Fortune and Glory (Stephanie Plum 27)

The two keys appeared to be identical and weren’t normal house keys. They were five inches long with a slim barrel handle. Double-sided teeth were cut into one end of the handle and a one-inch square was at the other end. The names of the six La-Z-Boy owners were engraved in the square. We’d checked with Google and determined that the keys most likely opened a safe.

“I get his share of the treasure,” Grandma said. “It doesn’t matter we were only married for forty-five minutes before he had the heart attack. His will said I got just about everything. And on top of that there’s only three of the people named on the keys that are still alive, and two of them are going to jail for murder as soon as Stephanie can find them. The third is Benny the Skootch, and he’s not in good shape.”

This was all true. Three of the La-Z-Boy owners had died, and their chairs remained unoccupied in the back room. Two of the remaining mob guys, Lou Salgusta and Charlie Shine, were wanted for the murder Grandma and I witnessed. Charlie Shine was also in violation of a bail bond Vinnie had written on him over a year ago.

I hung my messenger bag on the back of a kitchen chair. I got a plate and a knife and fork and took my place at the small square table. Grandma sat next to me and my mom sat across from me.

“I think the treasure is here in Jersey,” Grandma said, taking a roll. “I can’t see them putting it far away. I did some checking, and it’s not like any of the six men were world travelers. What we have to do now is find the safe that goes with the keys.”

“That sort of safe usually has a combination lock that works in conjunction with the keys,” I said. “And we don’t know the combination.”

“Yes, but you got Ranger,” Grandma said. “And Ranger knows how to open everything.”

Ranger is the other man in my life. His given name is Carlos Manoso but he goes by Ranger. He’s former special forces, former bounty hunter, and on a few memorable occasions I’ve slept in his bed. He currently owns Rangeman, a high-end, under-the-radar security firm. And Grandma is right. Nothing stops Ranger when he wants entry.

I made myself a chicken salad sandwich and took some potato chips from the bag on the table. “Do you have any ideas about where this safe might be located besides New Jersey?” I asked Grandma.

“Not exactly,” Grandma said, “but I got a lot of feelers out. And I’m doing what you said about not telling anyone I found the keys. I’m just making it sound like I’m curious.”

“This is stupid,” my mother said to Grandma. “You’re going to get kidnapped again. Salgusta and Shine are going to burn our house down. You need to get rid of the keys. If you don’t want to give them to Salgusta or Shine, you should give them to Benny. Maybe he’ll give you some of the treasure.”

“No way,” Grandma said, “but I’ll hand some of the treasure over to Benny when I find it, being that he’s the one who was nice enough to give me Jimmy’s old chair. I was thinking Stephanie should talk to him and maybe he’ll spill the beans about the safe. He’s on a lot of meds. He might not know he’s giving up the secret.”

I had to give credit to Grandma. She was a master schemer. And she could be right about Benny. He was in his golden years that weren’t entirely golden. He had heart issues and weight issues. It took two wise guys to get him out of his La-Z-Boy. He was on prescribed meds and I suspected recreational meds, not to mention he liked a good cigar and never passed up a glass of whiskey. The names on the keys were all geriatric or dead hit men who were mostly okay guys when they weren’t whacking someone. This was true about Benny.

“I hear Benny is at home all depressed,” Grandma said. “He used to meet up with all his cronies at the Mole Hole, but now they’re either dead or hiding out. He’d probably be happy to have a visitor. I could even go with you. I’m real clever at worming information out of people.”

My mother did an eye roll and made the sign of the cross.

“I’ll stop in after lunch,” I said to Grandma. “I’ll go alone this time. If I can’t get anything out of him, we’ll bring you in next time.”

“Sounds like a plan,” Grandma said. “I have stuff to do anyway. I have follow-up phone calls to make. Jean Mulanowski said her nephew is a pit boss at one of the casinos in Atlantic City, and he told her that Jimmy was a regular. Her nephew is checking to see if Jimmy gave a local address. We’re thinking he might have kept a second apartment there.”

Originally, I thought I’d be pretty good at finding a treasure. After all, my real job is finding people and dragging them back to jail. People, treasure, what’s the difference other than the payoff? Finding skips has me living paycheck to paycheck, if I’m lucky. My thinking is, the treasure has to be worth a lot more. Unfortunately, it’s also turning out to be more difficult to find.

When I go after people, I already have a file full of clues assembled by the bond agency. Home addresses, work addresses, names of relatives, a picture. In the case of the treasure, I have to go find the clues before I can put it all together and actually go on the hunt. Then there’s the danger factor. Most of my skips are dangerous, but not usually at the same level as Shine and Salgusta. Grandma and I were lucky to survive our last encounter with them, and I was pretty certain the only thing keeping Grandma and me alive and untortured up to this point is that Shine and Salgusta can’t figure out how to snatch us. They used to have a bunch of wise guys working for them in the past, but not lately. And if they confided their plans to the wrong person, it would spread like wildfire through the

Burg. It would be told to the second cousin of a first niece of a friend’s brother who goes to church with his butcher’s son, who happens to be a cop. This could result in not only jail time but also no treasure for Shine and Salgusta. So, I’m thinking they’re being careful right now, but it’s only a matter of time before they come after us.

CHAPTER THREE

I stopped at the bakery and got a box of freshly filled cannoli. If there’s one thing a cardiac patient craves its full-fat ricotta cheese in deep-fried pastry. Steak and fried onion rings would be a second. I drove to Benny’s house and parked at the curb. A purple Kia was in the driveway. Benny’s wife, Carla, had late-stage Parkinson’s, and I thought the Kia probably belonged to Carla’s caregiver.

I rang the bell, a young woman answered, and I told her I’d come to talk to Benny.

“Who’s there?” Benny yelled from another room.

“Stephanie Plum,” I yelled back.

“He’s watching television in the den,” the woman said. “Just walk straight back.”

The den was a small room that had been tacked onto the living room. Benny was wedged into a club chair positioned in front of a large flat-screen TV. A leather recliner was next to him. A tiger-striped cat was curled up in the recliner.

Benny smiled when he saw me, his eyes instantly focusing on the white bakery box.

“Cannoli,” I said.

“You’re gonna kill me,” he said. “Are they fresh filled?”