“Think what?” Grandma asked.
“You know what. You're not going to the viewing. It would be in terrible taste. The Macaronis have suffered enough without us adding to their grief.”
“The Macaronis are probably dancing in their socks,” Grandma said. "Susan Mifflin saw them eating at Artie's Seafood House the day after the accident.
She said they were going at the all-you-can-eat crab legs like it was a party."
When the only thing left of the pineapple upside-down cake was a smudge of
whipped cream on the cake plate, I helped my mother clear the table. I promised I'd get the decorations for the cars. And I made a mental note that in the future I would avoid weddings, mine or anyone else's. And while I was making my never-again list, I might add never have another dinner at my parents' house... although it was pretty funny when Grandma suggested Morelli get a Dummies' guide to good sex.
Ten minutes later, Morelli and I were parked on Hamilton, across from the
funeral home.
“Tell me again why we're doing this,” Morelli said.
“The bad guy always returns to the scene of the crime. Everybody knows that.”
“This isn't the scene of the crime.”
“Work with me here, okay? It's close enough. Spiro seems like the kind of guy who would hate to be left out. I think he'd want to watch the spectacle.”
We sat for a couple minutes in silence and Morelli turned to me. “You're smiling,” Morelli said. “It's making me uneasy. Anyone in their right mind wouldn't be smiling after that dinner.”
“I thought there were some good moments.”
Morelli was dividing his attention between the people arriving for the viewing and me. “Like when your grandmother suggested I get a book?”
“That was the best moment.”
It was deep twilight. Light pooled on the sidewalk and road from overhead halogens, and Stiva's front porch was glowing. Stiva didn't want the old folks falling down the stairs after visiting with the deceased.
Morelli reached out to me in the darkened car. His fingertips traced along my hairline. "Do you want to throw out a comment here? Was your grandmother
right? Is that why we're not married?"
“You're fishing for compliments.”
That got Morelli smiling. “Busted.”
Someone rapped on the drivers-side window, and we both flinched. Morelli rolled the window down a crack, and Grandma squinted in at us.
“I thought I recognized the car,” Grandma said.
“What are you doing here?” I asked Grandma. “I thought it was settled that you'd stay away.”
“I know your mother means well, but sometimes she can be a real pain in the patoot. This viewing will be the talk of the town. How can I go to the beauty parlor tomorrow if I don't know anything about the viewing? What will I say to people? I got a reputation to uphold. People expect me to know the dirt. So I sneaked out when your mother went to the bathroom. I was lucky to be able to hitch a ride with Mabel from next door.”
“We can't let Grandma go to that viewing,” I said to Morelli. “She'll be nothing but a grease spot on Stiva's carpet after the Macaronis get done with her.”
“You really shouldn't go to the viewing,” he said to Grandma. “Why don't you get in the car, and we'll go to a bar and get wasted?”
“Not a bad offer,” Grandma said. “But no can do. I can't take a chance on them having the lid up.”
“There's no chance they'll have the lid up,” Morelli said. “I saw them collecting the pieces, and they're not going to fit together.”
Grandma slid her dentures around in her mouth while she weighed her choices.