“No offense,” Vinnie said, “but you and your granddaughter couldn’t crack a walnut with both hands, much less bring Mancuso in.”

Grandma pulled herself up and edged her chin out a half inch.

“Uh-oh,” Lula said.

“Bad things happen to people who take away from family,” Grandma told Vinnie.

“What kinds of bad things?” Vinnie asked. “What’s my hair gonna fall out? My teeth gonna rot in my head?”

“Maybe,” Grandma said. “Maybe I’ll put the evil eye on you. Or maybe I’ll talk to your grandma Bella. Maybe I’ll tell your grandma Bella how you talk fresh to an old woman.”

Vinnie swayed foot to foot like a caged cat. He knew better than to displease Grandma Bella. Grandma Bella was even scarier than Grandma Mazur. Grandma Bella had on more than one occasion taken a grown man by the ear and brought him to his knees. Vinnie made a low sound behind clenched teeth and narrowed his eyes. He muttered something through tight lips, tipped backward into his office, and slammed his door shut.

“Well,” Grandma said. “That’s the Plum side of the family for you.”

It was late afternoon when we finished shopping. My mother opened the door for us with a grim set to her mouth.

“I had nothing to do with the hair,” I told her. “Grandma did that all by herself.”

“This is my cross to bear,” my mother said. She looked down at Grandma’s shoes and genuflected.

Grandma Mazur was wearing Doc Martens. She was also wearing a new hip-length, downfilled ski jacket, jeans that she’d rolled and pegged, and a flannel shirt to match mine. We looked like Tales from the Crypt does the Bobsey Twins.

“I’m going to take a nap before dinner,” Grandma said. “Shopping wore me out.”

“I could use help in the kitchen,” my mother said to me.

This was bad news. My mother never needed help in the kitchen. The only time my mother requested help was when she had something on her mind and intended to browbeat some unfortunate soul into submission. Or when she wanted information. Have some chocolate pudding, she’d say to me. By the way, Mrs. Herrel saw you going into the Morellis’ garage with Joseph Morelli. And why are your panties on inside out?”

I dragged after her, into her lair, where potatoes boiled on the stove, steaming the air and fogging the window over the sink. My mother opened the oven door to check on the roast, and the smell of leg of lamb washed over me. I felt my eyes glaze and my mouth fall open in a stupor of expectation.

She moved from the oven to the refrigerator. “Some carrots would be nice with the lamb. You can peel the carrots,” she said, handing me the bag and the paring knife. “By the way, why did someone send you a penis?”

I almost sliced off the tip of my finger. “Um …”

“The return address was New York, but the postmark was local,” she said.