like a sissy.”
I eased Grandma away from Maria and moved her into a less congested area. She tagged two people en route, but no one went down.
“Stay here,” I said. “You can’t do any more damage if you don’t move from this spot.”
“Yeah, but what good is that? I’m not near the cookies. And I haven’t even seen the deceased yet. And people can’t see me with my disability over here.”
“If you keep hitting people in the back of the leg with your crutches, they’ll kick you out.”
“They won’t do that. I’m an old lady and I’m gonna die soon, and they want my business. I got a real expensive slumber box picked out here. Mahogany with gold handles and padded inside with genuine satin. And it’s lead-lined, so the worms won’t get to me. They could have buried King Tut in this slumber box, and he’d be good as new.”
I hoped the funeral home wasn’t counting on collecting Grandma’s funeral money any time soon, because I was pretty sure Grandma wasn’t ever going to die.
“Maybe you could walk better without the crutches,” I said to her.
“I won’t get as much sympathy that way. This is my big chance. Other people get heart attacks and kidney stones, and I never get any of that stuff. I’m healthy as a horse. I don’t even get the flu. All I got is a broken foot. And it wasn’t even broken enough to get us a handicap sticker for the car. I tell you, there’s no justice in this world.”
“All right, let’s compromise. You can hold the crutches, but you can’t use them to try to walk.”
“I guess that would be okay,” Grandma said. “I can’t figure them out anyway. I think I swing when I’m supposed to clomp.”
“Where do you want to go first?” I asked her.
“I want to see the deceased. And then I want cookies.”
TWENTY-THREE
I GOT GRANDMA in the line inching its way to the casket, and I set off to find Lenny Pickeral. After five minutes of circulating through the room, I realized everyone looked like Lenny Pickeral. Even the women. Some Pickerals were older than others, but other than that they were interchangeable.
I stopped a random Pickeral and asked about Lenny.
“I’m looking for Lenny,” I said. “Have you seen him?”
“I was just talking to him,” she said. “He’s here somewhere.”
“Did you notice what he was wearing?”
“Dark sports coat and a blue dress shirt.”
Great. That described half the Pickerals. I moved to the other side of the room and asked again.
“He’s right over there, talking to Aunt Sophie,” the woman said. “He has his back to us.”
I slipped in next to Lenny and put my hand on his arm. “Lenny Pickeral?” I asked.
He turned and looked at me. “Yeah.”
“Excuse us,” I said to Aunt Sophie. “I’d like a word with Lenny.”
Lenny was my height and slim. His clothes were neat but inexpensive. His skin tone was office worker. I led him to a quiet corner and introduced myself.
“What does that mean?” Lenny asked. “Bond enforcement.”
“When you didn’t show up for trial, my employer had to forfeit the money he posted for you. If I bring you back to the court to get a new date, we get our money back.”
“That sounds okay,” Lenny said. “When do you want to do that?”
“Now.”
“Will it take long? I drove my mom here.”
“Can she get someone else to take her home?”
“I guess. Is there night court? How does this work?”
He was asking too many questions. And I could see the panic pooling in his eyes. He was going to run. I pulled cuffs out of my purse and click! One was around his wrist. His eyes got wide, and his mouth dropped open, and he looked at the cuff like it was reptilian.
“I don’t want to make a scene. Just quietly and calmly walk out with me,” I said.
“What’s going on?” a woman said. “Why did you put handcuffs on Lenny? Hey, Maureen, look at this.”
In the space of a heartbeat, Lenny and I were surrounded by Pickerals.
“Nothing dramatic going on,” I said. “I’m just taking Lenny downtown to reschedule his court date.”
“Is this over the toilet paper?” a man asked.
“Yes,” I said.
“It’s not fair. He gave it all back.”
“And it was for a good cause,” another man said. “He was protesting. You ever have to use one of them restrooms on the Turnpike? That toilet paper’s like wax paper.”
Okay, here’s the thing. I actually hated the toilet paper in the Turnpike restrooms, so I understood the protest. Problem was, the only thing worse than the wax paper toilet paper was no toilet paper at all.
An older woman bustled in. “I’m his mother. What’s this?” she said, taking in the handcuffs.
“It’s about the toilet paper,” someone said.
“Oh, for goodness sakes,” Mrs. Pickeral said. “It was toilet paper. And it wasn’t even any good.”
“Besides, it’s his life’s work,” a woman said. “He’s a crusader. He’s like Robin Hood.”
“Yeah,” everyone murmured. “Robin Hood.”
“He still has to keep his court date,” I told them.
“There’s no court tonight,” Mrs. Pickeral said. “And I need him to give me a ride home. I’ll make sure he goes tomorrow morning.”
I heard this a lot. No one ever showed up in the morning.
“Look at him,” Mrs. Pickeral said. “Does he look like a criminal?”
My nose was running and my eyes were feeling puffy from the flowers. And I was caring less and less about Lenny Pickeral and his stupid toilet paper crime spree.
“Fine,” I said, unlocking the cuffs. “I’m letting him go, but I’m holding all of you responsible. If Lenny doesn’t show up at court tomorrow morning to get rebonded, you’ll all be accessories to a crime.”
That was a crock of doodie, but I felt like I had to say something. And it was at that instant that God rewarded me for showing compassion and letting Lenny walk. Or maybe it was the bottle that was back in my bag that brought me luck. I turned from Lenny, and from the corner of my eye I caught a glimpse of a head sticking up above the mourning masses. It was Butch Goodey. Lenny’s capture fee would have bought me a meatball sub. Goodey’s capture fee would pay my rent and then some.
Goodey was up by the casket, paying condolences to the family. I hugged the wall, coming at him from the rear. I had no clue how to take him down. I didn’t have a stun gun or pepper spray. I wasn’t about to shoot him. Even if I could get the cuffs on him, I didn’t think I could stop him from fleeing. I stood to one side and waited for him to move from the casket area.
“Yo,” I said, stepping in front of him. “How’s it going?”
His expression was blank for a moment while he connected the dots, and then recognition slammed into him.
“You again!” he said, wheeling around, looking for an exit, fixing on the door to the lobby.
“Wait!” I said, grabbing the back of his jacket. “We need to talk. We can deal.”
“I’m not going to jail,” he said. And he took off for the door. I still had my fingers wrapped into his jacket, and I held tight, trying to slow him down with my weight, not having any luck with it. He was knocking people over, pushing them aside, muscling his way to the lobby.
Grandma was just inside the open double doors, standing beside the cookie station. “Hey!” she said to Butch. “What the heck’s going on with you and my granddaughter?”
“Get outta my way,” Butch said.
