Tricky Twenty-Two (Stephanie Plum 22)

“Look over there,” I said to Grandma. “A seat just opened up in the second row.”

“I’m on it,” Grandma said, rushing to the empty seat.

“She likes when she can be up close,” I said to Ranger.

Ranger looked over at Grandma. “That’s a lot to live up to, Babe.”

A woman in a pink suit and a man in a tweedy sport coat stood at the casket. I guessed they were the wife and brother. Ranger stepped in front of the Linkens as they approached the casket. I remained behind, so we had them sandwiched between us.

“Our condolences,” Doug Linken said to the family, not sounding all that sincere.

“You have a lot of nerve showing up here,” the brother said. “You swindled him, and you swindled us. And don’t think you have us fooled. You killed him. You killed him.”

“Killer!” the woman shrieked at Linken. “Dirty, rotten killer!”

Ranger put himself between the Linkens and the Getz family and moved the Linkens toward the side door that led to the back exit.

“Not so fast,” Monica Linken said. “I want a cookie.”

“I’ll have my men stop at a bakery,” Ranger said.

“I don’t want a bakery cookie. I want a cookie from the lobby,” Monica said. “And I’m not leaving out of the side door like we’re criminals or something.”

“Well, I’m leaving out the side door,” Doug Linken said. “Those people are nuts.”

“Escort Mrs. Linken to the cookie table,” Ranger said to me. “The car will be waiting for her at the front door.”

I followed Monica as she slowly made her way through the crush of people. Grandma was out of her seat and was half a step behind me.

“Don’t worry,” Grandma said. “I’ve got your back.”

“Not necessary,” I said to Grandma. “We’re just going for cookies.”

“Me too,” Grandma said. “I hope they got some of them vanilla sandwich cookies left, but if anything goes down I’m ready to rock and roll.”

We reached the cookie table and Monica poured herself a cup of tea and took an oatmeal raisin cookie.

“I could put your tea in a to-go cup,” I said to Monica.

“I’m in no rush,” Monica said. “So just chill.”

Grandma Mazur snagged the last vanilla sandwich cookie and turned to Monica. “What’s the story?” Grandma asked Monica. “Did your husband kill Harry?”

“Excuse me?” Monica said. “Who are you?”

“I’m Stephanie’s granny,” Grandma said.

Monica looked at me. “You brought your grandmother? What kind of an agency does my husband employ?”

“I didn’t bring her,” I said. “She was already here. She goes to all the viewings.”

“Not all of them,” Grandma said. “Sometimes they conflict with my television shows.”

I could see people jostling around by the viewing room door. Voices were raised. There was a disturbance of some sort, and I didn’t want to hang around to identify the source.

“We should go,” I said to Monica. “Now.”

Monica pretended not to hear. She reached for another cookie, and Harry’s wife knocked me aside and got into Monica’s face.