“I’m sure someone has checked.”

“But we don’t know for certain.”

I gave her the silent stare.

“Maybe we should peek inside and see for ourselves,” she said.

“NO!”

Conversation paused as heads swiveled in our direction. I smiled apologetically and put a restraining arm around Grandma.

I lowered my voice and added some stern to my whisper. “It’s not polite to peek into a closed casket. And besides, it’s none of our business, and it doesn’t really matter to us if Moogey Bues is here or there. If Moogey Bues is missing, it’s police business.”

“It could be important to the case,” she said. “It could have to do with Kenny Mancuso.”

“You’re just nosy. You want to see the bullet holes.”

“There’s that,” she said.

I noticed Ranger had also come to the viewing. As far as I knew, Ranger wore only two colors: army green and bad-ass black. Tonight he was bad-ass black, the monotony broken only by double-stud earrings, sparkling under the lights. As always, his hair was pulled back into a ponytail. As always, he wore a jacket. This time the jacket was black leather. One could only guess what was hidden under the jacket. Probably enough firepower to wipe out a small European country. He’d positioned himself against a back wall, standing with arms crossed, body relaxed, eyes watchful.

Joe Morelli stood opposite him in a similar pose.

I watched a man slide past a knot of people congregated at the door. The man took a fast survey of the room, then acknowledged Ranger with a nod.

Only if you knew Ranger would you know he replied.

I looked at Ranger, and he mouthed “Sandman” to me. Sandman. The name didn’t mean anything.

Sandman approached the casket and studied the polished wood in silence. There was no expression to his face. He looked like he’d seen it all and didn’t think much of it. His eyes were dark, deep-set, and lined. I guessed the lines were from dissipation more than sun and laughter. His hair was black, oiled back from his face.

He caught me staring and our eyes locked for a moment before he turned away.

“I need to talk to Ranger,” I said to Grandma Mazur. “If I leave you alone will you promise not to get into trouble?”

Grandma sniffed. “Well, that’s plain insulting. I guess after all these years I know how to behave myself.”

“No fooling around, trying to see in the casket.”

“Hmmph.”

“Who was the guy that just paid his respects?” I asked Ranger. “Sandman?”

“His name is Perry Sandeman. Got the name of Sandman on account of if you irritate him he’ll put you to sleep for a real long time.”

“How do you know him?”

“He gets around. Buys a little dope from the brothers.”

“What’s he doing here?”

“Works at the garage.”

“Moogey’s garage?”

“Yeah. I hear he was there when Moogey got shot in the knee.”

Someone screamed in the front of the room, and there was the sound of a heavy object being slammed shut. A heavy object like a coffin lid. I felt my eyes involuntarily roll skyward.