Two for the Dough (Stephanie Plum 2)

“I don't want to know what else I'm missing.”

“So what is it that you have and Kenny wants?”

Spiro grabbed his crotch and gave a hoist. “He was small. You know what I mean?”

I felt my upper lip curl back. “You're kidding, right?”

“You never know what motivates people. Sometimes these things eat at them.”

“Yeah, well, if you come up with anything else let me know.”

I went back to the room and collected Grandma Mazur. Mrs. Mackey was on her feet, looking okay. Marjorie Boyer seemed a little green, but maybe it was just the lighting.

When we got to the lot I noticed an odd tilt to the Buick. Louie Moon was standing beside it, his expression serene, his eyes locked onto a large screwdriver sticking out of the whitewall. He could just as well have been watching grass grow.

Grandma squatted down to get a better look. “Don't seem right that someone should do this to a Buick,” she said.

I hated to give in to paranoia, but I didn't for a minute think this was an act of random vandalism.

“Did you see who did this?” I asked Louie.

He shook his head no. When he spoke his voice was soft and as flat as his eyes. “I just came out here to wait for the ERT.”

“And no one was in the lot? You didn't see any cars driving away?”

“No.”

I allowed myself the luxury of a sigh and went back inside to call for road service. I used the pay phone in the hall, unhappy to find that my hand was shaking as I fumbled to find a quarter in the bottom of my pocketbook. It's just a punctured tire, I told myself. It's no big deal. It's a car, for chrissake . . . an old car.

I had my father come to rescue Grandma Mazur, and while I waited for the tire to be replaced, I tried to imagine Kenny sneaking into the funeral home and leaving the note. It would have been fairly easy for Kenny to come in the back door and not be seen. Slicing off a finger would have been more difficult. It would have taken time.

Stephanie Plum 2 - Two For The Dough

8

The back door to the funeral home opened to a short hall, which led to the lobby. The door to the basement, the side door to the kitchen, and Con's office all opened from the hall. A small vestibule and double glass door, located between Con's office and the basement door, gave access to the macadam driveway running back to the garages. It was through this door that the deceased rolled on his last journey.

Two years ago Con had hired a decorator to spiff the place up. The decorator's colors of choice, mauve and lime, dotted the walls with pastoral landscapes. The floors were heavily padded and carpeted. Nothing squeaked. The entire house was designed to keep noise to a minimum, and now Kenny was sneaking about and not being heard.

I ran into Spiro in the hall. “I want to know more

about Kenny,” I said to him. “Where would Kenny go to hide out? Someone must be helping him. Who would he turn to?”

“Morellis and Mancusos always go back to the family. Someone dies, it's like they all died. They come in here in their ugly black dresses and coats and cry buckets for each other. My guess is he's living in a Mancuso attic.”

I wasn't so sure. Seemed to me Joe would know by now if Kenny was hiding in a Mancuso attic. The Mancusos and Morellis weren't known for their ability to keep secrets from each other.

“If he wasn't in a Mancuso attic?”

Spiro shrugged. “He went to Atlantic City a lot.”

“He seeing any girls besides Julia Cenetta?”

“You want to go through the phone book?”

“That many, huh?”

I left through the side door and waited impatiently while Al from Al's Auto Body unjacked my car. Al stood and wiped his hands on his coveralls before handing me the bill.