Smokin' Seventeen

  I found the disk and plugged it into Ranger’s computer. I took a relaxing breath, cleared my mind, and ran the video. The feeling of familiarity was so strong it was suffocating. This wasn’t someone from my distant past. This was someone I knew. I was hoping I’d watch the video, and it would clearly be Nick Alpha, but it wasn’t that simple. I just didn’t know. It didn’t feel any more like Alpha than a slew of men I frequently encountered.

  I mentally plugged a variety of men into the video. Vinnie was too short. Albert Klaughn was too short. My father not athletic enough. Ranger and Morelli were possibilities, although not so much Ranger. Ranger’s movements were too fluid, his posture more military. Mooner was a possibility. Sally Sweet was a possibility. My friend Eddie Gazarra could fit. Tank was too big. There were several cops and members of Ranger’s team that might fit. Mooch Morelli. My cousin Kenny might fit. Joe Juniak was too big. I watched the tape one last time and ejected it. This doesn’t mean it isn’t Nick Alpha, I thought, but it doesn’t convince me it is.

  The plan for the new security system was still on the dining room table. I finished reviewing it and added a few more suggestions to my previous comments. I thought about leaving a sexy note for Ranger, but worried Ella might find it, so I scraped the note idea.

  I grabbed a bottle of water and an egg salad sandwich out of Ranger’s refrigerator and took the elevator to the Shelby. I drove to Hamilton and parked behind the bus. Mooner was sitting in a lawn chair he’d placed on the sidewalk. A couple large plastic trash containers filled with black shag carpet were also on the sidewalk.

  “How goes it?” Mooner asked.

  “A madman is sending me dead people, a crazy woman wants to run me over, I need to catch a guy who thinks he’s a vampire, and I have the vordo.”

  “Excellent,” Mooner said.

  I looked at the empty lot and tried to visualize the killer driving the car in and dragging the body out.

  “Did you kill Juki Beck?” I asked him.

  “I don’t think so,” Mooner said, “but heck, what do I know?”

  I turned my attention to the bus. The seven-foot Stephanie on the sidewalk side had something dripping off her face and boobs.

  “What happened to the bus?” I asked Mooner.

  “A little old lady came by. She was dressed all in black, and she threw a bunch of eggs at you. Then she started laughing this real crazy laugh. It was like witch cackle. And then she put her finger to her eye, spit on the sidewalk, and left. Freaked me out, dude.”

  Okay, so Morelli was fun and sexy and smart and handsome. It might not be enough to compensate for the fact that he came with an evil grandmother. Maybe my mother was right, and I should consider Dave. I was pretty sure his grandparents were dead.

  I gave Mooner the peace sign, and I returned to the Shelby and ate my sandwich and drank my water. I looked at my hair in the rearview mirror and wondered if my mother was right. Maybe I needed some sprucing up. Especially now that I was riding around in the Shelby. I supposed it wouldn’t hurt to have Mr. Alexander sprinkle in some blond highlights.

  • • •

  I definitely had to capture Ziggy. I’d had the highlights put in, and then it was like something snapped in my brain. Not only did I have a manicure and pedicure … I went on a shopping spree. Once my toes were painted pink and pretty I had to go all the way.

  I rolled into my apartment building parking lot and was relieved to find it back to normal. No emergency vehicles, no crime scene tape, no car with a dead guy in it. I let myself into my apartment, said hello to Rex, and went directly to my bedroom. I dropped the bags and flopped spread-eagle on my bed. Deep breaths, I told myself, this is a simple panic attack. No big deal. Everyone has them. All you have to do is drag Ziggy back to jail, get your capture money from Connie, and you can pay your credit card bill. And there’s a possibility that the clothes will look terrible on you, and you’ll take them back. Just because they looked good in the store doesn’t mean they’ll look good now.

  I sat up and dumped the clothes out on the bed. Semi-dressy red dress with a low scoop neck and swirly skirt, and spike-heeled red shoes. I tried them on and twirled in front of my bathroom mirror. I looked fabulous. No way was I taking them back.

  I changed back into jeans, T-shirt, and sneakers, took my notepad to the dining room table, and listed out all the places I might find Ziggy. I had a lot of evening activities, but his house and Maronelli’s were the only two daytime leads. No point spinning my wheels looking for Ziggy now, I thought. I’d go after him tonight.

  I opened my laptop and plugged Nick Alpha into some of the search programs we used to find people. Bad enough I was sitting here waiting for Regina Bugle to run me over, I wasn’t going to sit around waiting for the next dead body delivery … or worse, discover the next dead body was mine.

  From what I could get online, Nick was currently without wife. He’d been married twice and divorced twice. He had two adult children by the first wife and none by the second. He had no recent credit activity and no current address. His parole officer would have an address, but I didn’t have access to his parole officer.

  I called Connie because Connie had access to almost everything, one way or another.

  “What’s all that noise?” I asked her. “Are you having a party? I can hardly hear you over the music.”

  “It’s the television. I have it cranked up to drown out my mother’s humming.”

  “I need information on Nick Alpha.”

  “What?”

  “Nick Alpha,” I yelled into the phone. “I ran him through the basic programs, but nothing current turned up. I’m looking for a home address. Does he have a car? And is he working?”

  “I’ll make some phone calls and get back to you.”

  I hung up, and there was a knock on my door. There was a time when this would have generated happy excitement that I had a visitor. That time was in the past, and a knock on the door now conjured visions of Regina Bugle, a big lumpy guy in a Frankenstein mask, and Dave Brewer. I crept to the door and looked out the peephole, and sure enough, it was Dave. He had a bottle of wine and a grocery bag. Yes, he was reliably nice. Yes, he was a good cook. No, I did not want him in my apartment. I held my breath and tiptoed away.

  Ten minutes later I rechecked the peephole. Dave was still there. I retreated to my bedroom and folded the clean laundry that had been sitting in my laundry basket all week. I made my bed. I brushed my teeth. I went back and looked out the peephole. Dave was still there. Criminy. What did it take to get rid of this guy?

  I very quietly made myself a peanut butter sandwich and washed it down with a beer. I checked my email. I admired my toes. I fell asleep at the dining room table and awoke with a start when the phone rang.

  “Thank goodness you’re home,” Grandma Mazur said. “This is an emergency. I was supposed to go to the funeral parlor tonight with Lucille Ticker, and she just called and said her hemorrhoids were acting up, and she’s staying home. I need a ride real bad. Your mother is at some church function, and your father is at the lodge doing whatever it is he does there. The viewing starts in ten minutes, and it’s going to be the event of the year. Lou Dugan is laid out.”

  Viewings weren’t high on my list of favorite things to do, but Lou Dugan’s viewing could be worthwhile. There was a chance Nick Alpha would be there. What better place to confront a killer than at his victim’s viewing?

  “I’m on my way,” I told grandma.

  I ran into my bedroom and made a quick wardrobe change into black heels, a black pencil skirt, and a white wrap shirt. God forbid my mother found out I went to a viewing in jeans and a T-shirt. Dave was still in the hall when I burst out the door.

  “Omigosh,” I said. “What are you doing here?”

  “I knocked, but no one answered.”

  “I must have been in the shower. Sorry, but I have to go. I’m late picking Grandma up.”

  “I could go in and cook,” Dave said.

  “He
re’s the thing, Dave. This isn’t working. You need to find a different twirler.”

  “I don’t want a different twirler.”

  I rolled my eyes, grunted, and locked my door. “Gotta go,” I said. And I hustled down the hall and into the elevator.

  He took the stairs, and we reached the lobby at the same time.

  “It’s Morelli, right?” Dave said. “Morelli doesn’t want you spending time with me.”

  I crossed the lot and unlocked the Shelby. “Morelli doesn’t care. You’re not a threat. And besides, Morelli would trade me in for a lamb chop.”

  “New car?” Dave asked.

  “Yeah. Someone dumped a dead guy in my SUV.”

  “It’s hard to keep up with your cars.”

  I got behind the wheel, locked my doors, waved good-bye to Dave, and drove out of the lot. I felt kind of bad leaving him standing there with his wine and his grocery bag, but honestly I didn’t know what else to do with him. He wasn’t paying attention.

  Grandma was waiting for me at the curb. She was wearing a cherry red dress with a matching jacket, little black heels, and a pearl necklace, and she was holding her big black leather purse. Grandma carried a .45 long barrel, and it didn’t fit into a more dainty purse. Her lipstick matched her dress, and her hair was perfectly curled.

  I pulled up next to her, and she got in.

  “This is a beaut of a car,” she said, buckling her seat belt. “I bet this car belongs to Ranger.”

  “Yep.”

  “It’s a shame he doesn’t want to marry you. He’d get my vote. He’s sexy as all get out, and he’s got badass cars.”

  “Do you like him better than Dave?”

  “Don’t get me wrong. I like Dave okay, but I’d take sex over cooking any day of the week. You can buy a burger, but it’s not every day you find a man with a package like Ranger. And I’m not talking about what you’re thinking, although I noticed, and it looks pretty good. I’m talking about the whole package from his sideburns on down. He’s hot. And I think he’s smart. He’s made a success of himself.”

  “He has baggage,” I said. “He’s not willing to take on more.”

  “Then I guess I’d go with the guy who can cook.”

  “What about Morelli?”

  “He’s okay. He’s hot, too, but I don’t see you making much progress there.”

  I pulled into the funeral home lot, but there were no spaces left. I let Grandma out and found a parking place a block away. Everyone was here to see Lou Dugan. I walked back to the funeral home and made my way through the crush of people on the porch, through the open doors, and into the lobby. I worked my way through the crowd, head down to minimize social contact, breathing shallow to minimize the smell of funeral flowers and senior citizens.

  Someone snagged my elbow, and I was forced to pick my head up. It was Mrs. Gooley. I went to school with her daughter Grace.

  “Stephanie Plum!” she said. “I haven’t seen you in years, but I read about you in the paper. Remember when you burned this funeral home down? That was something.”

  “It was an accident.”

  “I hear you were the one to discover poor Lou, God rest his soul.”

  “Actually he was dug up by a backhoe. I got there a little later.”

  “Is it true he was reaching up, trying to get out of his grave?”

  “You’ll have to excuse me,” I said, easing away. “I’m trying to find Grandma.”

  A sign advertised the Dugan viewing in slumber room number one. This was big time. Not everyone got to have a viewing in slumber room number one. It was the largest room and was located directly off the lobby.

  I inched my way through the mob to slumber room one and was stopped at the door by two women I didn’t recognize.

  “Omigosh,” the one said. “You’re Stephanie Plum. You were right there when Lou tried to climb out of his grave. What was it like?”

  “He didn’t try to climb out of his grave,” I said.

  An older woman joined the group. “Are you Stephanie Plum?” she asked.

  “No,” I said.

  “You look a little like the picture on the bus, except for your chest.”

  “Yeah, I get that a lot,” I said.

  THIRTY-TWO

  I PUSHED INTO the funeral home viewing room and took a position on the back wall. I couldn’t see Grandma, but I knew she would be working her way up to the casket. And when she finally got up there she’d be in a snit because it was closed. It didn’t matter what was left of the deceased, Grandma wanted to see it. She figured if she made the effort to come out and got all dressed up, she at least deserved a peek.

  I’d hoped to find Nick Alpha here, or at least someone who might be associated with him, but people were too smashed together. It was impossible to circulate through the room, and I couldn’t see over the heads of the people standing in front of me. My hope was that it would clear out a little toward the end of the viewing time.

  There were no chairs and standing in the heels was getting old. Temperature in the room had to be hovering around ninety, and I could feel my hair frizzing. I checked my iPhone for text messages. One from Connie telling me she was waiting for a reply from Alpha’s parole officer. Mr. Mikowitz came over to tell me he thought I looked good on the bus. His nose was red, he smelled heavily of Jim Beam, and his pink scalp was sweating under his five-strand comb-over. I thanked him for the compliment, and he moved on.

  I could hear a disturbance going on in the front of the room by the casket, and a funeral home attendant in a black suit moved toward it. I assumed this was Grandma trying to get the lid up. I’d been through this before, and I wasn’t stepping in unless a free-for-all broke out, or I heard gunshot.

  Someone jostled against me, I looked around, and I locked eyes with Nick Alpha.

  “The whole time I was in prison I lived for the day when I’d get out and set things right for Jimmy,” he said, leaning in close, talking low. “I’m going to kill you just like you killed my little brother, but I’m going to let you worry about it for a while. Not too much longer, but for a while. It won’t be the first time I’ve had to kill someone, but it’s going to be the most enjoyable.”

  His eyes were cold and his mouth was set hard. He stepped back and disappeared into the sea of mourners, snoops, and partygoers.

  Sometimes you want to be careful what you wish for because you might get it. I’d wanted to talk to Nick Alpha, and now not so much. At least he wanted me to worry a little. That meant he probably wouldn’t kill me on my way out of the funeral home, so everything was good. And if he was the guy who was killing everyone else, he’d choke me first. I liked my odds with that better than getting shot. In my mind I played out a scenario where I stabbed the assailant in the leg with my nail file and was able to foil the choking.

  The black-suited funeral director moved people out of his way, and escorted Grandma over to me. “Take her home,” he said. “Please.”

  “I’m not going until I get a cookie,” Grandma said. “I always like to have a cookie after I’ve paid my respects.”

  The funeral director gave me a five-dollar bill. “Buy her a cookie. Buy her a whole box of cookies. Just get her out of here.”

  “You better be nice to me,” Grandma said to the director. “I’m old, and I’m going to die soon, and I got my eye on the deluxe slumber bed with the mahogany carvings. I’m going out first class.”

  The director sagged a little. “I’d like to count on that, but life is cruel, and I can’t imagine you leaving us anytime in the near future.”

  I took Grandma by the elbow and helped steer her out of the viewing room. We made a fast detour to the cookie table, she wrapped three in a napkin and put them in her purse, and we hustled to the car.

  “What did you do this time?” I asked her when we were on the way home.

  “I didn’t do anything. I was a perfect lady.”

  “You must have done something.”

  “I might have tried t
o get the lid up, but it was nailed closed, and then I sort of knocked over a vase of flowers onto the dearly departed’s wife, and she got a little wet.”

  “A little wet?”

  “She got real wet. It was a big vase. She looked like she’d been left out in the rain all day. And it would never have happened if they hadn’t nailed the lid down.”

  “The man was nothing but rotted bones.”

  “Yeah, but you got to see him. I don’t know why I couldn’t get to see him. I wanted to see what his rotted bones looked like.”

  I dropped Grandma off and made sure she got into the house, and then I drove to the end of the block and turned out of the Burg, into Morelli’s neighborhood. I drove to his house and idled. His SUV wasn’t there. No lights on. I could call him, but I was half afraid he’d be on a date. The very thought gave me a knot in my stomach. But then lately almost everything in my life gave me a knot.

  I continued on home, parked, and took the elevator to the second floor. I stepped out of the elevator and saw Dave. He was sitting on the floor, his back to my door.

  “Hi,” he said, standing, retrieving his wine and grocery bag.

  “What the heck are you doing here?”

  “Waiting for you?”

  “Why?”

  “I feel like cooking.”

  I blew out a sigh and opened my door. “Does the word ‘stalker’ mean anything to you?”

  “Do you have a stalker?”

  “You! You’re turning into a stalker.”

  He unpacked his groceries and hunted for the corkscrew. “I’m not a stalker. Stalkers don’t cook dinner.”

  I poured myself a glass of wine. “What are we having?”

  “Pasta. I’m going to make a light sauce with fresh vegetables and herbs. I have a loaf of French bread and cheese for you to grate.”