Explosive Eighteen: A Stephanie Plum Novel (Stephanie Plum Novels)

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 called me in to see the tape, but he isn’t talking beyond that. I don’t think he knows the whole story. Someone above him wants that photograph. This isn’t trivial.”
    “Why is Berger playing nice with you?”
    “You’re the only one who’s seen the photograph, and I’m a connection to you.”
    “But I don’t have the photograph, and I don’t know anything. I described Tom Cruise and Ashton Kutcher to the FBI sketch artists.”
    Morelli did a palms up. “No one believes you.”
    “Do you?”
    “Yes. You have nothing to gain by lying. And you look really sexy tonight from your neck down.”
    “I thought you didn’t like me.”
    “Cupcake, that sweater transcends
like
or
not like
.”
    I punched him in the chest. “I’m going to find Grandma.”
    Grandma had scored a folding chair in the third row and had saved the one next to her for me.
    “This here’s a real disappointing viewing,” Grandma said. “I expected better, what with Frank Korda being packed off to the junkyard. I don’t think there’s even a reporter for the paper. And so far I haven’t seen any killers pass by. Only Connie’s Uncle Gino, and he’s pretty much retired. He’s just here for therefreshments. I was hoping to see Joyce Barnhardt. Now, that would be something.” Grandma stared at the casket for a long moment. “Do you think they got him dressed up in there?” she asked. “What kind of tie do you suppose he’s wearing? I bet it’s hard to dress someone after they’ve been compacted. He probably looks like a waffle.” She sighed with longing. “I sure would like to take a look.”
    I didn’t want to look. Not even a little. Like Morelli, I’d come here on the odd chance Barnhardt would show. Now that I’d made contact with her, I was anxious to leave.
    “How long do you want to stay?” I asked Grandma. “Are you ready to go?”
    “Maybe another ten