Fortune and Glory (Stephanie Plum, #27)(47)

“Are you going?” I asked Connie.

“Yes. I’m taking my mom.”

“How about you?” I asked Lula.

“I’m not ordinarily big on this sort of thing, but I might make an exception here.”

“Did your mom have any more news about the La-Z-Boys?” I asked Connie.

“Only that Benny is pissed off because Shine got rid of the chairs and remodeled the room. Apparently, he didn’t consult Benny before doing it.”

This could work in my favor. If Benny is mad enough, he might throw in with Grandma and me. It would mean access to one more clue. And Benny knew Jimmy for a long time. He knew where the bodies were buried, and he probably knew a lot of other things about Jimmy. Like a second home somewhere. Or ownership of a commercial property where a safe could be stashed. Just because he never felt compelled to go after the treasure doesn’t mean he has no idea where it might be located.

I went to the coffee station to refill my mug and Grandma called.

“You have to come over here,” she said. “We made a casserole for the reception and I need a ride to Benny’s house to drop it off. If you don’t give me a ride your mother will drive me, and that will ruin everything. This is my opportunity to sweet-talk Benny into handing over his clue. I don’t want your mother tagging along.”

“I’m at the office,” I said. “I’ll be there in five minutes.”

I hung up and took a moment to convince myself the visit was a good idea.

“I have to go to my parents’ house,” I said to Lula, Connie, and Potts. “Grandma needs a ride.”

“I’ll go with you,” Potts said.

“No! Wait for me in the office. I won’t be long.”

“You always say that, and then people try to shoot you.”

“No one is going to shoot me at my parents’ house.”

Truth is, I didn’t know that for sure. And there was a decent possibility that someone would try to kidnap Grandma and me anytime, anywhere. Did this make me nervous? Yes. And fearful? Yes. Did I want to run away and hide somewhere? Yes. Was I going to run away and hide somewhere? No.

I was raised to have a strong sense of responsibility to my family, my church, and my country. I wasn’t raised to run away and hide. When the going got tough or scary I was expected to dig in and soldier on, because I came from a long line of survivors. War, famine, pestilence didn’t stop my relatives from moving forward one foot in front of the other. They were good solid plodders without grandiose expectations. And that’s the legacy they left me. The ability to plod forward, no matter the circumstances. I realize plodding isn’t glamorous, but there are times when it serves a purpose.



* * *




Grandma was at the front door when I pulled into the driveway. She had her purse in the crook of her arm and a casserole dish in her hands. I jumped out and helped her into the SUV.

“This is good,” Grandma said. “We can tag-team Benny. Do I look okay? I decided on this navy dress because it’s solemn but not sad. I usually dress it up with a pink scarf, but the scarf seemed to convey too much happiness for delivering a bereavement casserole.”

“The dress is perfect,” I said. “What’s in the casserole?”

“Baked ziti.”

“The recipe with the gooey cheese sauce?”

“Yep. It’s the best. And it has Italian sausage from the butcher at Giovichinni’s.”

“It smells fantastic.”

“It just came out of the oven.”

Two cars were parked in front of Benny’s house.

“Drive around the block,” Grandma said. “The one car belongs to Dori Klausen. She won’t be in there long. She’s only dropping off. The other car belongs to the woman Benny hired to help Carla. She’s probably going to help with the reception after the burial.”

I did a lap around the block and parked in the space just vacated by Dori. We walked to the front door and rang the bell and the caretaker answered.

“We’re here to give our condolences to Benny,” Grandma said.

“Much appreciated,” the caregiver said, reaching for the casserole.

Grandma tightened her grip on the dish. “I gotta give this to him personally,” she said, pushing her way in, past the caregiver. “You understand.”

“He might not be up to visitors right now,” the woman said.

“I’m not just anyone,” Grandma said. “I was married to Jimmy Rosolli. I even got his La-Z-Boy. Benny gave it to me.”

“Who’s there?” Benny yelled from a distance.

“It’s Edna Rosolli,” Grandma said. “I brought you a casserole. Baked ziti with special sausage and cheese sauce. It’s for tomorrow.”

“Screw tomorrow,” Benny said, “bring me the casserole and a fork. I’m starving back here. All I ever get is a protein shake.”

“He’s supposed to lose weight,” the caregiver said.

“You’re killing me,” Benny yelled at the caregiver. “You’re fucking killing me. Excuse my language.”

“He’s in the den in the back,” she said. “I’ll bring him a fork.”

I led Grandma through the house to the tacked-on den. Benny was in the big comfy chair this time and the cat was in a donut-type bed by his feet.