There was never a good time, astrologically or emotionally, to pay a visit to the place where your entire family had been murdered. Especially in this neighborhood where it wasn’t a good time to go anywhere or do anything. Was it karma that the car was breaking down as she was on her way there for the very first time since that terrible night? Was it because she hadn’t allowed enough time for the lingering effects of her void of course moon to wane? Or was it Reason Number Three: The South Bronx was no place to play amateur detective-or witch?