Eleven on Top (Stephanie Plum 11)

What I knew with certainty was that Ranger would be looking for me. He'd return from Florida , and he'd do what he does best... he'd go into tracking mode. Ranger would find me. I just hoped he'd get to me in time. I heard a door slam and an engine catch. The casket shifted. I was pretty sure I was being driven somewhere. I hoped it wasn't the cemetery. I strained to hear voices. If I heard voices I'd make noise. I seemed to have air, but I didn't want to chance depleting the oxygen if I didn't hear voices. We were stopping and starting and turning corners.

We stopped, and a door opened and slammed shut, and then I was sliding and

bumping along. I'd been to a lot of funerals with Grandma Mazur. I knew what

this was. I was moving on the casket gurney. I was out of the hearse or the truck or whatever, and I was being taken somewh

ere. I was wheeled around corners, and then the motion stopped. Nothing happened for what seemed like years, and finally the lid was raised, and I blinked up at Con.

“Good,” he said, “you're still alive. Didn't die of fright, eh?” He looked in at me. “Undertaker humor.”

My first thought was that I wouldn't cry. I'd try to stay smart. I'd keep him talking. I'd look for an opportunity to escape. I'd stall for time. Time was my friend. If I had enough time, Ranger would find me.

“I need to get out of this casket,” I said.

“I don't think that's a good idea.”

“I need to use the bathroom... bad.”

Con was fastidious to a fault, and he looked genuinely horrified at the possibility of a woman peeing in one of his silk-lined caskets. He cranked the gurney down to floor level and helped me wriggle myself out of the box.

“This is the way it will work,” he said. “I don't want you making a mess all over everything, so I'm going to let you use the bathroom. I'm going to release one cuff, but I'll stun-gun you if you do anything dumb.”

It took a moment to get my balance, and then I very carefully shuffled into the bathroom. When I shuffled out I felt a lot better. My hands were no longer numb and the cramps in my legs had subsided. We were in a house that looked like a small '70s ranch. It was sparsely furnished with mix-and-match hand-me-downs.

The kitchen linoleum was old and the paint was faded. The counters were red Formica dotted with cigarette burns. The white ceramic sink was rust stained. Some of the over-the-counter kitchen cabinets were open and I could see they were empty. The casket was in the kitchen, and I was guessing it had been wheeled in from an attached garage.

“Is this in retaliation for Spiro's death or the fire in the funeral home?” I asked Con.

“Only tangentially. It's a bonus. Although it's a very nice bonus. There've been a couple nice bonuses to this charade. I got to kill Mama Macaroni. Who wouldn't love to do that? And then I got to bury her! Life doesn't get much better. The Macaronis bought the top-of-the-line slumber bed.”

I cut my eyes to my slumber bed.

“Sorry,” Con said. “Molded plastic. Not one of my better caskets. Lined with acetate. Still, it's good quality for people who haven't set aside funeral expenses. I'd like to put your grandmother in one of these. Her death should be declared a national holiday. What is this morbid obsession she has with the dead? I have to nail the lid down when there's a closed casket. And she's never happy with the cookies. Always wanting the kind with the icing in the middle. What does she think, cookies grow on trees?” Con smiled.

“Maybe I'll nail your lid down just to annoy her. That would be fun.”

“So, I guess that means you're not going to bury me alive?”

“No. If I buried you alive I'd have to put you back in the casket. And I have plans for the casket. Mary Aleski is on a table back at the mortuary, and she'll be on view in that casket tomorrow. And besides, do you have any idea how much digging is involved in burying someone in a casket? I have a better plan. I'm going to hack you up and leave you here on the kitchen floor. It's important to my plan that you're found in this house.”

“Why?”

“This house belongs to Spiro. It's tied up in probate because he hasn't been pronounced dead. If Spiro killed you it would be in this house, don't you think?”

“You still haven't told me why you want to kill me.”

“It's a long story.”

“Are we in a rush?”

Con looked at his watch. “No. As a matter of fact, I'm ahead of schedule. I'm coordinating this with the last of the Spiro sightings. Spiro will be seen in his car around midnight, and then I'll come back here and kill you, and Spiro will disappear forever.”

“I don't get the Spiro tie-in. I don't get anything.”

“This is about a crime that happened a long time ago. Thirty-six years to be exact. I was stationed at Fort Dix , and I masterminded a hijacking. I had four friends who helped me. Michael Barroni, Louis Lazar, Ben Gorman, and Jim Runion.”

“The four men who were found shot to death behind the farmer's market.”