Morelli got Julie Marconni’s and Norma Kruger’s addresses from Briggs and stood to leave.
“Do you want to ride shotgun?” he asked me.
“No. You’ll do better interviewing them without me. I’ll catch up with you later this afternoon.”
I carted Tiki back to the Buick and returned to the office.
“How’d it go?” Lula asked. “Did you have to get Briggs injected with happy juice?”
“No. Briggs was fine. We all watched the security videos together.”
“Who’s all?”
“Morelli was there. Pitch was his collar, and he’s not comfortable that Pitch might have walked away.”
“Oh boy,” Lula said. “You’re not gonna have to work with Morelli, are you? Last time you tried that he had to stop carrying his gun so he wouldn’t be tempted to shoot you. And remember the time he chained you to a pipe in his cellar?”
On the positive side, the possibility that I’d be set on fire was a lot slimmer when I was with Morelli.
“I don’t have much choice,” I said. “We’re after the same guy. And Morelli might be helpful. It’s not like I’m making a lot of progress on my own.”
“Long as I don’t get caught in the crossfire,” Lula said. “Where is he now? He in the Buick with Tiki?”
“He’s doing his own thing for a while.”
“How did the fitting go?” Connie asked me. “What does the dress look like?”
I squinched my eyes closed and smacked my forehead with the heel of my hand. “I forgot all about it!”
“That’s one of them subliminal things,” Lula said. “You keep forgetting because you don’t want to do it.”
This was true. “I’ll go now,” I said. “And then I’m going to Atlantic City to get the guy at the nudie beach.”
“I don’t want to miss either of those things,” Lula said. “I’ll go with you.”
The bridal shop was on Hamilton, not far from the Tasty Pastry bakery. I’d been there before on a couple other excruciating occasions when I was a bridesmaid. It was presided over and owned by Mary DeLorenzo. She had coal black hair pulled back in a bun. She was in her fifties. And she ate way too much pasta. She employed two cousins who served as seamstresses. They were imported from Italy and spoke no English beyond
The walls of the shop were lined with gowns in zippered plastic bags smushed together on racks. One side was bridal and the other bridesmaid. Mother of the bride was in a separate room.
“This might not be so bad,” Lula said, following me through the front door. “You got to look on the bright side. It could be a pretty dress. If I was getting married I’d have my bridesmaids in animal print. Zebra or leopard.”
Mary DeLorenzo rushed over to me, all smiles, hoping for a new bride. I explained who I was and the smile faded a little.
“Of course,” she said. “We’ve been expecting you. Let me get the dress. I’ll bring it to the dressing room at the back of the shop.”
Lula looked around at the cocooned dresses. “You want me to come back there with you? You might need a second opinion on this.”
“Whatever.”
“And remember to have a good attitude. You don’t want to prejudge stuff. You go in expecting it to be bad and that’s all you’ll see.”
“You’re right. I need an attitude adjustment. I need to look forward to this. It could be fun. I’ll be with Ranger. It’ll be a party.”
“Yeah. And I bet the dress is real classy. This is a pretty classy place in an Italian kind of way.”
Mary bustled back with a zippered bag and ushered me into the dressing room. “This is so beautiful,” she said. “We had to special order the fabric. And the bride was very specific about the color. She wanted something romantic.”
“Romantic is good,” I said. “Right?”
“Of course. It’s a wedding.” She pulled the dress out of the bag and fluffed it up. “This is going to be stunning on you.”
It was a floor-length Pepto-Bismol pink taffeta dress with big puffy cap sleeves, a huge bow at the waist in the back, and a bell skirt.
I felt my eyes get wide and my mouth drop open.
Have a good attitude, I told myself. It’ll look better once it gets off the hanger.
Lula was on the other side of the dressing room door. “How is it?” she asked. “Do you love it? Is it pretty?”
“I don’t have it on yet,” I said, swallowing down panic.
“Well, hurry up. I can’t wait to see it. This is exciting.”
Mary dropped the dress over my head and zipped it up. I had my eyes closed. I was afraid to look.
“Oh dear,” she gasped. “It’s just beautiful. It fits you perfect. It’s as if it was made for you.”
“Really?” I asked with my eyes still closed tight.
“It’s your color.”
“I don’t wear a lot of pink,” I said.
“It does wonders for your skin tone. Don’t you want to open your eyes and look at it?”
“No.”
“I want to look at it,” Lula said. “Open the door so I can see. I bet it’s ravishing.”
Mary opened the dressing room door for Lula. “Ta-da!”
“Holy cow,” Lula said. “That’s the ugliest dress I ever saw.”
“It’s from the Little House on the Prairie collection,” Mary said. “It’s very au couture this year. And it comes with a matching bow for her hair.”
I opened one eye and looked in the mirror. I bit into my lower lip and whimpered. The dress was two sizes too big, the bow made me look like I was starting kindergarten, and the color washed me out to vampire skin tone. It weighed about twenty pounds and it made swishing sounds if I moved.
“It’s lovely,” I said to Mary. “Is it fire retardant?”
“I don’t know,” Mary said. “No one ever asked that question.”
“That dress is just wrong,” Lula said. “You look like a pregnant flamingo.”
I blew out a sigh. “What about the positive attitude?”
“That was before I saw the dress. Now that I’m seeing the dress I’m thinking you want to come down with some bad contagious disease. Something gives you a rash and makes your brain melt.”
I smoothed the skirt out. “It isn’t that bad.”
“Yes, it is,” Lula said. “It’s an atrocity.”
“I’ll send Philomena out to make a few adjustments,” Mary said.
“Go babysit Tiki,” I said to Lula. “I’ll be done soon.”
Thirty minutes later we were on the road to Atlantic City.
“Don’t say another word about the dress,” I told Lula. “I don’t want to think about it.”
“I understand completely. That dress was a disaster.”
“Not another word!”
“My lips are sealed. Zipped them up and threw away the key.”
“This should be an easy apprehension,” I said to Lula. “He’s not a career criminal. Probably not armed.”
“Especially if he’s naked.”
EIGHTEEN
THE NUDIE BEACH was at the end of the strip and attached to a casino that looked like it used to be a Walmart. I parked in the two-story garage, left Tiki in the car, and Lula and I walked through the
