Two for the Dough by Janet Evanovich Read Free Book Online Page B

white paper, and read the two-sentence message, which had also been formed from paste-ons.
    “Take a vacation. It will be good for your health.”
    I didn’t see any travel agency brochures stuck in the envelope, so I assumed this wasn’t a cruise advertisement.
    I considered the other option. Threat. Of course, if the threat was from Kenny, that meant he was still in Trenton. Even better, it meant I’d done something to get him worried. Beyond Kenny I couldn’t imagine who would be threatening me. Maybe one of Kenny’s friends. Maybe Morelli. Maybe my mother.
    I said howdy to Rex, dumped my pocketbook and the envelope on the kitchen counter, and accessed my phone messages.
    My cousin Kitty, who worked at the bank, called to say she was keeping her eye on Mancuso’s account just like I’d asked, but there was no new activity.
    My best friend since the day I was born, Mary Lou Molnar, who was now Mary Lou Stankovic, called to ask if I’d dropped off the face of the earth since she hadn’t heard from me since God knows when.
    And the last message was from Grandma Mazur.
    “I hate these stupid machines,” she said. “Always feel like a dang fool talking to nobody. I saw in the paper where there’s gonna be a viewing for that gas station fellow tonight, and I could use a ride. Elsie Farnsworth said she’d take me, but I hate to go with her because she’s got arthritis in her knees and sometimes her foot gets stuck on the gas pedal.”
    A viewing for Moogey Bues. That seemed worthwhile. I went across the hall to borrow the paper from Mr. Wolesky. Mr. Wolesky kept his TV going day and night, so it was always necessary to pound real loud on his door. Then he’d open it and tell you not to knock his door down. When he had a heart attack four years ago, he called the ambulance but refused to get wheeled out until after Jeopardy! was over.
    Mr. Wolesky opened the door and glared out at me. “You don’t have to knock the door down,” he said. “I’m not deaf, you know.”
    “I was wondering if I could borrow your paper.”
    “As long as you bring it right back. I need the TV section.”
    “I just wanted to check the viewings.” I opened the paper to the obits and read down. Moogey Bues was at Stiva. Seven o’clock.
    I thanked Mr. Wolesky and returned his paper.
    I called Grandma and told her I’d pick her up at seven. I declined my mother’s dinner invitation, promised her I wouldn’t wear jeans to the viewing, disconnected, and, doing pancake damage control, searched my refrigerator for fat-free food.
    I was plowing through a salad when the phone rang.
    “Yo,” Ranger said. “Bet you’re eating salad for supper.”
    I stuck my tongue out and crossed my eyes at the handset. “You have anything to tell me about Mancuso?”
    “Mancuso don’t live here. He don’t visit here. He don’t do business here.”
    “Just out of morbid curiosity, if you were going to look for twenty-four missing caskets, where would you start?”
    “Are these caskets empty or full?”
    Oh shit, I’d forgotten to ask. I squeezed my eyes closed. Please God, let them be empty.
    I hung up and dialed Eddie Gazarra.
    “It’s your nickel,” Gazarra said.
    “I want to know what Joe Morelli’s working on.”
    “Good luck. Half the time Morelli’s captain doesn’t know what Morelli’s working on.”
    “I know, but you hear things.”
    Heavy sigh. “I’ll see what I can dig up.”
    Morelli was vice, which meant he was in a different building, in a different part of Trenton than Eddie. Vice did a lot of work with DEA and Customs and kept pretty closemouthed about their projects. Still, there was bar talk and clerical gossip and talk among spouses.
    I shucked my Levi’s and did the panty hose—business suit bit. I slid my feet into heels, fluffed my hair up with some gel and hairspray, and swiped at my lashes with mascara. I stepped back and took a look. Not bad, but I didn’t think Sharon Stone would drive off a bridge in