I lay in bed, listening to people shuffle in and out of the bathroom . . . first my mother, then my father, then my grandmother. When Grandma Mazur creaked down the stairs, I wrapped myself in the pink quilted robe I'd gotten for my sixteenth birthday and padded to the bathroom. The window over the tub was closed against the cold, and the air inside was thick with the scent of shaving cream and Listerine.
I took a fast shower, towel-dried my hair, and dressed in jeans and a Rutgers sweatshirt. I had no special plans for the day, other than to keep an eye on Grandma Mazur and to keep tabs on Spiro. Of course, that was working on the assumption that Kenny hadn't gotten himself caught last night.
I followed my nose to coffee brewing in the kitchen and found Morelli eating breakfast at the kitchen table. From the look of his plate he'd just finished bacon and eggs and toast. He slouched back at the sight of me, coffee cup in hand. His expression was speculative.
'Morning,' he said, voice even, eyes not giving up any secrets. I poured coffee into a mug. 'Morning.' Noncommittal. 'What's new?'
'Nothing. Your paycheck is still out there.'
'You come by to tell me that?'
'I came by to get my wallet. I think I left it in your car last night.'
'Right.' Along with various articles of clothing.
I took a slurp of coffee and set the cup on the counter. 'I'll get your wallet.' Morelli stood. 'Thank you for breakfast,' he said to my mother. 'It was wonderful.' My mother beamed. 'Any time. Always nice to have Stephanie's friends here.' He followed me out and waited while I unlocked the car and scooped his clothes together.
'Were you telling the truth about Kenny?' I asked. 'He didn't show up last night?'
'Spiro stayed until a little after two. Sounded like he was playing computer games. That was all Roche picked up on the bug. No phone calls. No Kenny.'
'Spiro was waiting for something that never happened.'
'Looks like it.'
The tan wreck of a cop car was parked behind my Buick. 'I see you got your car back,' I said to Morelli. It had all the same dents and scrapes, and the bumper was still in the backseat. 'I thought you said it was being fixed.'
'It was,' Morelli said. 'They fixed the lights.' He glanced over at the house and then back at me. 'Your mother is standing at the door, watching us.'
'Yep.'
'If she wasn't standing there, I'd grab you and shake you until the fillings fel out of your teeth.'
'Police brutality.'
'It has nothing to do with being a cop. It has to do with being Italian.' I handed him his shoes. 'I'd really like to be in on the takedown.'
'I'll do the best I can to include you.'
We locked eyes. Did I believe him? No.
Morelli fished car keys out of his pocket. 'You'd better think of a good story to tell your mother. She's going to want to know why my clothes were in your car.'
'She won't think anything of it. I've got men's clothes in my car all the time.' Morelli grinned.
'What were those clothes?' my mother asked when I came into the house. 'Pants and shoes?'
'You don't want to know.'
'I want to know,' Grandma Mazur said. 'I bet it's a pip of a story.'
'How's your hand?' I asked her. 'Does it hurt?'
'Only hurts if I make a fist, and I can't do that with this big bandage on. I'd be in a pickle if it had been my right
