Two for the Dough (Stephanie Plum 2)

When the last of the mourners cleared the front porch I walked Spiro through the public areas on the top two floors of the house, securing windows and doors. Only two rooms were occupied. One by the bogus brother.

The silence was eerie, and my discomfort with death was enhanced by Spiro's presence. Spiro Stiva, Demonic Mortician. I had my hand on the butt of the little S & W, thinking it wouldn't have hurt to load up with silver bullets.

We paced through the kitchen, into the back hall. Spiro opened the door to the cellar.

“Hold it,” I said. “Where are you going?”

“We need to check the cellar door.”

“We?”

“Yeah, we. Like in me and my fucking bodyguard.”

“I don't think so.”

“You want to get paid?”

Not that bad. “Are there bodies down there?”

“Sorry, we're fresh out of bodies.”

“So what's down there?”

“The furnace, for Chrissake!”

I unholstered my gun. “I'll be right behind you.”

Spiro looked at the five-shot Smith & Wesson. “Cripes, that's a goddamn sissy gun.”

“I bet you wouldn't say that if I shot you in the foot with it.”

His obsidian eyes locked with mine. “I hear you killed a man with that gun.”

Not something I wanted to rap about with Spiro. “Are we going downstairs, or what?”

The basement was basically one large room, and pretty much what you'd expect from a basement. With the possible exception of caskets stacked in one of the corners.

The outside door was just to the right at the foot of the stairs. I checked the door to make sure the bolt was thrown. “Nobody here,” I said to Spiro, holstering my gun. I'm not sure whom I'd expected to shoot. Kenny, I suppose. Maybe Spiro. Maybe ghosts.

We returned to the first floor, and I waited in the hall while Spiro bumbled around in his office, finally emerging wearing a top coat, carrying a gym bag.

I followed him to the back door and held the door open, watching him activate the alarm and hit the light switch. The lights inside dimmed. The exterior lights remained on.

Spiro shut the door and pulled car keys from his coat pocket. “We'll take my car. You ride shotgun.”

“How about you take your car, I take my car.”

“No way. I pay a hundred bucks, I want my gunny sitting next to me. You can take the car home with you and pick me up in the morning.”

“That wasn't part of the deal.”

“You were out there anyway. I saw you in the lot this morning, waiting for Kenny to make a move, so you could haul his ass back to jail. What's the big deal, so you drive me to work.”

Spiro's Lincoln was parked close to the door. He aimed his remote at the car, and the alarm chirped off. He lit up when we were safely inside.

We were sitting in a pool of light on a deserted patch of driveway. Not a good spot to linger. Especially if Morelli wasn't in a position to see this part of the property.

“Put it in gear,” I said to Spiro. “It's too easy for Kenny to get to us here.”