Two for the Dough (Stephanie Plum 2)

“She's out,” my mother said. “I leave the house for ten minutes, and what happens? You father lets your grandmother go off with Betty Greenburg.”

Betty Greenburg was eighty-nine and was hell on wheels.

“Ever since that stroke in August Betty Greenburg can't remember anything,” my mother said. “Last week she drove to Asbury Park. Said she meant to go to Kmart and made a wrong turn.”

“How long has Grandma Mazur been gone?”

“Almost two hours. They were supposed to be going to the bakery. Maybe I should call the police.”

There was the sound of a door slamming and a lot of shouting in the background.

“It's your grandmother,” my mother said. “And she's got her hand all wrapped up.”

“Let me talk to her.”

Grandma Mazur came on the phone. “You won't believe this,” she said, her voice trembling with anger and indignation. "The most terrible thing just happened. Betty and me were coming out of the bakery with a box full of fresh-made Italian cookies when none other than Kenny Mancuso himself walked out from behind a car, just as brazen as could be and came right up to me.

" 'Well, looky here,' he says, 'it's Grandma Mazur.'

" 'Yeah, and I know who you are, too,' I said to him. 'You're that no-good Kenny Mancuso.'

“ 'That's right,' he says. 'And I'm gonna be your worst nightmare.' ”

There was a pause, and I could hear her breathing, collecting herself.

“Mom said your hand was bandaged?” I asked, not wanting to push her but needing to know.

“Kenny stuck me. He took hold of my hand, and he stuck an ice pick into it,” Grandma said, her voice unnaturally shrill, her words thick with the pain of the experience.

I pushed the big bench seat all the way back and put my head between my knees.

“Hello,” Grandma said. “Are you still there?”

I took a deep breath. “So how are you now? Are you okay?”

"Sure I'm okay. They fixed me up good at the hospital. Gave me some of that Tylenol with codeine. You take some of that, and you could get run over by a truck and never feel a thing. And then on account of I was in a state, they gave me some relaxer pills.

“Doctors said I was lucky that the pick missed everything important. Just kind of slid between the bones and such. Went in real clean.”

More deep breathing. “What happened to Kenny?”

“Took off like the yellow-bellied dog that he is. Said he'd be coming back. That this was just the beginning.” Her voice broke. “Can you imagine?”

“Maybe it'd be best if you stay in the house for a while.”

“That's what I think, too. I'm plain tired. I could use a cup of hot tea.”

My mother came back on the line. “What's this world coming to?” she asked. “An old woman gets attacked in broad daylight, in her own neighborhood, coming out of a bakery!”

“I'm going to leave my cellular phone on. Keep Grandma in the house, and call me if anything else happens.”

“What else could happen? Isn't this enough?”

I disconnected and plugged my cellular phone into the cigarette lighter. My heart was beating triple time, and my palms were slick with sweat. I told myself I had to think clearly, but my min

d was clouded with emotion. I got out of the Buick and stood on the sidewalk, looking for Morelli. I waved my arms over my head in a here-I-am signal.

The cell phone chirped inside the Buick. It was Morelli, his voice laced with impatience or anxiety. Hard to tell which.