be a Jersey Treasury guy.” He looked around the room. “I thought Lula might be here since you two are such good friends.”
I raised an eyebrow. “Lula?”
“Yeah. Well, you know, she looked like she might be fun.”
“Listen, just because she used to be a hooker—”
He raised his hands. “Hey, it isn't like that. I just like her, that's all. I think she's okay.”
“So call her.”
“You think I could? I mean, would she hang up on me because of that tire thing?”
I dug a pen out of my bag and wrote Lula's number on the back of Bunchy's hand. “Take your chances.”
“How about me,” Morelli said when Bunchy left. “Do I get a number on the back of my hand?”
“You have enough numbers to last you a lifetime.”
“You owe me,” Morelli said.
A thrill skittered through my stomach. “Yes, but I didn't say when I'd pay off.”
“The ball's in your court,” Morelli said.
I'd heard that before!
Grandma was waving to me from the other end of the room. “Yoo-hoo,” she called, “come here a minute.”
“I have to go,” I said to Morelli.
He took the pen from my bag and wrote his number on the back of my hand. “Ciao,” he said. And then he left.
“The viewing is almost over,” Grandma said. “We're all going over to Mabel's house to see her new bedroom set and have some coffee cake. Do you want to come with us?”
“Thanks, but I think I'll pass. I'll see you tomorrow.”
“Thank you for everything,” Mabel said to me. “I like this new garbage company you got me much better.”
I PARKED THE Buick and took a moment to enjoy the night. The air was crisp and the sky was starless and black. Lights were on in my building. The seniors were watching TV. The bombers and rapists were gone, and this little part of Trenton felt safe again. I walked into the building and went to the bank of mailboxes to collect my mail. A credit card bill, a dental reminder, and an envelope from RangeMan. The RangeMan envelope contained a check for the chauffeuring job. A note was included with the check. It was hand-written from Ranger. “Glad the Lincoln survived, but locking it in a garage is cheating.” I remembered his kiss, and I got another one of those skittery thrills.
I ran up the stairs, let myself into my apartment, locked the door behind me, and took stock. My apartment was nice and neat. I'd spent the weekend cleaning. No dishes on the counter. No socks on the floor. Rex had a clean cage, and the pine shavings smelled foresty. It all felt welcoming. And safe. And private. And intimate.
“I should invite someone over,” I said to Rex. “After all, the apartment's all cleaned. I mean, how often does that happen, right? And my legs are shaved. And I have this great dress that I've never worn.”
Rex gave me a look that told me in no uncertain terms he knew exactly what I was after.
“Okay,” I said. “So what's the big deal? I'm an adult. I have adult urges.”
I thought about Ranger again, and tried to imagine what he'd be like in bed. And then I thought about Joe. I knew exactly what Joe was like.
This was a dilemma.
I got two pieces of paper, wrote Joe's name on one and Ranger's on the other. I dumped the two names into a bowl, closed my eyes, mixed them up, and picked one. Let God decide, I thought.
I read the name and cracked my knuckles. I hoped God knew what he was doing. I showed the paper to Rex, and he looked disapproving, so I covered his cage with a dish towel.
I did the speed-dial thing before I lost my nerve.
“I have this dress I'd like your opinion on,” I said when he answered.
A beat went by. “When would you like this opinion?”
“Now.”
I SUPPOSE THERE'S a time and place for everything—and this was the time for the slinky black dress. I tugged it over my head and smoothed it out. Th
e fit was perfect. I shook my head to fluff up my hair, and I sprayed some Dolce Vita on my wrist. I slipped my feet into the sexy ankle-strap heels and retouched my lipstick. Bright red. Yow!
I lit a candle on the coffee table and another in the bedroom. I dimmed the lights. I heard the elevator doors open down the hall, and my heart jumped in my chest. Get a grip, I told myself. No reason to be nervous. This is the will of God.
Baloney, a voice whispered in my head. You cheated. You peeked when you picked.
Okay, so I cheated. Big deal. The important thing is that I picked the right man. Maybe he wasn't right forever and ever, but he was right for tonight.
I opened the door on the second knock. Didn't want to seem overly anxious! I stepped back and our eyes met, and he showed no sign of the nervousness I felt. Curiosity, maybe. And desire. And something else—maybe the need to know this was what I wanted.
“Howdy,” I said.
He looked amused at that, but not amused enough to smile. He stepped forward into the foyer, closed the door, and locked it. His breathing was slow and deep, his eyes were dark, his expression serious as he studied me.
“Nice dress,” he said. “Take it off.”
Table of Contents
Stephanie Plum 5 - High Five
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Janet Evanovich, High Five
(Series: Stephanie Plum # 5)
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