Part 15 (1/2)

IT WAS DINNERTIME when I got back to my parents'. Valerie was out of bed and at the table, wearing dark gla.s.ses. Angie and Mooner were eating peanut b.u.t.ter sandwiches in front of the television. Mary Alice was galloping around the house, pawing at the carpet and snorting. Grandma was dressed for the viewing. My father had his head down over his meat loaf. And my mother was at the head of the table, having a full-blown hot flash. Her face was flushed, her hair was damp on her forehead, and her eves darted feverishly around the room, daring anyone to imply she was in the throes of the change.

Grandma ignored my mother and pa.s.sed me the applesauce. ”I was hoping you'd show up for dinner. I could use a ride to the viewing.”

”Sure,” I said. ”I was going, anyway.”

My mother gave me a pained expression.

”What?” I asked.

”Nothing.”

”What?”

”It's your clothes. You go to the Ricci viewing dressed like that, and I'll be getting phone calls for a week. What will I say to people? They'll think you can't afford decent clothes.”

I looked down at my jeans and boots. They looked decent to me, but I wasn't about to argue with a menopausal woman.

”I have clothes you can wear,” Valerie said. ”In fact, I'll go with you and Grandma. It'll be fun! Does Stiva still serve cookies?”

There must have been a mix-up at the hospital. Surely I don't have a sister who thinks funeral parlors are fun.

Valerie popped up out of her chair and pulled me upstairs by the hand. ”I know just the outfit for you!”

There's nothing worse than wearing someone else's clothes. Well, maybe world famine or a typhoid epidemic, but aside from that, borrowed clothes never feel right. Valerie is an inch shorter than me and five pounds lighter. Our shoe sizes are identical, and our taste in clothes couldn't be more different. Wearing Valerie's clothes to the Ricci viewing equates to Halloween in h.e.l.l.

Valerie whisked a skirt out of her closet. ”Ta-dah!” she sang. ”Isn't this wonderful? It's perfect. And I have the perfect top for it, too. And I have the perfect shoes. They're all coordinated.”

Valerie has always been coordinated. Her shoes and her handbags always match. Her skirts and s.h.i.+rts match, too. And Valerie can actually wear a scarf without looking like an idiot.

Five minutes later, Valerie had me completely outfitted. The skirt was mauve and lime green, patterned with pink and yellow lilies. The material was diaphanous and the hemline hit midcalf. Probably looked great on my sister in L.A., but I felt like a seventies shower curtain. The top was a stretchy little white cotton s.h.i.+rt with cap sleeves and lace around the neck. The shoes were pink strappy sandals with three-inch heels.

Never in my life had I ever considered wearing pink shoes.

I looked at myself in the full-length mirror and tried not to grimace.

”LOOK AT THIS,” Grandma said when we got to Stiva's. ”It's a packed house. We should have gotten here sooner. All the good seats up front by the casket are going to be gone.”

We were in the foyer, barely able to push our way through the mourners who were spilling in and out of the viewing rooms. It was precisely seven o'clock, and if we'd gotten to Stiva's any sooner we would have had to line up outside like fans at a rock concert.

”I can't breathe,” Valerie said. ”I'm going to be squashed like a bug. My girls will be orphans.”

”You have to step on people's feet and kick them in the back of the leg,” Grandma said, ”then they move away from you.”

Benny and Ziggy were standing just inside the door to room one. If Eddie came through the door they had him. Tom Bell, the primary on the Ricci case, was also here. Plus half the population of the Burg.

I felt a hand cup my a.s.s and I whirled around to catch Ronald DeChooch leering down at me. ”Hey, chicky,” he said, ”I like the flimsy skirt. I bet you're not wearing any panties.”

”Listen, you d.i.c.kless sack of s.h.i.+t,” I said to Ronald DeChooch, ”you touch my a.s.s again and I'll get someone to shoot you.”

”s.p.u.n.ky,” Ronald said. ”I like that.”

Meanwhile, Valerie had disappeared, swept away with the crowd surging forward. And Grandma was worming her way up to the casket ahead of me. A closed casket is a dangerous situation, since lids have been known to mysteriously spring open in Grandma's presence. Best to stay close to Grandma and keep watch that she doesn't get her nail file out to work at the latch.

Constantine Stiva, the Burg's favorite undertaker, spotted Grandma and rushed to stand guard, beating Grandma to the deceased.

”Edna,” he said, nodding and smiling his understanding undertaker smile, ”so nice to see you again.”

Once a week Grandma caused chaos at Stiva's, but Stiva wasn't about to alienate a future customer who was no spring chicken and had her eye on a top-of-the-line mahogany, hand-carved eternal resting box.

”I thought it only right that I pay my respects,” Grandma said. ”Loretta was in my seniors group.”

Stiva had himself wedged between Grandma and Loretta. ”Of course,” he said. ”Very kind of you.”

”I see it's another one of them closed-coffin things,” Grandma said.

”The family's preference,” Stiva said, his voice as smooth as custard, his expression benign.

”I guess it's best, being that she was shot and then all carved up in the autopsy.”

Stiva showed a flicker of nervousness.

”Shame they had to do the autopsy,” Grandma said. ”Loretta was shot in the chest and she could have had an open casket except I guess when they do the autopsy they take your brain out and I suppose that makes it hard to get a good hairdo.”

Three people who had been standing nearby sucked in air and speed-walked to the door.

”So what did she look like?” Grandma asked Stiva. ”Would you have been able to do anything with her if it wasn't for the brain thing?”

Stiva had Grandma by the elbow. ”Why don't we go into the lobby where it's not so crowded and we can have some cookies.”

”That's a good idea,” Grandma said. ”I could use a cookie. Nothing interesting to see here, anyway.”

I followed them out and on the way stopped to talk to Ziggy and Benny.

”He's not going to show up here,” I said. ”He's not that crazy.”

Ziggy and Benny shrugged in unison.

”Just in case,” Ziggy said.

”What was the deal with Mooner yesterday?”

”He wanted to see the club,” Ziggy said. ”He came out of your apartment building to get some air and we got to talking and one thing led to another.”

”Yeah, we didn't mean to kidnap the little guy,” Benny said. ”And we don't want old lady Morelli putting the eye on us. We don't believe in any of that Old World stuff, but why take a chance.”