Spiro’s shades were still drawn. There was no sign of life in his apartment. I was beginning to worry when his door opened and Spiro walked out. He tried his door to make sure it was locked and quickly walked to his car. He drove a navy blue Lincoln Town Car. The car of choice for all young undertakers. Undoubtedly leased and charged off to the business.

He was dressed more casually than usual. Stonewashed black jeans and running shoes. Bulky dark green sweater. A white bandage was wrapped around his thumb and peeked out from under his sweater sleeve.

He gunned the Lincoln out of the lot and turned onto Klockner. I’d expected some sort of acknowledgment, but Spiro barreled past without a sideways glance. Most likely he was concentrating on not messing his pants.

I followed at a leisurely pace. There weren’t a lot of cars on the road, and I knew where Spiro was heading. I parked half a block from the funeral home, at an angle where I could see the front entrance, the side entrance, and also the small parking lot on the side with the walkway leading to the back door.

Spiro parked in the drive-through and entered through the side. The door stayed open while he punched in the security code. The door closed and a light flicked on in Spiro’s office.

Ten minutes later Louie Moon showed up.

I poured more coffee and ate half a sandwich. No one else went in or out. At nine-thirty Louie Moon left in the hearse. He returned an hour later, and someone was rolled into the back of the house. I guessed this was why Louie and Spiro had to come in on a Sunday morning.

At eleven I used my cellular phone to call my mother and make sure Grandma Mazur was okay.

“She’s out,” my mother said. “I leave the house for ten minutes, and what happens? You father lets your grandmother go off with Betty Greenburg.”

Betty Greenburg was eighty-nine and was hell on wheels.

“Ever since that stroke in August Betty Greenburg can’t remember anything,” my mother said. “Last week she drove to Asbury Park. Said she meant to go to Kmart and made a wrong turn.”

“How long has Grandma Mazur been gone?”

“Almost two hours. They were supposed to be going to the bakery. Maybe I should call the police.”

There was the sound of a door slamming and a lot of shouting in the background.

“It’s your grandmother,” my mother said. “And she’s got her hand all wrapped up.”

“Let me talk to her.”

Grandma Mazur came on the phone. “You won’t believe this,” she said, her voice trembling with anger and indignation. “The most terrible thing just happened. Betty and me were coming out of the bakery with a box full of fresh-made Italian cookies when none other than Kenny Mancuso himself walked out from behind a car, just as brazen as could be and came right up to me.