I chugged the juice and tried the oatmeal. It needed something. Chocolate, maybe. Or ice cream. I added three spoons of sugar and some milk.
Grandma Mazur took her seat at the table. “My hand feels better,” she said, “but I got the devil of a headache.”
“You should stay at home today,” I said. “Take it easy.”
“I'm going to take it easy at Clara's. I look a fright. Don't know how my hair got like this.”
“No one will see you if you don't go out of the house,” I argued.
“Suppose someone comes over. Suppose that good-looking Morelli boy comes to visit again? You think I want him seeing me like this? Besides, I got to go while I still got the bandage on and I'm big news. Not every day a person gets attacked at the bakery.”
“I have things to do first thing this morning, but then I'll be back, and I'll take you to Clara's,” I told Grandma. “Don't go without me!”
I wolfed down the rest of the oatmeal and had a fast half cup of coffee. I grabbed my jacket and pocketbook and took off. I had my hand on the door when the phone rang.
“It's for you,” my mother said. “It's Vinnie.”
“I don't want to talk to him. Tell him I've already left.”
The cell phone rang just as I hit Hamilton.
“You should have talked to me at home,” Vinnie said. “It would have been cheaper.”
“You're breaking up . . . lousy connection.”
“Don't give me that lousy connection crap.”
I made some static sounds.
“And I'm not going to fall for that phony static, either. Make sure you get your keester in here this morning.”
I didn't see Morelli lurking in Spiro's parking lot, but I assumed he was there. There were two vans and a truck with a cap. Both good possibilities.
I collected Spiro and headed for the funeral home. When I stopped for the light at Hamilton and Gross, we both turned our attention to the Exxon station.
“Maybe we should stop in and ask a few questions,” Spiro said.
“What kind of questions?”
“Questions about the furniture truck. Just for the hell of it. I guess it would be interesting to see if Moogey was the one who took the caskets.”
I figured I had a couple choices. I could torture him by saying, what's the point? Let's just get on with our lives. And then I'd drive right on by. Or I could play along to see how it goes. There was definitely some merit to torturing Spiro, but my best instincts told me to let him run with the ball and tag along.
The bays were open. Most likely Sandeman was there. Big deal. Compared to Kenny, Sandeman was starting to look small-time. Cubby Delio was working the office. Spiro and I ambled in together.
Cubby snapped to attention at the sight of Spiro. Little prick that he was, Spiro still represented Stiva's mortuary, and Stiva threw a lot of business to the station. All of Stiva's cars were serviced and gassed here.
“I heard about your arm,” Cubby said to Spiro. “Damn shame. I know you and Kenny used to be friends. I guess he just went crazy. That's what everyone says.”
Spiro passed it off with a wave of his hand that implied it was nothing more than an annoyance. He pivoted on his heel and looked out the office window at the truck, still parked in front of the bay. “I wanted to ask you about the Macko truck. Do you always service that truck? Does it come in regularly?”
“Yep. Macko has an account, just like you. They've got two trucks, and we do both of them.”
“Who usually brings them in? Usually the same guy?”
“Usually it's Bucky or Biggy. They've been driving for Macko for a lot of years. Is there a problem? You looking to get some furniture?”
“Thinking about it,” Spiro said.