Stiva's lot was already filled at seven o'clock, and cars lined the curb for two blocks down Hamilton. I double-parked just short of the service driveway and told Grandma she should go in without me.
She'd changed into a dress and the big blue coat and looked very colorful marching up Stiva's front steps with her apricot hair. She had her black patent leather purse tucked into the crook of her arm, and her bandaged hand stood out like a white flag, proclaiming her as one of the walking wounded in the war against Kenny Mancuso.
I circled the block twice before finding a spot. I hustled to the funeral parlor, entered through the side door, and steeled myself against the claustrophobic hothouse heat and crowd murmur. When this was over I was never again going into a funeral parlor. I didn't care who died. I wasn't having any part of it. Could be my mother or my grandmother. They were going to have to manage on their own.
I sidled up to Roche at the tea table. 'I see your brother's being buried tomorrow morning.'
'Yeah. Boy, I sure am going to miss this place. I'm going to miss these cheapskate, sawdust cookies. And I'm going to miss the tea. Yum, I sure do love tea.' He looked around. 'Hell, I don't know what I'm complaining about. I've had worse assignments. Last year I was on a stakeout, dressed up like a bag lady, and I got mugged. Got two broken ribs.'
'Have you seen my grandmother?'
'Yeah. I saw her come in, but then I lost her in the crowd. I imagine she's trying to get a look at the guy that had his . . . um, thing, whacked off.'
I put my head down and muscled my way into the room where Joe Loosey was laid out. I elbowed to the front until I reached the casket and the widow Loosey. I'd expected Grandma to have insinuated herself into the space reserved for the immediate family, her reasoning being that she'd seen Joe's penis and was now on intimate terms.
'I'm sorry for your loss,' I said to Mrs. Loosey. 'Have you seen Grandmother Mazur?' She looked alarmed. 'Edna is here?'
'I dropped her off about ten minutes ago. I expected she'd have come to pay her respects.'
Mrs. Loosey put a protective hand on the casket. 'I haven't seen her.' I pushed through the crowd and dropped in on Roche's fake brother. A handful of people were in the back of the room. From the level of animation I'd guess they were talking about the great penis scandal. I asked if anyone had seen Grandma Mazur. The answers were negative. I returned to the lobby. I checked the kitchen, the ladies' room, the porch to the side door. I questioned everyone in my path.
No one had seen a little old lady in a big blue coat.
Prickles of alarm had begun to dance along my spine. This was uncharacteristic of Grandma. She liked to be in the thick of things. I'd seen her walk through Stiva's front door, so I knew she was in the house . . . at least for a short time. I didn't think it likely she'd gone back outside. I hadn't seen her on the street while I was searching for a parking space. And I couldn't imagine her leaving without taking a peek at Loosey. I walked upstairs and prowled through the second story rooms where caskets and files were stored. I cracked the door to the business office and flipped the light switch. The office was empty. The upstairs bathroom was empty. The walk-in linen closet that was filled with office supplies was empty.
I returned to the lobby and noticed Roche was no longer at the tea table. Spiro was alone at the front door, looking sour.
'I can't find Grandma Mazur,' I said to him.
'Congratulations.'
'Not funny. I'm worried about her.'
'You should be. She's nuts.'
'Have you seen her?'
'No. And it's the only decent thing that's happened to me in two days.'
'I thought maybe I should check the back rooms.'
'She's not in the back. I keep the doors locked during public hours.'
'She can be sort of ingenious when she has her mind set on something.'
'If she managed to get back there she wouldn't stay long. Fred Dagusto is on table number one, and he's not a pretty sight. Three hundred and ten pounds of ugly flesh. Fat as far as the eye can see. Gonna have to grease him up to shoehorn him into a casket.'
