Notorious Nineteen

I watched Morelli trot off to the kitchen, and I was half worried he wasn’t coming back. If I was in his shoes, I might be tempted to grab Bob and head for the hills. Of course Morelli didn’t have a car so I guess that would slow him down.

At any rate, he was right. I needed a beer. And he was right about the dog doodie too. Even when I was a kid I had a knack for pushing the boundaries of common sense and normal behavior. I walked into the boys’ bathroom in grade school because I was convinced I was invisible. I jumped off the roof of my parents’ garage because I thought I could fly. And that was the tip of the iceberg.

And I’m still pushing boundaries, flopping around in water that’s over my head. And here’s the scary part that I wouldn’t say out loud to anyone . . . I’m a little addicted to it. I like my crazy job and my disaster-prone life. Not that I want a bomb in my living room, but I’ve come to like the adventure. I was hooked into the challenge of the manhunt. And the occasional rush of adrenaline was sort of invigorating.

TWENTY

MORELLI AND BOB left just as the sun was coming up. I gave Morelli the keys to the Buick, and told him I’d try to stay out of trouble. I went back to bed and woke up to blinding day-light and Ranger standing at my bedside with coffee. He was wearing Rangeman black cargo pants and T-shirt, and he was, as always, armed. He wore custom-tailored suits when he was talking to clients, but at all other times he dressed like the rest of his men.

“What the heck?” I said.

“I have a full day, and I need to talk to you.”

“Is that coffee for me?”

“Yes.”

I sat up and took the coffee. “What’s going on?”

“I left keys to an SUV on your kitchen counter. I have someone coming over to fix your window. I got a call from the bridal salon that they were worried about your shoes. They wondered if you had pink shoes and they reminded you that you were wearing sneakers and not heels when you tried the dress.”

I burst out laughing at the thought of Ranger taking the message.

“It’s not funny,” Ranger said. “One more message like that and I’ll get my nuts repossessed.”

“Anything else?”

“Yes. I’ve ruled out all but one man in my unit, and he’s supposed to be dead. His name is Orin Carr, and he was the unit demo expert. He was reported killed in Afghanistan, but there are pieces of information in some of the notes that only Orin would know. Orin was the unit whackjob. He would walk through minefields with his eyes closed because he thought he had divine protection.”

“How did he feel about fire?”

“He loved fire. He said it was the great purifier.”

I sipped my coffee. “Are you close to catching him?”

“No. I’m chasing down a dead man. He isn’t leaving any markers.”

“Can I help?”

“Yes. Get the shoe thing straightened out so I don’t have to talk to that woman again.”

And he left.

I rolled out of bed, carried my coffee into the bathroom, and took a shower. A half hour later I was dressed in a black T-shirt and a short denim skirt that I hadn’t worn since high school, and my phone rang.

It was Lula. “Where the heck are you?” she asked. “We got Grandma here, and she’s got big news. She’s been snooping.”

“What’s the news?”

“You gotta hear it from Grandma. I thought for sure you’d be here by now.”

Grandma got on the phone. “I went undercover to Cranberry Manor with Florence Mikolowski last night,” Grandma said. “She was going to visit her friend Marion, and I told her I wanted to go along to see the place. So we were sitting there having a cup of tea and who do you think comes in? Susan Cubbin. Flo’s friend knew her right off. And Mrs. Cubbin goes straight to the office her husband used to have and starts pulling open all the drawers and looking under the desk and in all the books in his bookshelf. And the whole time that young girl who took us around, what’s-her-name, is trying to stop Mrs. Cubbin, and Mrs. Cubbin’s having none of it. I tell you, she was on a mission. And we’re standing there watching it all. And then Mrs. Cubbin is rummaging around in a file drawer, and she goes Aha! And she runs out of the office and out of the building.”

“She found something!” I said.

“Yeah, she had a big folded-up paper in her hand. Like a poster or something.”

Lula got back on the phone. “We gotta go see Susan Cubbin. I bet she knows where the money is. And it might be with her jerk husband.”

“I’m on my way. Give me fifteen minutes.”

I left Tiki with Rex, and I ran to the car with my messenger bag in one hand and a gun in the other.

“Look at you in a skirt today,” Lula said when I walked in.

I took a cruller out of the box on Connie’s desk. “I need to do laundry. This was the only thing left in my closet.”

Lula looked out the window. “You have another new car.”

“It’s Ranger’s. Morelli had to borrow the Buick.”

“What’s wrong with Morelli’s SUV?”

“It sort of got blown up.”

Everyone looked at me with their eyebrows raised.

“It’s a long story,” I said. “Not worth telling.”

Grandma, Lula, and I trooped out of the office and got into the shiny, immaculate black Jeep Liberty.

“I’d like to know where he gets all these new cars,” Lula said. “It’s like they drop out of the sky. And the other question is, how does he get insurance when you keep blowing them up?”

“I don’t blow them all up,” I said.

I drove to the Cubbin house in Hamilton Township and parked in the driveway, behind the van. We went to the door and Susan opened it before I had a chance to ring the bell.

“I saw you drive up,” she said. “Now what?”

“Just checking in,” I said.

“I recognize the old lady,” Susan said. “She was at Cranberry Manor last night. You want to know what I was doing, right?”

“I’m not so old,” Grandma said. “I got a bunch of good years left in me.”

“What were you doing there?” I asked Susan.

“I was looking for the money. What else would I be doing?”

“Did you find it?”

“When I find it, all you’ll see is an empty house.”

“What about the big albino? Has he been around?”

“The realtor?”

“I don’t think he’s a realtor.”

“Whatever. Haven’t seen him.”

Grandma craned her neck to look around Susan into the living room. “This is a real nice house. I like your decorating.”

“I did it myself. I was going for the Americana look.”

“You got it,” Grandma said. “What’s with the suitcase in your living room? Are you planning a vacation?”

“No. I’m cleaning out my closet.”

We left Susan and returned to the Jeep.

“I think she was fibbing about cleaning out her closet,” Grandma said.