Hard Eight

  “You're always the one with the jobs,” I said to my mother. “You always know when they're hiring at the button factory.”

  “She ran through all my contacts,” my mother said. “I'm left with nothing. And unemployment is up. I can't get her a job boxing tampons.”

  “Maybe you could take her along with you on a bust,” Grandma said. “Maybe that'd perk her spirits up.”

  “No way,” I said. “She already tried being a bounty hunter, and she fainted the first time someone held a gun to her head.”

  My mother made the sign of the cross. “Dear God,” she said.

  “Well, you gotta do something,” Grandma said. “I'm missing all my TV shows. I tried to change the channel, and she growled at me.”

  “She growled at you?”

  “It was scary.”

  “Hey, Valerie,” I said. “Is there a problem?”

  No response.

  “I got an idea,” Grandma said. “Why don't we give her a zap with your stun gun? Then when she's out cold we can get the remote.”

  I thought about the stun gun in my bag. I wouldn't mind testing it. I wouldn't even mind zapping Valerie. Truth is, I've secretly wanted to zap Valerie for years. I slid a look at my mother and was instantly discouraged.

  “Maybe I can get you a job,” I said to Valerie. “Would you be willing to work for a lawyer?”

  She kept focused on the television. “Is he married?”

  “No.”

  “Gay?”

  “I don't think so.”

  “How old is he?”

  “I'm not sure. Sixteen, maybe.” I hauled my cell phone out of my bag and called Kloughn.

  “Wow, that would be great if your sister would work for me,” Kloughn said. “She could have all the time she wants for lunch. And she could do her laundry while she works.”

  I severed the connection and turned to Valerie. “You have a job.”

  “Bummer,” Valerie said. “I was just starting to get the hang of this depression thing. Do you think this guy will marry me?”

  I did some internal eye rolling, wrote Kloughn's name and address on a piece of paper, and gave it to Valerie. “You can start tomorrow at nine. If he's late, you can wait for him in the Laundromat. You won't have any trouble recognizing him. He's the guy with the two black eyes.”

  My mother did another sign of the cross.

  I swiped a couple slices of baloney and a slice of cheese from the fridge and headed for the door. I wanted to get out of the house before I had to answer any more questions about Albert Kloughn.

  The phone rang as I was leaving.

  “Hold up,” Grandma said to me. “This here's Florence Szuch, and she says she's at the mall, and she says Evelyn Soder is eating lunch in the food court.”

  I took off running, and Grandma was right behind me.

  “I'm going, too,” Grandma said. “I got a right, on account of how it was my snitch that called.”

  We jumped into the car, and I rocketed away. The mall was twenty minutes on a good day. I hoped Evelyn was a slow eater.

  “Was she sure it was Evelyn?”

  “Yep. Evelyn and Annie, and another woman and her two children.”

  Dotty and her kids.

  “I didn't have time to get my purse,” Grandma said. “So I haven't got a gun. I'm going to be real disappointed if there's shooting, and I'm the only one without a gun.”

  If my mother knew my grandmother was carrying a gun around in her purse she'd have a cow. “First off, I haven't got a gun,” I said. “And second thing, there won't be any shooting.”

  I hit Route 1 and put my foot to the floor. This brought me into the flow of traffic. In Jersey we think the speed limit is merely a suggestion. No one in Jersey would actually do the speed limit.

  “You should be a race car driver,” Grandma said. “You'd be good at it. You could drive in them NASCAR races. I'd do it, but probably you need a driver's license, and I don't have one of those.”

  I saw the sign for the shopping center and took the off-ramp with my fingers crossed. What had started as a courtesy to Mabel had become a crusade. I really wanted to talk to Evelyn. Evelyn was critical to ending the crazy war game. And ending the war game was critical to not getting my heart ripped out.

  I knew every square inch of the mall, and I parked at the entrance to the food court. I wanted to tell Grandma to wait in the car, but that would have been wasted energy.

  “If Evelyn is still there, I need to talk to her alone,” I said to Grandma. You're going to have to stay out of sight."

  “Sure,” Grandma said. “I can do that.”

  We entered the mall together and quickly walked to the food court. I watched the people while I walked, looking for Evelyn or Dotty. The mall was moderately full. Not jammed like on weekends. Just enough people to give me cover. My breath caught when I recognized Dotty and her kids. I'd memorized the photo of Evelyn and Annie, and they were there, too.

  “Now that I'm here, I wouldn't mind having a big pretzel,” Grandma said.

  “You get a pretzel, and I'll talk to Evelyn. Just don't leave the food court.”

  I stepped away from Grandma and the light suddenly dimmed in front of me. I was in the shadow of Martin Paulson. He didn't look much different than he had in the police station parking lot, rolling around on the ground, trussed up in shackles and handcuffs. I imagine fashion choices are limited when you're shaped like Paulson.

  “Well, lookey here,” Paulson said. “It's Little Miss Asshole.”

  “Not now,” I said, moving around him.

  He moved with me, blocking my way. “I have a score to settle with you.”

  What are the chances? I finally find Evelyn, and I run into Martin Paulson, itching for a fight. “Forget it,” I said. “What are you doing here anyway?”

  “I work here. I work at the drugstore, and I'm on my lunch break. I was falsely accused, you know.”

  Yeah, right. “Get out of my way.”

  “Make me.”

  I pulled the stun gun out of my bag, rammed it into Paulson's big belly, and hit the button. Nothing happened.

  Paulson looked down at the stun gun. “What is that, a toy?”

  “It's a stun gun.” A worthless piece of crap stun gun.

  Paulson took it from me and looked at it. “Cool,” he said. He turned it off, and then he turned it on. And then he touched it to my arm. There was a flash of light in my head, and everything went black.

  Before the blackness turned back to light, I could hear voices, far away. I struggled to get to the voices and they became louder, more distinct. I managed to get my eyes open, and faces swam into view. I tried to blink away the buzzing, and I took an assessment of the situation. Flat on my back on the floor. Paramedics hovering over me. Oxygen mask over my nose. Blood pressure cuff on my arm. Grandma beyond the paramedics, looking worried. Paulson beyond Grandma, peeking at me over her shoulder. Paulson. Now I remember. The son of a bitch knocked me out with my own stun gun!

  I jumped up and lunged at Paulson. My legs gave out and I went down to my knees. “Paulson, you pig!” I yelled.

  Paulson ducked back and disappeared.

  I was trying to get the oxygen mask off, and the paramedics were trying to keep it on. It was the attack of the geese all over again.

  “I thought you were dead,” Grandma said.

  “Not nearly. I accidentally came into contact with my stun gun when it was live.”

  “Now I recognize you,” one of the paramedics said to me. “You're the bounty hunter who burned the funeral home down.”

  “I burned it down, too,” Grandma said. “You should have been there. It was like fireworks.”

  I stood and tested my ability to walk. I was a little creaky, but I didn't fall down. That was a good sign, right?

  Grandma handed me, my shoulder bag. “That nice round man gave me your stun gun. I guess it got dropped in all the excitement. I put it in your bag,” she said.

  First c
hance I got I was going to pitch the damn stun gun into the Delaware River. I looked around, but Evelyn was long gone. “I don't suppose you saw Evelyn or Annie?” I asked Grandma.

  “No. I got myself one of those big soft pretzels, and I had them dip it in chocolate.”

  I DROPPED GRANDMA off at my parents' house, and I went home to my apartment. I stood in the hall at the door for a moment before inserting the key in the lock. I took a deep breath, unlocked the door, and pushed it open. I stepped into the small foyer area, and I very softly sang, who's afraid of the big bad wolf . . . . I peeked into my kitchen and felt a sense of relief. Everything was okay in the kitchen. I moved into the living room and stopped singing. Steven Soder was sitting on my couch. He was listing slightly to one side, holding the remote in his right hand, but he wasn't watching television. He was dead, dead, dead. His eyes were milky and unseeing, his lips were parted, as if he'd been surprised, his skin was ghoulishly bloodless, and he had a bullet hole in the middle of his forehead. He was wearing a baggy sweater and khaki slacks. And he was barefoot.

  Criminey, isn't it bad enough I have a dead guy sitting on my couch? Does he have to be freaking barefoot?

  I silently backed out of the room, and out of my apartment. I stood in the hall and tried to dial 911 on my cell phone, but my hands were shaking, and I had to try several times before I got it right.

  I stayed in the hall until the police arrived. When my apartment was swarming with cops, I crept back into my kitchen, wrapped my arms around Rex's cage, and took Rex out of the apartment into the hall with me.

  I was still in the hall, holding the hamster cage, when Morelli arrived. Mrs. Karwatt from next door and Irma Brown from upstairs were with me. Beyond Mr. Wolesky's door I could hear Regis. Not even for a homicide would Mr. Wolesky miss Regis. No matter it was a rerun.

  I was sitting on the floor, back to the wall, hamster cage on my lap. Morelli squatted next to me and looked in at Rex. “Is he okay?”

  I nodded yes.

  “How about you?” Morelli asked. “Are you okay?”

  My eyes filled with tears. I wasn't okay.

  “He was sitting on the couch,” Irma said to Morelli. “Can you imagine? Just sitting there with the remote in his hand.” She shook her head. “That couch has death cooties now. I'd cry, too, if my couch had death cooties.”

  “There's no such thing as death cooties,” Mrs. Karwatt said.

  Irma looked over at her. “Would you sit on that couch, now?”

  Mrs. Karwatt pressed her lips together.

  “Well?” Irma asked.

  “Maybe if it was washed real good.”

  “You can't wash away death cooties,” Irma said. End of discussion. Voice of authority.

  Morelli sat next to me, his back to the wall, too. Mrs. Karwatt left. And Irma left. And it was just Morelli and me and Rex.

  “So what do you think about death cooties?” Morelli asked me.

  “I don't know what the hell death cooties are, but I'm creeped out enough to want to get rid of the couch. And I'm going to boil the remote and dip it in bleach.”

  “This is bad,” Morelli said. “This isn't fun and games anymore. Did Mrs. Karwatt hear or see anything unusual?”

  I shook my head no. “Home is supposed to be the safe place,” I said to Morelli. “Where do you go when your home doesn't feel safe anymore?”

  “I don't know,” Morelli said. “I've never had to face that.”

  It was hours before the body was removed, and the apartment was sealed.

  “Now what?” Morelli asked. “You can't stay here tonight.”

  Our eyes locked, and we were both thinking the same thing. A couple months ago Morelli wouldn't have asked that question. I would have stayed with Morelli. Things were different now. “I'll stay with my parents,” I said. “Just overnight, until I figure things out.”

  Morelli went in and grabbed some clothes for me and shoved the essentials in a gym bag. He loaded Rex and me into his truck and drove us to the Burg.

  VALERIE AND THE kids were sleeping in my old bedroom, so I slept on the couch with Rex on the floor beside me. I have friends who take Xanax to help them sleep. I take macaroni and cheese. And if my mom is making it for me, so much the better.

  I had macaroni and cheese at 11:00 and fell into a fitful sleep. I had more macaroni at 2:00 and more at 4:30. A microwave is a wonderful invention.

  At 7:30 I woke up to a lot of yelling going on upstairs. My father was causing the usual morning bottleneck in the bathroom.

  “I have to brush my teeth,” Angie said. “I'm going to be late for school.”

  “What about me?” Grandma wanted to know. “I'm old. I can't hold it forever.” She hammered on the bathroom door. “What are you doing in there anyway?”

  Mary Alice was making snorting horse sounds, galloping in place and pawing the floor.

  “Stop that galloping,” Grandma shouted to Mary Alice. “You're giving me a headache. Go downstairs to the kitchen and get some pancakes.”

  “Hay!” Mary Alice said. “Horses eat hay. And I already ate. I have to brush my teeth. It's real bad when horses get cavities.”

  The toilet flushed, and the bathroom door opened. There was a brief scuffle, and the door slammed shut. Valerie and the two girls groaned. Grandma beat them to the bathroom.

  An hour later, my father was out to work. The girls were off to school. And Valerie was in a state.

  “Is this too flirty?” she asked, standing in front of me in a gauzy little flowered dress and strappy heels. “Would a suit be better?”

  I was scanning the paper, looking for mention of Soder. “It doesn't matter,” I said. “Wear what you want.”

  “I need help,” Valerie said, arms flapping. “I can't make these decisions all by myself. And what about the shoes? Should I wear these pink heels? Or should I wear the retro Weitzmans?”

  I found a dead man sitting on my couch last night. I have couch cooties, and Valerie needs me to make a shoe decision.

  “Wear the pink things,” I said. “And take extra quarters, if you have any. Kloughn can always use extra quarters.”

  The phone rang, and Grandma ran to answer it. The calls would start now and would go on all day. The Burg loved a good murder.

  “I have a daughter who finds men dead on her couch,” my mother said. “Why me? Lois Seltzman's daughter never finds dead men on her couch.”

  “Isn't this something,” Grandma said. “Three calls already, and it's not even nine. This could be bigger than the time your car got crushed by the garbage truck.”

  I HAD VALERIE drive me to my apartment building on her way to work. I needed my car, and my car was parked in the lot. Upstairs, my apartment was sealed. Fine by me. I was in no great rush to move back in.

  I got into the CR-V and sat there a moment, listening to the quiet. Quiet was in short supply at my parents' house.

  Mr. Kleinschmidt passed me on his way to his car. “Nice going, chicky,” he said. “We can always count on you to keep things interesting. Did you really find a dead guy on your couch?”

  I nodded. “Yes.”

  “Boy, that must have been something. I wish I could have seen him.”

  Mr. Kleinschmidt's enthusiasm dragged a smile out of me. “Maybe next time.”

  “Yeah,” Mr. Kleinschmidt said, happily. “Call me first thing next time.” He gave me a wave and went off to his car.

  Okay, so here we have a new point of view when it comes to dead people. Dead people can be fun. I thought about it for a couple minutes but had a hard time buying into the concept. The best I could do was an admission that Soder's death made my job easier. Evelyn had no reason to flee with Annie now that Soder was out of the picture. Mabel could stay in her house. Annie could return to school. Evelyn could get her life together.

  Unless Eddie Abruzzi was part of the reason Evelyn had to hide. If Evelyn left because she had something Abruzzi wanted, nothing would change.

  I looked at the blue
-and-white and the crime-scene truck in my parking lot. The bright spot in all this was that unlike snakes in the hall and spiders in my car, this was a major crime and the police would work hard to solve it. And how hard could it be to solve? Someone had dragged a dead man into the foyer, up a flight of stairs, down the hall, and into my apartment . . . during daylight hours.

  I dialed Morelli on my cell phone.