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I drove to Connie’s house and got an extra set of car keys from her mother.
“Are you doing okay?” I asked her. “Do you need help with anything?”
“No, but it’ll be good to get the car back. Have you seen it? Were there bloodstains? Did it look like it had been in the river?”
“The car looks like Connie just parked it at Pino’s. It’s not damaged at all. I’m sure Connie is fine and will turn up any day now.”
Mrs. Rosolli nodded and wiped a tear away.
I gave her a hug and left.
I’d wanted to give Mrs. Rosolli some comfort, some reassurance that Connie was okay. I didn’t entirely believe what I’d said to her. It was more that I hoped it was true. I was feeling a lot of pain over Connie. I couldn’t imagine what it must be like for her mom.
I drove deeper into the Burg and idled in front of Morelli’s mother’s house. It was slightly larger than my parents’ house. Four bedrooms upstairs. Living room, dining room, kitchen downstairs. Single-car detached garage sitting in the back corner of the small backyard. I’d been in the house on several occasions and was always terrified of Joe’s mother and grandmother. They were stern matriarchs who protected their family no matter the circumstances. And they put up with no nonsense from outsiders. Joe’s father had been an abusive drunk. No one was sorry when he passed. On the surface the grandmother looked flat-out crazy, but I suspected she was actually very crafty and enjoyed playing the role. I honestly didn’t know what to think about her ability to give someone the eye. It was a little like my position as a Catholic. I was lacking true faith, but the fear of God was strong.
So now what? I thought. Are you going in or are you going to procrasterbate? I took my foot off the brake. I was going to procrasterbate. I didn’t want to confront Grandma Bella. It was going to be unpleasant at best and hideous at worst. Even if I managed to get her to go with me, without Connie or Vinnie, I couldn’t legitimately bond her out. I’d have to do anotheremergencybond, or even worse, leave her in jail overnight. The thought sent a shiver of horror down my spine. If I left Bella in jail overnight, she wouldn’t just give me the eye… she’d come after me with a hatchet.
I drove to the office, picked Lula up, and dropped her at Pino’s. Lula drove Connie’s car to Connie’s house, parked it in herdriveway, gave the keys to Connie’s mother, and jumped into my car.
“It was creepy being in Connie’s car without her,” Lula said when she buckled herself in next to me. “I don’t think Connie drove her car to Pino’s. The seat was pushed way back like a man with longer legs was driving it.” Lula put my air-conditioning on full blast. “I need air. I’m having a moment, here.”
I felt myself choking up and I pushed the emotion away. Don’t get overwhelmed, I told myself. It’s unproductive. Keep making an effort to remain normal so you can think. It’s important to stay sharp.
I was relieved when Lula and I walked into my parents’ house, where normalcy rules supreme. Maybe not normalcy by others’ standards, but there would be normalcy by Plum standards.
My father was in front of the television in the living room. He gave up a small sigh and slouched lower in his chair when he saw Lula. Bad enough that he had to live with my grandmother. Now he had Lula at his dinner table. It wasn’t that he disliked Lula. He just hated additional drama while he forked in his chicken parm.
“Hey, Mr. P,” Lula said. “Looking good. Long time no see. How’s it going?”
My father mumbled something and I hurried Lula out of the living room and into the kitchen. My mother was heating extra red sauce and Grandma was slicing bread from the bakery.
“You’re right on time,” Grandma said. “The table’s all set and we’re only waiting for your father.”
Four minutes later the five o’clock news show ended, my father turned the television off precisely at six o’clock and tookhis place at the head of the table, and we brought the food out. Chicken Parmesan, spaghetti, a gravy boat filled with red sauce, extra grated cheese, bread, butter, broccoli, wine.
Grandma poured wine and my father shoveled chicken onto his plate.
“This is an excellent meal,” Lula said. “I wouldn’t mind knowing how to cook like this. Lately I’ve been thinking about going to one of them culinary institutes. I might change my job and be a chef.”
“You’d be a good chef,” Grandma said. “You know all about eating.”
“My other idea is to go to tattoo school,” Lula said. “I just got the idea this afternoon when I came into contact with some original art.”
My father had his head down, concentrating on his spaghetti, working hard to ignore the conversation.
“The FTA we picked up today hadPervertandBlackmailertattooed on his forehead,” Lula said. “It was a work of art.”
That caught my father’s attention. He stopped eating and looked at Lula. “On his forehead?” my father asked.
“Yeah,” Lula said. “He was naked and shaved and had this brand-new tattoo when we got to him.”
My father gave his head a small shake and went back to eating. My mother went into the kitchen to refresh her iced tea, which we all knew was whiskey. Who could blame her?
“I get it about wanting a new profession,” Grandma said to Lula. “Sometimes you need to shake things up and move in a different direction. I’ve been thinking about becoming an astronaut. They’re taking old people now.”
My father paused for a moment with his bread halfway to his mouth. Probably liking the idea of sending Grandma to the moon.
Morelli called and I stepped away from the table to talk to him.
