“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 hiplength, 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.
“I can't tell you about the penis. It's under police investigation.”
“Thelma Biglo's son, Richie, told Thelma that the penis belonged to Joe Loosey. And that Kenny Mancuso cut it off while Loosey was getting dressed at Stiva's.”
“Where did Richie Biglo hear this?”
“Richie tends bar at Pino's. Richie knows everything.”
“I don't want to talk about the penis.”
My mother took the paring knife out of my hand. “Look at these carrots you peeled. I can't serve these carrots. Some of the skins are left on.”
“You shouldn't cut the skins off anyway. You should scrub them with a brush. All the vitamins are in the skin.”
“Your father won't eat them with the skins on. You know how particular he is.”
My father would eat cat shit if it was salted, fried, or frosted, but it took an act of Congress to get him to eat a vegetable.
“Seems to me Kenny Mancuso has it in for you,” my mother said. “It's not a nice thing to send a penis to a woman. It's disrespectful.”
I searched the kitchen for a new task, but I couldn't come up with anything.
“And I know what's going on with your grandmother, too,” she said. “Kenny Mancuso is getting to you through your grandmother. That's why he attacked her at the bakery. That's why you're living here . . . so you can be close by if he attacks her again.”