Twisted Twenty-Six (Stephanie Plum 26)

I helped myself to coffee and looked in the fridge for leftovers. “Pink is okay with red hair.”

“Stiva’s driver brought us fresh bagels this morning,” my mother said. “They’re in the bag on the counter.”

I selected a bagel, sliced it in half, and gave it a layer of cream cheese.

“Anyone want half of this?” I asked.

“Not me,” Grandma said. “I can’t eat. My stomach is a mess, and I just brushed my teeth. I’ll be glad when this is over. I wanted to do the right thing for Jimmy, but having a big to-do like this is nerve-racking. What do you think of this dress? I had a hard time finding a good black one.”

My mother squinted at me. “What’s in your hair?”

“Extensions,” I said. “I had them put in yesterday.”

Grandma came closer and looked at them. “They’re sort of glittery under the light. I wish I knew about this. I would have got some put in my hair. You need something like that when you gotta wear black. It breaks up the frump factor.”

I didn’t think Grandma had to worry about the frump factor. She had flame red hair all punked out, and she was wearing a black cocktail dress that would have showed cleavage if she had any. As it was, Grandma’s cleavage was somewhere in the vicinity of her belly button.

I heard the front door open and close, and Morelli sauntered into the kitchen. He was wearing jeans and a black blazer over a blue button-down shirt. When you put Morelli in a suit he looks like a casino pit boss. This isn’t a good look for a cop, so he almost always dresses down. His eyes instantly focused on my hair. His eyebrows raised ever so slightly and he smiled. He moved closer and draped an arm across my shoulders.

“I’m guessing this is one step beyond two coats of mascara,” Morelli said.

“It’s experimental.”

He nodded. “Not necessary, but fun.”

“Do I look like an idiot?”

“No. You look hot. Do we really have to go to the funeral?”

“Unfortunately, yes. It’s important to Grandma. And it’s even more important that I talk to the La-Z-Boys. Someone tossed my apartment yesterday. I’m sure they were looking for the keys, but they were also leaving a message.”

“Would you like me to talk to them?”

“No. I need to do it. I need to make them understand that Jimmy didn’t pass the keys on to Grandma.”

“Are you sure she doesn’t have them?”

“Almost positive.”

I looked over at Grandma. She was sitting at the kitchen table all by herself. She had a cup of tea in front of her but wasn’t drinking it. She was staring into the mug, her mouth set in a tight line.

I gave Morelli the second half of my bagel and went to Grandma. “Is everything okay?”

“I’m worried about the church service. I can get through everything else okay, but there’s things to think about when you’re in the Lord’s house. Especially when it’s for the last time, like Jimmy. You gotta look at your life and wonder if you should have done better. Jimmy might have made some bad choices. His chosen profession might not have been the best.”

“You mean, that he worked for the mob.”

“Yeah,” Grandma said. “I’m pretty sure he whacked people. Maybe a lot of people.”

I went through a mental search, looking for a way to put a positive spin on Jimmy, but I came up empty.

“He had a long, successful career,” Grandma finally said. “You gotta give him that.”

“It’s time to get in the car,” my mother said. “Everyone take their things. We’ll go directly from the church to the cemetery, so take a sweater. It might be chilly. I have cough drops and tissues if anybody needs them.”

We all trooped out of the house, climbed into the big black Lincoln, and sat in silence for the short ride to the church. We took our seats in the pew reserved for us. The pew reserved for Jimmy’s relatives was wisely located on the opposite side of the church. I looked at the flower-draped casket in front of the altar and got a chill. Grandma could be resting there next if I failed to protect her.

Grandma dabbed at her eyes. “He was always nice to me,” she said.