I needed to give Spiro a no-progress report and decline his dinner invitation, but I was having a hard time motivating myself to cross the street. I could manage a mortuary at seven at night when it was filled with the K of C. I wasn’t crazy about tippy-toeing around at eleven in the morning, just me and Spiro and the dead people.

I sat there a while longer, and I got to thinking how Spiro, Kenny, and Moogey had been best friends all through school. Kenny, the wise guy. Spiro, the not-too-bright kid with bad teeth and an undertaker for a stepfather. And Moogey, who as far as I could tell was a good guy. It’s funny how people form alliances around the common denominator of simply needing a friend.

Now Moogey was dead. Kenny was missing in action. And Spiro was out twenty-four cheap caskets. Life can get pretty strange. One minute you’re in high school, shooting baskets and stealing little kids’ lunch money, and then next thing you know you’re using mortician’s putty to fill in the holes in your best friend’s head.

A weird thought steamed from my brain like the Phoenix rising. What if this was all tied together? What if Kenny stole the guns and hid them in Spiro’s caskets? Then what? I didn’t know then what.

Feathery clouds had stolen into the sky, and the wind had picked up since I left my apartment this morning. Leaves rattled across the street and whipped against the windshield. I thought if I sat there long enough I’d probably see Piglet soar by.

By twelve it was clear that my feet weren’t going to bypass my chicken heart. No problem. I’d go with plan number two. I’d go home to my parents, mooch lunch, and drag Grandma Mazur back with me.

* * *

It was almost two o’clock when I pulled into Stiva’s small side lot with Grandma perched beside me on the big bench seat, straining to see over the dashboard.

“Ordinarily I don’t go to afternoon viewings,” Grandma said, gathering her purse and gloves together. “Sometimes in the summer when I feel like taking a walk I might stop in, but usually I like the crowd that comes in the evening. Of course things are all different when you’re bounty hunters … like us.”

I helped Grandma out of the car. “I’m not here as a bounty hunter. I’m here to talk to Spiro. I’m helping him with a small problem.”

“I bet. What’s he lost? I bet he lost a body.”

“He didn’t lose a body.”

“Too bad. I wouldn’t mind looking for a body.”

We made our way up the stairs and through the door. We stopped for a moment to study the viewing schedule.

“Who’re we supposed to be here to see?” Grandma wanted to know. “We gonna see Feinstein or Mackey?”

“Do you have a preference?”

“I guess I could go see Mackey. Haven’t seen him in years. Not since he quit working at the A and P.”