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He lost his head at the mortuary. I’m told he was slid into the meat locker on arrival and when they pulled him outnext morning he didn’t have a head.” Grandma made herself a sandwich with olive loaf and Swiss cheese. “Emily Molinowski was in the drawer next to Lenny, and I guess she lost her head too. I’m glad I’m not dead this week. When I have my viewing I want to have my head. And I want Evelyn Stoddard to do my makeup. She has a good touch. Sometimes Julie Gross does makeup at Stiva’s, and I’m not a fan of her lipstick selections.”
    Stiva’s funeral parlor is a social center for Grandma and her lady friends. It’s free entertainment. It’s available seven days a week. And you can count on cookies being served in the lobby.
    In the past, Grandma has been known to pry open a closed casket, unlocking it with her nail file, so she could take a peek. On these occasions my mother bypasses prayer and goes straight for the Jim Beam.
    â€œLet me get this straight,” I said to Grandma. “Someone severed two heads at Stiva’s, and the heads haven’t been found?”
    â€œYep,” Grandma said. “Pass the pickles to me.”
    â€œHow could that happen?”
    â€œI guess it happened at night,” Grandma said. “They came in first thing in the morning to do the embalming, pulled out the trays, and no heads.”
    â€œWasn’t everything locked up? Doesn’t Stiva’s have a security system? Didn’t an alarm go off?”
    â€œYes. Yes. And no,” Grandma said. “People are thinking it must be an inside job, but I’ve got another theory. I think it was the zombies. There’s rumors going around that there’ve been zombie sightings. And you know how they like to eat brains. Well, you put two and two together and it makes sense.”
    My mother very carefully spread mustard across a slice of bread and precisely placed olive loaf and Swiss cheese onto the mustard. I suspected she was making an effort to stay calm when what she really wanted to do was shake Grandma until her false teeth flew out of her mouth and she stopped rambling on about zombies.
    Grandma forked up some macaroni, and I spotted a ring on her finger.
    â€œIs that a new ring?” I asked her.
    â€œIt’s a friendship ring,” Grandma said. “I got a boyfriend. He’s a pip.”
    My mother gave up a sigh and cut her sandwich into halves.
    â€œDo I know him?” I asked.
    â€œI met him on one of those Internet sites,” Grandma said. “He lives in Florida. By Key West. I might go down there to visit him. He’s a real hottie.”
    I sneaked a look at my mom, but she wasn’t making eye contact. She was staring at her sandwich.
    â€œWhat does he do?” I asked Grandma.
    â€œMostly he fishes. He was a dockworker in Newark, but he’s retired now.”
    â€œNot married?”
    â€œHis wife died a while back. He has kids but they’re in Jersey.”
    â€œYou have to be careful about Internet connections,” I said. “You never really know who you’re talking to.”
    â€œHe could be a serial killer,” my mother said. “He could be a terrorist. He could be some pervert sex fiend.”
    â€œHe might be too old to be a sex fiend,” Grandma said, “but I guess he could be a killer.”
    â€œWhy me?” my mother asked.
    â€œDon’t send him any money,” I said to Grandma. “And don’t go to Florida.”
    â€œHe could be the one,” Grandma said, pulling up a photo on her phone, handing the phone over to me.
    â€œThis is George Hamilton,” I said.
    Grandma took the phone back and studied the photo. “He does look a little like George Hamilton, but my honey’s name is Roger Murf. Him and George are handsome devils, aren’t they?”
    From the corner of my eye I saw my mom shaking her head and making the sign