Free Top Secret Twenty-One by Janet Evanovich Page A

away from my television.”
    “We could lay him out on the kitchen floor,” Grandma said. “That way he won’t mess anything up with his drooling. And if we put him behind the table, no one will step on him.”
    My mother took one foot, Grandma took the other, I got Briggs under the armpits, and we lugged him into the kitchen. We stretched him out behind the table, and Grandma put a kitchen towel under his head.
    “He looks real peaceful there,” Grandma said.
    I thought about handcuffing him to the stove so he wouldn’t wake up and wander away, but I only had one pair of handcuffs with me, and I might need them if I found Poletti.

    I was lucky enough to get the last spot in the small parking lot attached to the funeral home. A few people were gathered on the big front porch, and more people were milling around in the lobby. Mrs. Poletti was in Slumber Room No. 1, which was a spot of honor reserved for the deceased who were expected to draw larger than usual crowds—mob bosses, victims of violent deaths, minor celebrities, and Grand Poobahs of the Knights of Columbus.
    Grandma marched straight to the viewing room without somuch as a nod to the cookie table. Her eyes narrowed and her lips compressed when she saw that the first row in front of the casket was already taken by the Poletti family. She would have to settle for a seat in the second row.
    “Some of them family members should be standing at the head of the casket with the husband of the deceased,” Grandma said. “This new generation don’t know much.”
    I recognized the two grandsons, Oswald and Aaron, Aaron’s wife, and Buster. “Who’s the man sitting next to Buster?” I asked Grandma. “He was at the house the day Mrs. Poletti died.”
    “He’s some out-of-state relative who was visiting while he was on a job interview,” Grandma said.
    “And the three older women next to him?”
    “Sisters of the deceased. All of them spinsters. There was rumors of them always being a little off.”
    “In what way?”
    “I heard they liked each other too much, if you know what I mean.”
    People were pouring in after us, filling all the seats, forming a line to give condolences and check out Mrs. Poletti’s hair and makeup.
    Grandma knew everyone.
    “Who’s that man?” I asked her.
    “Buster’s father,” Grandma said. “He was a construction expeditor. The woman behind him knows Mrs. Poletti from Bingo.”
    After an hour, the river of mourners dwindled to a small trickle, and I left my seat to eavesdrop and ask questions.Everyone had some connection to the Poletti family, whether it was blood or Bingo. Except for Grandma, who was just plain nosy.
    Jimmy Poletti’s wife, Trudy, was noticeably absent. Silvio and Miriam Pepper arrived late, gave their condolences to the family, and left through a side door before I had a chance to talk to them. Aaron and his wife also left early. Oswald Poletti ambled out of the Slumber Room fifteen minutes before the viewing ended and pushed through the crowd to the cookie table. He was shoving Oreos into his rumpled jacket pocket when I cornered him.
    “Sorry about your grandmother,” I said.
    “She was, like, old,” he said.
    “I don’t suppose you’ve heard from your father.”
    “Dear old Dad don’t call much.”
    “I don’t mean to be judgmental, but is there ever a moment in the day when you aren’t stoned?”
    “What?”
    Buster moved into my line of vision on his way to the door, and I ran after him.
    “Stephanie Plum,” I said, extending my hand. “I’ve been wanting to talk to you.”
    “You’re the bounty hunter who broke into my apartment and found Bernie.”
    “I didn’t break in. The door was open.”
    “I heard you were with Jimmy’s bookkeeper. For a little guy, he gets around.”
    “He’s helping me find Jimmy.”
    “Whatever.” He focused on my breasts in the stretchy white tanktop. “You’re cuter than I expected. I bet you’re good with handcuffs.”
    “I’m even