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“Terrible,” my mother said. “Such a tragedy.”
“I hear they’re only having one viewing,” Grandma said to me. “It’s going to be packed. If you need extra muscle I’m available.”
“If you involve your grandmother in this you’ll be banned from having dessert at this house for life,” my mother said.
“I won’t need extra muscle,” I said. “Ranger is the primary security. I’m only there if Monica has to go to the ladies’ room.”
“Will you be in a Rangeman uniform?” Grandma asked. “Will you be packing?”
“No and sort of.”
“How can you sort of carry a gun?” Grandma asked.
“I don’t have any bullets. I keep forgetting to buy them.”
“I might be able to help you out,” Grandma said.
My mother gave my grandmother the steely-eye. “Yesterday you told me you got rid of the gun and all the bullets. You promised.”
“I was gonna suggest that she goes to Walmart,” Grandma said. “They got everything.”
I caught my mother glancing at the cupboard over the sink. She kept her hooch there, and she was probably weighing my opinion of her as an alcoholic against how bad she needed a drink. I love Grandma Mazur, but in all honesty, if I had to live with her I’d be taking a nip in the afternoon too.
“What kind of bad guys are you hunting down these days?” Grandma asked.
“No one special,” I said. “The usual suspects.”
“I heard you nabbed Billy Bacon but he got away,” Grandma said.
I nodded. “We had him in custody but there was an incident.”
My mother snapped to attention. “What incident? I didn’t hear about an incident.”
“It involved Lula,” I said. “I was getting lunch for all of us and Lula and Billy Bacon got carjacked.”
“Oh my God,” my mother said, and immediately made the sign of the cross. “Where did this happen? It was in a bad neighborhood, wasn’t it? You’re always in a bad neighborhood. I don’t know why you can’t find a nice normal job.”
“I sort of like my job,” I said. “I have a lot of personal freedom, and I don’t have to get dressed up.”
“You make no money, and you’re always dealing with criminals,” my mother said. “It’s a terrible job. You should quit and marry Joseph.”
I blew out a sigh.
“What?” my mother said.
“I’m not ready to marry Morelli.”
“Why not? He has a good job. He has a house. He has a nice car.”
“He’s hot,” Grandma said. “Don’t forget about him being hot.”
I wondered if there was dessert. There was a white Tasty Pastry bakery box sitting on the counter.
Grandma saw me look over at it. “Italian cookies,” she said. “Pinwheels and almond horns and pistachio shortbread.” She got up and brought the box to the table.
“You’re not getting any younger,” my mother said to me. “What are you waiting for? You should bring him to dinner on Friday. I’ll make pot roast.”
I took a pinwheel. “We broke up.”
