Notorious Nineteen

woman said. “Single ply. And it’s all because of that Geoffrey Cubbin.”
    “And he was a womanizer,” the first woman said. “He was having affairs with some of the ladies here.”
    “You mean some of the ladies who live here?” Grandma asked.
    The woman nodded. “There have been rumors.”
    “I wouldn’t mind having an affair,” Grandma said.
    “Good riddance to bad rubbish,” the woman said. “He’s gone, and he’s not coming back.”
    The women all nodded in agreement.
    “You don’t know that for sure,” Grandma said. “He could pop up.”
    “He better not pop up here,” the woman said. “It wouldn’t be healthy for him, if you know what I mean. We would have put a hit out on him but he stole all our money.”
    “Let’s move on to the exercise area,” Carol said, steering Grandma away.
    “Do you have any idea what happened to Geoffrey Cubbin?” I asked Carol. “I understand he had his appendix removed and then disappeared from the hospital.”
    “I don’t know anything about that,” Carol said. “I have my hands full here, trying to keep the crew from mutiny.”
    We toured the rest of the building, talked to about forty people, got a brochure and an application from Carol, and returned to the Firebird.
    “I could have my own bathroom if I lived here,” Grandma said. “That’s on the plus side. On the other side I wouldn’t have anything to do at night. How would I get to the funeral home for viewings?”
    “Yeah, and those Cranberry people were all cranky,” Lula said. “They should be giving them more than one glass of wine at dinner. They should be putting Kahlúa in their coffee in the morning. And if they find Cubbin toes up in a Dumpster theyshould start the investigation at Cranberry Manor because he’s not a popular guy there.”
    Lula drove us back to Trenton and dropped Grandma off at the hospital.
    “Don’t shoot anyone,” I told Grandma.
    “Only if I have to,” she said, straightening her wig. “I’ll call when I need a ride home.”
    “I’m hungry,” Lula said, driving off. “I could use a healthy lunch like nachos from the convenience store on Olden.”
    “That’s not healthy.”
    “It’s corn and it’s got cheese product. That’s two of the major food groups.”
    “If we wait until we get back to the office we can stop at Giovichinni’s and get a salad.”
    “A salad? What do I look like, an alpaca? I’m a big woman. I can’t keep going on a salad. I need salt and grease and shit.”
    I had to get into a slinky little black dress tonight. I wasn’t up for salt and grease and shit. “Giovichinni will add all that stuff to your salad. Just ask for it.”
    “Yeah, but I’ll have to pay extra.”
    I have no willpower. If Lula stops for nachos, I’ll get them too. Or even worse, I’ll get a couple hotdogs.
    “My treat,” I said.
    “That’s different then. Here we go to Giovichinni.”
    Giovichinni’s Deli and Meat Market is just down the street from the bonds office. My family has shopped there for aslong as I can remember, and it ranks on a par with the funeral home and the beauty salon for dishing dirt. Lula parked at the curb and we went straight to the deli counter. I got a salad with grilled chicken, and Lula got a salad with barbecued pork, extra bacon, blue cheese, and a side of macaroni and cheese.
    “I’m glad you suggested a healthy salad,” she said, moving to check out. “This is just what I needed.”
    I made a large effort not to grimace. Her salad was a heart attack in a takeout carton. And it looked fabulously delicious. I was going to have a hard time not ripping it out of her hands.
    “What’s new?” I said to Gina Giovichinni when I got to the register.
    “Annette Biel is preggers. We’re starting a pool for birth weight and if it looks like her husband or Reggie Mangello.”
    “She’s been seeing Reggie Mangello?”
    “He did some drywall for them nine months ago when they fixed up their cellar.”
    “Anything else? Anything about Geoffrey Cubbin?”
    “The guy who ran off with the old people’s money? Nope. Haven’t heard anything worth repeating.”
    “I’m looking for him. Let me know if you hear something.”
    We took our salads back to the office, along with a Greek salad for Connie. Nothing for Vinnie. He’d be out having a nooner with a duck or getting a good whacking from Madam Zaretsky.
    “I checked the cabs,” Connie said, digging into her salad. “No one had a pickup at or