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My father kept eating, but his knuckles were turning white holding his fork.
“No, sir,” Grandma said, “I’m not going to be caught short. I’m even working on my bucket list.”
Everyone stopped eating and turned to Grandma.
“What’s on your bucket list?” I asked.
“I got six things so far,” Grandma said. “First off, I want new breasts. These ones I got are a mess. They got all flattened and droopy. Second, I want to see Ranger naked. If I can’t see him naked, I’ll settle for almost naked. Except, I sure would like to see his privates. I bet they’re a sight, and I don’t get to see a lot of privates these days.”
My mother’s face flushed, Briggs squirmed in his seat, and a piece of pot roast fell out of my father’s mouth.
“And then I want to get Joe’s Grandma Bella,” Grandma said. “She don’t scare me with her evil eye baloney. I don’t know how I’m going to get her, but I’m going to get her good. The fourth thing is I want to march in a parade. The fifth thing is I want to take down a bad guy. And the last thing is a secret.” Grandma looked over at Briggs. “How about you? Do you have a bucket list?”
“Nothing formal,” Briggs said. “Mostly I’d like to stay out of prison and not die anytime soon.”
“That’s a good start,” Grandma said.
With the exception of the boob job, my bucket list was about the same as Grandma’s. It might be fun to march in a parade, and I’d already seen Ranger naked but he was worth another look … or two or three or many. And that thought gave me a small anxiety attack. I sent him a text message that said Talk to me, and he texted back Patience.
Briggs washed his pot roast down with two beers, and I thought he looked a little glassy-eyed.
“Are you okay?” I asked him.
“Mmmm,” he said. “Mmmmarvelous.” And his eyes drooped closed.
“Maybe he needs some cake to perk him up,” Grandma said.
“He’s trashed,” my father said.
Grandma looked at him. “Guess he’s not so good with liquor.”
Considering he was only about three feet tall and had just chugged down a water glass of hooch plus two beers, I thought he’d done okay. If I drank all that, I’d be under the table.
I helped Grandma clear the dishes, and my mom brought the cake to the table. Briggs opened his eyes and tried to focus.
“Cake,” he said. “Cake good.”
He plowed through his piece of cake and slumped in his seat. His eyes slid closed, and a little chocolate drool oozed from the side of his mouth.
“Maybe we should get him to the couch and let him sleep it off,” I said.
“There’s no way in hell I’m sharing my living room with him,” my father said. “If you want him to keep breathing, you’ll dump him someplace far away from my television.”
“We could lay him out on the kitchen floor,” Grandma said. “That way he won’t mess anything up with his drooling. And if we put him behind the table, no one will step on him.”
My mother took one foot, Grandma took the other, I got Briggs under the armpits, and we lugged him into the kitchen. We stretched him out behind the table, and Grandma put a kitchen towel under his head.
“He looks real peaceful there,” Grandma said.
I thought about handcuffing him to the stove so he wouldn’t wake up and wander away, but I only had one pair of handcuffs with me, and I might need them if I found Poletti.
I was lucky enough to get the last spot in the small parking lot attached to the funeral home. A few people were gathered on the big front porch, and more people were milling around in the lobby. Mrs. Poletti was in Slumber Room No. 1, which was a spot of honor reserved for the deceased who were expected to draw larger than usual crowds—mob bosses, victims of violent deaths, minor celebrities, and Grand Poobahs of the Knights of Columbus.
Grandma marched straight to the viewing room without so much as a nod to the cookie table. Her eyes narrowed and her lips compressed when she saw that the first row in front of the casket was already taken by the Poletti family. She would have to settle for a seat in the second row.
“Some of them family members should be standing at the head of the casket with the husband of the deceased,” Grandma said. “This new generation don’t know much.”
I recognized the two grandsons, Oswald and Aaron, Aaron’s wife, and Buster. “Who’s the man sitting next to Buster?” I asked Grandma. “He was at the house the day Mrs. Poletti died.”
