'It's a nine-millimeter.'
'Don't suppose you'd let me see it,' Grandma said. 'I'd sure like to get the feel of a gun like that.'
'NO!' everyone shouted in unison.
'I shot a chicken once,' Grandma explained to Morelli. 'It was an accident.' I could see Morelli searching for a reply. 'Where did you shoot it?' he finally asked.
'In the gumpy,' Grandma said. 'Shot it clear off.' Two puddings and three beers later, Morelli peeled himself away from the TV. We left together and lingered to talk privately at the curb. The sky was starless and moonless and most of the houses were dark. The street was empty of traffic. In other parts of Trenton the night might feel dangerous. In the burg the night felt soft and secure. Morelli turned my suit collar up against the chill air. His knuckles brushed my neck, and his gaze lingered on my mouth. 'You have a nice family,' he said. I narrowed my eyes. 'If you kiss me I'll scream, and then my father will come out and punch you in the nose.' And before any of those things happened, I'd probably wet my pants.
'I could take your father.'
'But you wouldn't.'
Morelli still had his hands on my collar. 'No, I wouldn't.'
'Tell me about the car again. There was no sign of struggle?'
'No sign of struggle. The keys were in the ignition and the driver's door was closed but unlocked.'
'Any blood on the pavement?'
'I haven't been out to the scene, but the crime lab checked around and didn't come up with any physical evidence.'
'Prints?'
'They're in the system.'
'Personal possessions?'
'None found.'
'Then he wasn't living out of the car,' I reasoned.
'You're getting better at this apprehension agent stuff,' Morelli said. 'You're asking all the right questions.'
'I watch a lot of television.'
'Let's talk about Spiro.'
'Spiro hired me to look into a mortuarial problem.'
Morelli's face creased in laughter. 'Mortuarial problem?'
'I don't want to talk about it.'
'Doesn't have anything to do with Kenny?'
'Cross my heart and hope to die.'
The upstairs window opened and my mother stuck her head out. 'Stephanie,' she stagewhispered, 'what are you doing out there? What will the neighbors think?'
'Nothing to worry about, Mrs. Plum,' Morelli called. 'I was just leaving.' Rex was running in his wheel when I got home. I switched the light on, and he stopped dead in his tracks, black eyes wide, whiskers twitching in indignation that night had suddenly disappeared.
I kicked my shoes off en route to the kitchen, dropped my pocketbook onto the counter, and punched PLAY on my answering machine.
There was only one message. Gazarra had called at the end of his shift to tell me no one knew much about Morelli. Only that he was working on something big, and that it tied in to the Mancuso-Bues investigation.
