Eleven on Top (Stephanie Plum 11)

“Stephanie,” he said. “Always nice to see you.”

I appreciated the greeting, but I knew it was a big fat lie. Stiva was the consummate undertaker. He was an island of professional calm in an ocean of chaos. And he never alienated a future customer. The ugly truth is, Stiva would rather shove a sharp stick in his eye than see Grandma or me alive on his doorstep. Dead would be something else.

“I hope this visit isn't due to bad news,” Stiva said.

“I wanted to talk to you about Spiro. Have you seen him since the fire?” No.

“Spoken to him?”

“No. Why do you ask?”

“He was driving the car that ran over Morelli.”

Stiva went as still as stone, and his pale vanilla custard cheeks flushed pink. “Are you serious?”

“Unfortunately, yes. I'm sorry. I saw him clearly.”

“How does he look?” Stiva asked.

I felt my heart constrict at his response. He was a concerned parent, anxious to hear word of his missing son. What on earth could I say to Stiva?

“I only saw him briefly,” I said. “He seemed healthy. Maybe some scars on his face from the fire.”

“He must have been driving by and lost control of his car,” Stiva said. “At least I know he's alive. Thank you for coming in to tell me.”

“I thought you'd want to know.”

No point to saying more. Stiva didn't have information to share, and I didn't want to tell him the whole story. I left the funeral home and returned to the SUV. I drove two blocks to Pino's and got two meatball subs, a tub of coleslaw, and a tub of potato salad. Morelli was going to be in a bad mood after spending the afternoon with Lula. I figured I'd try to mellow him out with the sub before I dropped the news about my new job. Morelli wasn't going to be happy to hear I was working for Ranger.

I went out of my way on the trip home to drive by Anthony Barroni's house. I had no real basis for believing he was involved with Spiro and the missing men. Just a gut feeling. Maybe it was desperation. I wanted to think I had a grip on the problem. The grip loosened when I got to Barroni's house. No lights shining. Curtains drawn. Garage door closed. No car in driveway.

I turned at the corner and wound my way through the Burg to Chambers Street.

I crossed Chambers and two blocks later I pulled the SUV into Morelli's garage.

Big Blue and Lula's Firebird were still at the curb. I made sure the garage door was locked, and I carted the bags in through the back door.

“Is that Stephanie Plum coming through the back door?” Lula yelled. “ 'Cause if it's some maniac pervert I'm gonna kick his ass.”

“It's me,” I yelled back. “Sorry you don't get to do any ass kicking.”

I put the bags on the counter and went into the living room to see Lula and Morelli. Morelli was still on the couch. Bob was still on the floor. And Lula was packing up.

“This wasn't so bad,” Lula said. “We played poker and I won three dollars and fifty-seven cents. I would have won more, but your boyfriend fell asleep.”

“It's the drugs,” Morelli said. “You're a sucky poker player. I would have won if I wasn't all drugged up. You took advantage.”

“I won fair and square,” Lula said. “Anytime you want to get even you let me know. I can always use extra cash.”

“Any other fun things happen that I should know about?”

“Yeah,” Lula said. “His mother and grandmother came over. And they're nuts. The old lady said she was putting the eye on me. I told her she better not pull any of that voodoo shit with me or I'll beat her like a pinata.”

“I bet that went over big.”

“They left after that. They brought a casserole, and I put it in the refrigerator. I didn't think it looked all that good.”

“No cake?”