Explosive Eighteen - Janet Evanovich [47]
“Don’t you look pretty,” Grandma said. “That’s such a nice sweater set.”
No comment on my face or the various Band-Aids.
“Anything else?” I asked her.
“I like your hair down like that. I hardly ever see it down anymore.” Grandma looked at her watch. “We gotta get a move on.”
“What about my face?”
“What about it?”
“For starters, I have a black eye.”
“Yeah, it’s a pip,” Grandma said, “but I’ve seen you with worse. Remember that explosion that burned your eyebrows off?”
Good lord, this is what it’s come to, I thought. My own grandmother isn’t shocked to see me with a black eye. I might as well admit it. I’m a train wreck.
“Is there a good story that goes with the shiner?” Grandma asked.
“I slipped in a parking garage.”
“Too bad,” Grandma said. “I could use something juicy for conversational material. Do you mind if I make something up?”
“Yes, I mind!”
I drove the short distance to the funeral home, off-loaded Grandma at the entrance, and trolled for a parking place. The small funeral home lot was full, but I found parking on the street a block away. Grandma had been right about the viewing. The building was packed. At three minutes after seven, the people were already spilling out the door onto the large wraparound front porch.
I kept my head down as I inched my way through the crowd, hoping not to attract attention. I was in the lobby, about to enter Slumber Room #1, and I got a call on my cell phone.
“I knew you would go to the viewing,” Joyce said.
“Where are you?”
“I’m outside. And don’t come out looking for me. You’ll never find me. I’m dying to come in and check it all out, but it’s too risky.”
“Yeah, I’d capture you.”
“You’re the least of my worries,” Joyce said. “Did you get the key?”
“Yes. Now what?”
“Hang on to it. Did you get up to the casket yet? Did you see the grieving widow?”
“No. It took me twenty minutes to cross the lobby. It’s jammed in here.”
“I want a report on the widow,” Joyce said. “I want to know what jewelry she’s wearing. It’s a closed casket, right?”
“I don’t know for sure, but the guy was compacted and aged for a couple days. I’m guessing he’s not real attractive at this point.”
“He wasn’t real attractive before. How about the people there? Anyone stand out?”
“In what way?”
“Remember David Niven in the Pink Panther movies?”
I looked around. I didn’t see David Niven. “No David Nivens here,” I told her.
I hung up with Joyce, and I bumped into Morelli.
“What are you doing here?” I asked him. “Is this official business or did you come for the cookies?”
“Official business. The captain wanted police presence, and I’m supposed to be looking for Joyce.”
“Do you think you’ll find her?”
“Not here. She’d be crazy to show up here. Although it’s hard to assess the extent of Joyce’s craziness.”
“My exact thoughts.”
Morelli was wearing his show-no-emotion cop face. “Berger let me see the tape.”
“And?” I asked.
“And I’m glad I tangled with Ranger and not you. You’re an animal. You kicked the crap out of that poor bastard.”
“I felt threatened.”
“No doubt.” His gaze traveled from my face to my enhanced cleavage, and his expression softened. “I like this sweater.”
Now this is the Morelli I know and love. “Does this sweater fixation mean things are returning to normal?”
“No, this means I’m trying not to focus on your face. You look worse than I do, and I have a broken nose.” He very gently touched a fingertip to my nose and the corner of my mouth. “Does it hurt?”
“Not a lot, but you could kiss it and make it better.”
He brushed a whisper of a kiss across my nose and my mouth. “I’m so sorry this happened to you.”
“You like me?” I asked him.
“No, but I’m working on it.”
I guess I could live with that. “I was attacked by Razzle Dazzle. Did you recognize him on the tape?”
Morelli shook his head. “No. But Berger seemed to know him.”
“I talked to Brenda earlier today. Not much came of it. I still have no idea why everyone’s interested in the photograph.”
“Berger’s briefed me on the major players, and he