He nodded. “This happens,” he said. “Unfortunately the deceased has no one else here. Who will greet the remaining people waiting to pay their condolences? Who will give last comfort to the deceased?”
“Grandma,” I said.
The funeral director looked alarmed. “Grandma? Surely you don’t mean Edna Mazur?”
“Yep,” I said. “Edna was very close to the family.”
“Oh dear,” he said. “She’s a nice lady, but I don’t think—”
I waved Grandma over to the casket.
“What’s up?” Grandma said.
“The widow needs to leave, and we thought since you were so close to the deceased you might be able to fill in.”
“Stand at the head of the casket?”
“Yes.”
“Hot damn. I’ll do a real good job.” She looked into the casket. “What was this guy’s name again?”
“Doug.”
“Don’t worry about a thing. Me and Doug are going to get along just fine.”
The funeral director bit into his lower lip, made the sign of the cross, and stepped back a couple paces.
Monica, Ranger, and I quietly slipped out the side door, and the Rangeman SUV pulled up.
“I don’t want to go in this,” Monica said. “I want the hot sports car.”
Ranger handed me the keys to his 911 Turbo. “Have fun.”
We buckled into the Porsche, and I turned the engine over.
“Anyplace special?” I asked her.
“Lotus.”
Lotus was known for being a big hook-up spot. I’d never been inside, but now that I didn’t have a boyfriend it seemed like something to investigate. The alternative was to allow my mother to fix me up with the butcher. I would prefer not to have this happen.
Lotus was on a side street in the center of the city. I took Hamilton to Broad and turned off Broad onto Merchant. I pulled into the small lot attached to Lotus and saw the Rangeman SUV cruise down Merchant and make a U-turn. Ranger was in protective mode.
“So tell me about your late husband’s friends,” I said to Monica. “I’m curious. Are you suspicious of any of them? Did he hang out with any gun enthusiasts?”
Monica freshened up her blood-red lipstick without benefit of mirror. This was something I’d never been able to accomplish.
“His friends were all boring. Nobody was interesting enough to have a gun. They talked about real estate and stocks and bonds, and rehashed college. Harry and Doug were fraternity brothers at Kiltman. They belonged to Zeta. Maybe Doug’s girlfriends had guns. I didn’t know any of his girlfriends.”
“He had girlfriends?”
“Yeah, thank God. Otherwise I would have had to fuck him. He thought I didn’t know he was bringing women into the house when I was away. Hell, if I’d had their address I’d have sent them all fruit baskets.”
Cripes, this was disturbing. These people were all horrible.
“How about businesses he might have visited? Anything gun-related?” I asked her.
Monica got out of the Porsche and tugged her dress down. When she tugged it down her boobs popped out.
“Honestly,” she said, pushing her boobs back into the dress. “Do I look like someone who would give a flying leap about his business?”
“Yes. The business brought money into the house.”
“There were no gun-related businesses that I knew about. What’s with the questioning?”
“Just curious.”
“Yeah, right. I almost believe that. Are we going to stand out here all night, or what? I need a drink.”
She wasn’t the only one who needed a drink. This day wasn’t going down as my all-time best. And on top of everything else that went wrong, I’d just flunked interrogation.
“Let’s do it,” I said. “Lead the way.”
The exterior of Lotus was typical of the many bars in Trenton and almost identical to the two other bars on Merchant Street. Redbrick exterior, oak door, small neon sign over the door spelling out “Lotus,” blacked-out windows. The interior looked like a bordello. Red walls, red upholstered banquettes, high-gloss black bar running the length of the room, high-gloss black trim on the banquettes, a bunch of high-top tables and chairs, fake candles on the tables. Flat-screens behind the bar tuned to sports stations. Lighting was dim to nonexistent. The banquettes and high tops were all in use. People were standing two deep at the bar.
“Hey, you,” Monica yelled at one of the bartenders. “My husband just died and I need a vodka.”
I held my fingers up indicating we needed two vodkas.
Two seats opened up after ten minutes and Monica elbowed her way in. We ordered sliders from the bar menu and two more vodkas.