Only if you knew Ranger would you know he replied.
I looked at Ranger, and he mouthed “Sandman” to me. Sandman. The name didn't mean anything.
Sandman approached the casket and studied the polished wood in silence. There was no expression to his face. He looked like he'd seen it all and didn't think much of it. His eyes were dark, deep-set, and lined. I guessed the lines were from dissipation more than sun and laughter. His hair was black, oiled back from his face.
He caught me stari
ng and our eyes locked for a moment before he turned away.
“I need to talk to Ranger,” I said to Grandma Mazur. “If I leave you alone will you promise not to get into trouble?”
Grandma sniffed. “Well, that's plain insulting. I guess after all these years I know how to behave myself.”
“No fooling around, trying to see in the casket.”
“Hmmph.”
“Who was the guy that just paid his respects?” I asked Ranger. “Sandman?”
“His name is Perry Sandeman. Got the name of Sandman on account of if you irritate him he'll put you to sleep for a real long time.”
“How do you know him?”
“He gets around. Buys a little dope from the brothers.”
“What's he doing here?”
“Works at the garage.”
“Moogey's garage?”
“Yeah. I hear he was there when Moogey got shot in the knee.”
Someone screamed in the front of the room, and there was the sound of a heavy object being slammed shut. A heavy object like a coffin lid. I felt my eyes involuntarily roll skyward.
Spiro appeared in the doorway not far from me. Two small frown lines had fixed themselves between his eyebrows. He strode forward, cutting a swath through the crowd. I had a clear view in his wake, and the view was of Grandma Mazur.
“It was my sleeve,” Grandma said to Spiro. “It got caught by accident on the lid and the dang thing just opened up. It could of happened to anyone.”
Grandma looked back at me and gave a thumbs-up.
“Is that your granny?” Ranger wanted to know.
“Yup. She was checking to make sure Moogey was here.”
“You've got a helluva gene pool, babe.”
Spiro tested the lid to make sure it was securely closed and replaced the flower spray that had fallen to the floor.
I hustled up, ready to lend support to the lid-caught-on-the-sleeve theory, but support wasn't necessary. Spiro clearly wanted to minimize the incident. He made some sounds of comfort to the closest mourners and was busy wiping Grandma's fingerprints off the glossy wood.
“I couldn't help but notice while the lid was up that you did a nice job,” Grandma said, hovering over Spiro. “Couldn't hardly see those holes at all, except for where your mortician's putty'd sunk in a little.”
Spiro nodded solemnly, and with the touch of a fingertip to Grandma's back, deftly turned her away from the casket. “We have tea in the lobby,” he said. “Perhaps you would like a cup of tea after this unfortunate experience?”
“I guess a cup of tea wouldn't hurt,” Grandma said. “I was pretty much done here anyway.”
I accompanied Grandma to the lobby and made sure she was actually going to drink tea. When she settled into a chair with her cup and some cookies, I went on my own in search of Spiro. I found him loitering just outside the side door, standing in a halo of artificial light, sneaking a smoke.