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I examined the chest, looking for a false bottom or secret message. I didn’t find either, so I carefully placed the chest back on the mantel.
“Do I get breakfast now?” Buggy asked.
“I want to make a fast run through the house to make sure there aren’t any more chests,” I told Lula. “Keep your eyes open for visitors, and maybe you can DustBuster up what’s left of Miss Kitty.”
I did a cursory search, found nothing, and we were all out the door in ten minutes. Lula and Buggy left in the Firebird in search of a breakfast buffet, and I drove two blocks down and waited for the mourners to return from the cemetery.
Lancer and Slasher parked behind me. They didn’t seem to be much of a threat for now, but I suspected that could change if their boss pressed the go button. And while I didn’t feel immediately threatened, they were a constant reminder that I had a huge, horrible, scary problem.
It was almost noon when the cars filed by. I was sure one of the cars contained Grandma. I couldn’t see her missing Frank Korda being laid to rest. I waited for the last car to arrive, and I gave it another ten minutes before I joined the crowd. I’d done a decent job of hiding my bruise under makeup, not to mention that after ten minutes, everyone would have knocked back a drink or two and not be noticing much beyond the shrimp salad.
I slipped into the house and located Grandma. She was sitting on the couch with Esther Philpot. They were drinking what appeared to be port wine, and they had a plate of cookies. I said hello and snitched a cookie.
“I didn’t see you at the service,” Grandma said.
“I couldn’t make it,” I told her. “I had a previous commitment.”
“She’s a working girl,” Grandma said to Esther. “And she’s got a gun. It’s not as big as mine, but it’s pretty good.”
“What do you carry?” Esther asked Grandma.
“Forty-five long barrel,” Grandma said. “What about you?”
“I have a little Beretta Bobcat. My grandson gave it to me for Christmas last year.”
They looked at me.
“What do you have, dear?” Esther asked me.
“Glock.”
“Get the heck out,” Grandma said. “When did you get a Glock? Can I see it?”
“I wouldn’t mind having a Glock,” Esther said. “Maybe I’ll get one next year.”
They leaned in and peeked into my purse at my gun.
“It’s a beauty,” Grandma said.
“I should mingle.” I looked around.
Grandma sat back. “There’s little bitty cupcakes in the dining room, and the liquor’s in the kitchen. I imagine that’s where you’ll find the widow. She was already three sheets to the wind at the service. Not that I blame her. A funeral is stressful, poor thing.”
“Poor thing, my behind,” Esther said. “She’s not upset. She’s celebrating. She was only staying with him for the house. Everybody knows that. Frank did some stepping out, if you know what I mean. There was Mitchell Menton’s wife, Cheryl. And Bitsy Durham. Her husband is on the city council. I’m sure there were others.”
“I guess Frank was having one of those midlife crises,” Grandma said.
“And I imagine there are advantages to having an affair with a jeweler,” Esther said.
I wandered into the kitchen, where Pat Korda was scarfing ham roll-ups and drinking something colorless.
“Vodka?” I asked her.
“Fuckin’ A,” she said.
I poured some into a tumbler. “Me, too.”
“Here’s to you,” Pat said. “Whoever the hell you are. Looks like someone beat the crap out of you.”
