Chapter 8

“You’re worried about your mother,” he said. Among other things, he was perceptive.

“Let’s give it some time,” I said, trying to hedge.

“I’ll wait as long as you need. But like the song says, I don’t want to wait in vain. You got any plans for the rest of the day?”

“Paperwork,” I said. He was trying to change the subject. I was more than willing to let him. “And I gotta take Mama to her bridge club.”

“So we’ll have the house to ourselves?”

“That’s one way of looking at it. You got any plans?”

“You betcha.”

He smiled his angelic smile.5

I parked the hearse in the garage next to the removal van and we got out. The air was nippy. It was early December and the temps had thus far remained this side of freezing, but my bones were saying things were about to change.

“Mama always cooks before she goes out,” I said. “You want to come eat at six?”

“Sure,” Charlie said.

“Is it warm enough over there in the apartment?” I asked.