Takedown Twenty(49)

I sneaked through the back door, walked past the small hostess kitchen and the funeral director’s office, and came out into the packed lobby. The noise was a smidgeon below rock concert, the temperature had to be in the nineties, and the entire place smelled like carnations and deodorant failure.

I was standing by the table with the coffee and tea and cookies, and I had to somehow get to Rose. She was laid out in Slumber Room No. 1. This was the largest of the slumber rooms, the premier spot. It was reserved for murder victims and the grandmasters of various lodges and social clubs.

I pushed my way through the crowd to the room entrance and worked my way forward. Two men and a woman were standing at the head of the casket. Obviously relatives. They were my target. Grandma and Gordon had seats in the second row. I picked out Mama Giovichinni, my parents’ neighbor Mrs. Ciak, a few women from Bingo, and a bunch of other people from the Burg. The line of mourners inching up to the casket ran the length of the room and out the door. If I tried to cut the line I’d be attacked and ejected. My only hope was to wait until the viewing was ending and everyone stampeded out to the lobby to get last-minute cookies.

Grandma turned and saw me and waved.

“Over here,” she shouted. “We saved you a seat.”

The seat was between Grandma and Randy Berger. I hadn’t noticed it at first because Berger was occupying two seats. It wasn’t that he was excessively fat, it was more that he was just so big. I made a no thanks gesture, but Grandma was having none of it. Berger managed to pull most of himself off the seat and I squished myself into it.

“I was hoping you’d be here,” Berger said. “Have you thought about the job offer?”

“I’m sure it’s a great job,” I said, “but it’s not for me. And I like being a bond enforcement agent.”

“You could try butchering part-time.”

“No.”

“Okay, then how about dinner?”

“No.”

“I’d bring a nice pork tenderloin.”

“No.”

“I heard that,” Grandma said to me. “I bet it would be a pip of a pork tenderloin. Remember that boyfriend you had who could cook those pork chops? I never tasted a pork chop like that since.”

“He was a killer!”

“Yeah, but he sure could cook pork chops.”

“He probably brined them,” Berger said. “You’ve got to brine pork to get it tender. I always brine my pork.”

So now I had a dilemma. I wanted to run screaming out of the funeral home, but I needed to stay and talk to Rose’s relatives.

“I’m going back for cookies,” I said to Grandma and Randy.

“I’ll go with you,” Randy said.

“No! You have to stay here and save my seat.”

“She’s right,” Grandma said. “I’ll never be able to hold two seats in this location. These people get vicious when it comes to a good seat.”

I made my way out of the room and back to the lobby, talking to people as I worked my way through the crowd. I was looking for information on male friends, new friends, shopping friends. I was hanging out at the cookie table when I started a conversation with a woman who lived on Stanton Street and was Rose’s neighbor.

“Were you and Rose good friends?” I asked her.

“Truth is, I hardly knew her. I saw her all the time, because I lived right across the street, and my windows looked out at her house. We would say hello when we were both out, but other than that she kept to herself. She was quiet. She mostly went to the Senior Center. The little bus would come pick her up.”

“That bus just picks up and drops off at the Senior Center,” I said. “It must have been hard for Rose to go grocery shopping.”

“Her daughter used to take her shopping every Saturday, but then a couple weeks before she was murdered there was a different car. I imagine it was some other relative.”

“Was it an SUV?”

“No. It was a regular car. Gray. It looked like a man driving, so it might have been the son-in-law. I didn’t know him.”

“Are there any other neighbors here?”

The woman looked around. “I haven’t seen any. It’s hard to see anybody in this mob.”

At eight-thirty I started maneuvering myself back into the viewing room. The tide was already turning and people were beginning to move out. I joined the line filing past the deceased, managing to get up to the casket just as the lights dimmed. I murmured the standard polite condolences and told Rose’s family I was part of the team investigating the murders.

They introduced themselves as Rose’s daughter, son-in-law, and younger brother. I asked if Rose had mentioned any new friends or activities in the weeks before she died.