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FOR THE VIEWING I settled on skinny black slacks, a dressy white T-shirt with a scoop neck, and a fitted short red jacket. The outfit had the advantage of looking good with black ballet flats, which would be excellent for chasing down a killer if the occasion arose. I had my gun in my purse, but I hadn’t been able to find any bullets. With any luck, Ranger would never know about the bullets.
I was downstairs waiting at seven o’clock when
Ranger pulled up in a black Porsche Cayenne. It was his personal fleet car. Very luxe but equipped with ankle restraints bolted onto the backseat floor in case he had to transport a bad guy.
“Babe,” Ranger said as I slid in next to him. “Didn’t want to risk the red dress?”
“Mrs. Kranski and Mrs. Rundig will most likely be at this viewing. They would call my mother and tell her I was at the viewing wearing a tight red dress with cleavage, and then my mother would head straight for the Jim Beam bottle. Bad enough that I’m going to be there with you. That’s worth two Advil.”
“I thought your mother liked me.”
“My grandmother likes you. My mother worries that you might be related to Satan.”
The funeral home is on the edge of the Burg, short for Chambersburg. Originally the Burg was a mob enclave, but most of the mob has now moved on to classier neighborhoods. The factory workers, bus drivers, plumbers, cops, and government worker bees remain. I grew up in the Burg, and my parents still live there. Houses are modest. Bars are plentiful. Crime is low. Gossip is rampant. The funeral home is the Burg equivalent to a country club. It’s free entertainment for everyone but the immediate family of the deceased.
People in the Burg go to viewings for the cookies, not for the dead guy in Slumber Room No. 2. The building was originally a large Victorian-style home with a wraparound porch. Thirty years ago it was sold to the Stiva family and converted into a mortuary. It’s since changed hands, but people still refer to it as Stiva’s.
We drove to the funeral home and Ranger parked in a space reserved for him.
“Who’s the deceased?” I asked.
“Harry Getz. Someone drilled two holes in him. Looks like it happened when he opened his front door to someone. Initially it went down as armed robbery, but nothing was stolen, and Getz had a lot of enemies. I think Morelli is the principal on it. We’ll be providing security for Harry’s business partner, Doug Linken, and his wife, Monica.”
“Hard feelings with the family?”
“Hard feelings with everyone. Getz and Linken owned a construction business, G&L Builds. Mostly commercial properties. Strip malls. And they had some smaller businesses that were associated with the construction. G&L Builds overextended and imploded. There was a lot of ugly finger-pointing and name-calling, and it’s going through a contentious bankruptcy. A lot of people are going to get shortchanged.”
We walked to the front of the building. A black Rangeman SUV pulled up, and the Linkens got out. Ranger introduced me, and we all walked into the funeral home together.
Doug Linken was a nice-looking man in his early sixties. He was wearing a dark gray suit, white shirt, and gray and black striped tie. Monica Linken looked younger than her husband, but she’d probably had work done, so it was hard to tell her age. And she looked like she spent time at the gym. Blond hair pulled back at the nape of her neck. Simple black suit. Massive diamond studs in her ears. Bright red lipstick. I thought if she hocked the earrings she might be able to get the business back on its feet.
There were three slumber rooms occupied. Harry Getz had the place of honor in Slumber Room No. 1. It was the largest viewing room and got awarded to the newly departed who was expected to draw the biggest crowd. A controversial murder would only be trumped by a decapitation or fraternal lodge Grand Bigwig, and there were currently neither of those in residence.
The lobby was filled with the usual freeloaders and gawkers. My Grandma Mazur was one of them. A hush fell over the crowd when we entered, and they parted, like when Moses showed up at the Red Sea, to let us make our way to the viewing. Ranger and I were known in the community, and it was obvious we were there to ensure the Linkens’ safety.
Grandma Mazur spotted me from across the room. “Yoo-hoo!” she called. And she waved.
Grandma has some things in common with the Queen of England. They have the same hairstyle, they each carry their purse in the crook of their arm, and no one tells either of them what to do.
Grandma was wearing a sleeveless dress with big red and pink flowers on it. Her lipstick was a bright pink to match the flowers on the dress. Her shoes and her purse were black patent leather. The purse was big enough to hold her .45 long barrel.
The double doors were open to the viewing room, and I could see that every chair was occupied. A line of condolence wishers snaked from the casket almost to the double doors. Usually viewings at Stiva’s are a respite from mourning, with a lot of gossip and laughter and boozing it up. But the atmosphere in Slumber Room No. 1 was sullen tonight. Doug and Monica took their place at the end of the line, and a buzz went through the room. Heads turned and eyes focused on the Linkens, and the climate of the room ratcheted up from sullen to hostile.
Ranger leaned close, and I caught a hint of the scent of the shower gel that always lingers on his skin, and I could feel the warmth from his body.
“Going to be a long night,” he whispered, his lips brushing against my ear.
I got a rush that went all the way down to my toes. Okay, so I know it wasn’t a sexy message, but jeez Louise, the man was fine.
We inched our way forward, and as we got closer to the deceased I could see the immediate family glaring at the Linkens.
“What’s with all the animosity?” I asked Ranger.
“I’ll spare you the complicated financials, but Doug Linken will benefit from his partner’s death. The Getz family will not.”
Grandma Mazur elbowed her way through the crowd and sidled up to me.
“Isn’t this a pip of a viewing?” she said. “Standing room only. Take a close look at his neck when you get up there. If you look real good you can see the marks from where he got shot. That’s not something you see every day.”
