"News flash," I said. "I don't iron. I don't eat raw fish. And I don't do dog stuff. You lay a hand on me, and I swear, I'm going for my gun."

MRS. MORELLI opened the door to us and smacked Joe on the side of the head. "Sex fiend. Just like your father, God rest his rotten soul."

Morelli grinned down at his mother. "It's a curse."

"It wasn't my fault," I said. "Honestly."

"Your Grandma Bella and your Aunt Mary Elizabeth are here," Mrs. Morelli said. "Watch your language."

Grandma Bella! My mouth went dry and black dots danced in front of my eyes. Grandma Bella put the curse on Diane Fripp, and Diane had her period nonstop for three months! I rechecked the buttons on the front of my dress and subtly felt to make sure I'd gotten my underwear back on.

Grandma Bella and Aunt Mary Elizabeth were in the living room, sitting side by side on the couch. Grandma Bella is a small white-haired lady dressed in traditional Italian black. She'd come to this country as a young woman, but back then the burg was more Italian than Sicily, so she'd kept her old-country ways. Mary Elizabeth is Bella's younger sister and is a retired nun. They both had highball glasses in their hands and cigarettes hanging out of their mouths.

"So," Grandma Bella said, "the bounty hunter."

I sat on the edge of the seat of a wing-back chair and pressed my knees together. "Nice to see you, Grandma Bella."

"I hear you're living with my grandson."

"I'm . . . renting a room in his house."

"Hah!" she shouted. "Don't make up fibs to me or I'll put the eye on you."

I was doomed. I was fucking doomed. Even as I sat there I could feel my period coming on.

10

"THERE'S NO SUCH THING as the eye," Joe said. "Don't try to scare Stephanie."

"You don't believe in anything," Bella said. "And I never see you in church." She shook her finger at him. "Good thing I pray for you."

"Dinner's ready," Mrs. Morelli said. "Joseph, help your Grandma Bella into the dining room."

This was the first time I'd been in Mrs. Morelli's house. I'd been in the garage and the backyard. And of course I'd passed by countless times, always speaking in hushed whispers and never dillydallying for fear Mrs. Morelli would come get me by the ear and accuse me of wearing day-old underwear or not brushing my teeth. Her husband was known for not sparing the belt on his sons. Mrs. Morelli needed none of that. Mrs. Morelli could nail you to the wall with a single word. "Well," she would say, and the hapless victim would confess to anything. Everyone but Joe. As a kid Joe had run wild and unchecked.