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“So sorry for your loss,” Grandma said to Monica. “My condolences.”
“Yeah, whatever,” Monica said.
Grandma leaned into the casket for a close look.
“What are you gonna do, kiss him?” Monica asked.
“I was trying to see where they cut him up when they took his brain out,” Grandma said.
Monica sucked in some fake smoke. “You’d have to unzip his pants for that one.”
Forty-five minutes later Monica was fidgeting and looking around.
“I need a drink,” Monica said.
“Water, coffee, tea?” I asked her.
“Vodka straight up. How long is this creep show going to last?”
“The viewings usually go to nine or ten o’clock,” I said.
“They don’t expect me to stay the whole time, do they?”
“It’s customary.”
“I don’t even know any of these people. Like that scary old lady in the first row. Who the hell is she?”
“That’s my grandmother.”
“Oh yeah, now I remember.”
Grandma looked at me and winked and patted her pu
rse.
At 8:15 P.M. Monica announced that she was leaving. “Tell the undertaker guy to keep this thing going as long as he wants,” Monica said. “I’m going to slip out. It’s not like I’m essential here. This is Doug’s party, right?”
Morelli was standing at the back of the room a couple feet from the door. Our eyes met and I shrugged. The shrug said I had nothing. I hadn’t been able to talk to Monica.
I saw him take out his cellphone, and a moment later a text message buzzed on my phone.
How did you get the bruise and cut lip? Morelli texted.
Ernest Blatzo, I texted back. I’m fine.
Even from this distance I could see a muscle clench in Morelli’s jaw. I expected it went hand in hand with acid reflux.
“Where are you going?” I asked Monica.
“I’m gonna find a bar that’s got lots of vodka.”
“I could go with you.”
“Really?”
“Sure. I like vodka. And you might need security.”
Not to mention I needed to snitch for Morelli.
