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sp; “Sorry about the missed calls,” he said. “My phone isn’t holding a charge. I have to get a new one.”
“Anything interesting to tell me?”
“DeSalle was out of town when Lucca was killed. That doesn’t mean he didn’t order the hit.”
“I had Connie run a credit report on him. He’s in the money with Miracle Fitness, so I’m struggling to find his motive for wanting the keys.”
“We don’t know what the keys unlock,” Morelli said. “Everyone assumes it’s money, but it could be incriminating evidence.”
“The other player is Barbara Rosolli.”
“She’s a real nutcase,” Morelli said. “I haven’t had a chance to talk to her yet. Not looking forward to it. She hated Jimmy, and she thinks she deserves to get all his money. The entire Burg and beyond knows this. She’s already got a lawyer ready to contest the settlement. If Grandma is out of the way, the money will go to Barbara’s daughter, Jeanine. So there’s a lot of motivation here.”
“Is she capable of murder?”
“I’m not sure she could strangle someone, but murder once removed might not seem like a crime to her. She comes from a mob family, and she married into the mob.”
“My quiet night of hamster cage cleaning has turned into a night spent at Stiva’s.”
“Stanley Bonino, right? Should be interesting. I’m sure the sisters will be there. Probably Barbara and some of the La-Z-Boys. Make sure you’ve got your medallion on.”
CHAPTER NINETEEN
BY SIX-THIRTY I’d finished all my reading, cleaned Rex’s cage, and chugged a bottle of beer and ate a peanut butter and olive sandwich. I was dressed in my go-to outfit of black pencil skirt and stretchy white scoop neck sweater. I debated flats or heels and went with flats. Just in case I had to chase down a bad guy. I added a short, fitted red jacket and hung my messenger bag on my shoulder.
Grandma was waiting for me on the porch when I pulled to the curb. Five minutes later, we were at Stiva’s, and Grandma was pushing her way through the crowd to the front door.
“As soon as they let us in, we go straight for the casket,” Grandma said. “That way I get to see the deceased, we get the condolences taken care of, and then we can hit the cookie table. That’s where you get all the dirt.”
Sounded like an okay plan. Maybe someone at the cookie table would know something useful.
The doors opened, and we all surged forward. I was directly behind Grandma and was scanning the area, watching to make sure no one came rushing at her. There was some initial jockeying for position, and then the line stabilized. We had about twenty people in front of us. The three sisters had elected to sit rather than get in the line. They were five rows back on the far side of the room. I didn’t see Barbara Rosolli. Julius Roman took a seat behind the sisters. Our eyes met and he nodded at me. I nodded back.
My attention went back to Grandma. She was patiently waiting in line, and I couldn’t imagine what she was thinking. My own thoughts were running in the direction of Snow White, who got saved when some hot guy kissed her, as opposed to more modern-day fairy-tale heroines who enjoyed kicking ass and saving the world. World saving was okay if you knew what you were doing. I wasn’t in that category. I knew nothing. I had no martial arts skills. I wasn’t comfortable with a gun. The thought of sticking a knife in someone made me gag. Of course, this was also true of my mom, but when it mattered, she came through with the iron. I’d like to think I have some of that same grit. I just wish I had a larger selection of tools in my toolbox.
We inched our way along and said our words to the bereaved. We headed out of the slumber room and into the packed foyer. The women had congregated around the cookie table, and the men were collected in small groups around the perimeter of the room, talking quietly, checking their watches, and wondering how much longer they would have to stay. The cocktails-before-dinner mourners were on the porch, smoking cigars and telling off-color, politically incorrect jokes. The wives and widows were enjoying the coffee and cookies and critiquing the viewing.
Grandma selected a couple cookies from the Nabisco collection and took a step back when Jeanine and Bernie Stupe approached us. Jeanine was the same age as my mom, and there were other similarities. Short brown hair, average height and weight, friendly but reserved. Bernie’s sandy brown hair was showing male-pattern baldness. He was slightly paunchy and an inch shorter than his wife. He was standing behind her, looking like he needed a Red Bull.
“I didn’t get a chance to talk to you at the wake,” Jeanine said to Grandma. “There was such a crush of people, and I’m a little claustrophobic. Bernie and I left early.”
“I’m sorry about you losing your dad,” Grandma said.
“Thank you,” Jeanine said. “And I’m sorry you weren’t able to enjoy more time with him.”
“If it’s any consolation, he didn’t suffer at all. It was so fast. One minute he was winning at the slots, and then he was gone.”
“Not even a last word?” Jeanine asked.
“Well, he swore a little on the way down to the ground,” Grandma said, “but that was it.”
Jeanine nodded and pressed her lips together. “I should be going,” she said. “I’m feeling a little sad . . . and panicky.”
“Take care,” Grandma said. “God bless.”
We watched Jeanine and Bernie leave, and Grandma shook her head.
“Poor Jeanine,” Grandma said. “It’s hard when you lose someone so sudden. Even at Jimmy’s age, no one expected him to go like that.”
