“Did you have any luck last night?” Morelli asked.
“I didn’t pick anything up at the viewing, but as you know I didn’t stay for the whole thing. Monica wanted to leave so I went with her.”
“I’m told you went to Lotus.”
“Monica needed a drink and a hook-up.”
“And?”
“She got lots of drinks,” I told him. “There was slim pickings in the hook-up department.”
“Yeah, there’s an older crowd at Lotus these days thanks to Viagra. Used to be we had to worry about guys bootlegging roofies. Now it’s little blue stiffie pills. Gives all the swingers from the seventies a second chance to get an STD. Were you able to get anything from Monica?”
“Nothing useful. She’s halfway afraid she’s on the hit list, but she’s hostile about getting questioned. And I think her brain is too pickled to hold a thought.”
“Thanks for trying. I appreciate it. I’ll see you at the funeral.”
“Don’t get too close to me. I’m making a huge effort to be civil, but deep down inside I’d really like to punch you in the face.”
“Understood.”
•••
Ranger was in the funeral home lot waiting for me when I skidded to a stop and parked. He was in a perfectly tailored black suit, black dress shirt, and tie. The Glock at his waist was undetectable and didn’t ruin the line of the jacket.
I got out of the Macan and made an attempt to smooth some of the wrinkles out of my skirt. “Thanks for rescuing me last night,” I said. “And thanks for the car loaner.”
“It’s part of my fleet, and it’s a permanent loaner. At least for as long as it lasts. You can’t go around collecting felons in a ’53 Buick. You’re too recognizable.”
People were beginning to gather for the funeral, pulling into the lot and lining up on the street.
“This is going to be a circus,” I said to Ranger. “Is the widow here yet?”
“She’s with the deceased, having a last moment alone with him. I have Tank babysitting her.”
“You’re going to have to give him a bonus for this one.”
“He’s getting the weekend off,” Ranger said.
We went inside and inserted earbuds with battery packs so we could communicate. The plan was for me to sit with Monica and for Ranger to stand at the back of the chapel. When the service was over Ranger and I would ride in the funeral home limo with Monica. Tank and Hal would follow in an SUV. The entire rest of Trenton would follow Tank and Hal.
Monica was wearing a skin-tight black sheath dress, her usual spike heels, and very dark oversized sunglasses.
“How do I look?” she asked me. “Do you think the television SAT truck will cover this?”
“I didn’t see the truck out there,” I said, “but it’s early.”
The service was short. No one tried to shoot anybody. No SAT truck showed up. Afterward we whisked Monica out the side door and into the limo. She took a flask out of her purse and chugged something that smelled like turpentine.
“When this is over I’m checking myself into Betty Ford,” Monica said. “Then after my liver enzymes go down I might allow myself a small drinkypoo once in a while.”
Good luck to Betty Ford.
It started raining halfway to the cemetery.
“Are you fucking kidding me?” Monica said. “Rain? Could this day get any worse?”
A small canopy had been set over enough folding chairs for the immediate family. The rest of Trenton huddled under big black mortuary umbrellas. A chair next to Monica had been reserved for me, and I saw Grandma knock a couple people aside to secure a chair. I looked out over the rest of the mourners and recognized a few people from the Burg. Professor Pooka was there and also Dean Mintner.
“Do you know Professor Pooka from the Kiltman biology department?” I asked Monica.
“He’s a fruitcake. He came to Doug with a research project that needed funding. He came knocking on our door one night. Totally uninvited. Looked like a maniac. Practically foaming at the mouth about some crazy discovery.”
“Why did he come to Doug?”
“Doug was on a bunch of committees at Kiltman. He liked being a big-shot alum doing fundraising and shit.”
“Did Doug help him get the funding?”
“No. No one would fund Pooka and he was turned down for tenure. That’s all I know. Doug didn’t go into detail with me. He saved the chatter for the sluts.”
Spending time with Monica wasn’t doing a lot to enhance my opinion of marriage. Actually, it wasn’t doing much to enhance my opinion of human beings in general.