Explosive Eighteen (Stephanie Plum 18)

“Yeah, it’s a pip,” Grandma said, “but I’ve seen you with worse. Remember that explosion that burned your eyebrows off?”

Good lord, this is what it’s come to, I thought. My own grandmother isn’t shocked to see me with a black eye. I might as well admit it. I’m a train wreck.

“Is there a good story that goes with the shiner?” Grandma asked.

“I slipped in a parking garage.”

“Too bad,” Grandma said. “I could use something juicy for conversational material. Do you mind if I make something up?”

“Yes, I mind!”

I drove the short distance to the funeral home, off-loaded Grandma at the entrance, and trolled for a parking place. The small funeral home lot was full, but I found parking on the street a block away. Grandma had been right about the viewing. The building was packed. At three minutes after sev

en, the people were already spilling out the door onto the large wraparound front porch.

I kept my head down as I inched my way through the crowd, hoping not to attract attention. I was in the lobby, about to enter Slumber Room #1, and I got a call on my cell phone.

“I knew you would go to the viewing,” Joyce said.

“Where are you?”

“I’m outside. And don’t come out looking for me. You’ll never find me. I’m dying to come in and check it all out, but it’s too risky.”

“Yeah, I’d capture you.”

“You’re the least of my worries,” Joyce said. “Did you get the key?”

“Yes. Now what?”

“Hang on to it. Did you get up to the casket yet? Did you see the grieving widow?”

“No. It took me twenty minutes to cross the lobby. It’s jammed in here.”

“I want a report on the widow,” Joyce said. “I want to know what jewelry she’s wearing. It’s a closed casket, right?”

“I don’t know for sure, but the guy was compacted and aged for a couple days. I’m guessing he’s not real attractive at this point.”

“He wasn’t real attractive before. How about the people there? Anyone stand out?”

“In what way?”

“Remember David Niven in the Pink Panther movies?”

I looked around. I didn’t see David Niven. “No David Nivens here,” I told her.

I hung up with Joyce, and I bumped into Morelli.

“What are you doing here?” I asked him. “Is this official business or did you come for the cookies?”

“Official business. The captain wanted police presence, and I’m supposed to be looking for Joyce.”

“Do you think you’ll find her?”

“Not here. She’d be crazy to show up here. Although it’s hard to assess the extent of Joyce’s craziness.”

“My exact thoughts.”

Morelli was wearing his show-no-emotion cop face. “Berger let me see the tape.”