I couldn’t avoid Morelli forever, but I figured if I avoided him long enough he’d find other leads, and eventually I’d be off the hook.
I unlocked my door and was met with the sound of Rex running on his wheel. I bolted the door behind myself, hung my bag and jacket on one of the four coat hooks I’d installed in my tiny foyer and took a left into the kitchen.
The light was blinking on my answering machine. Four messages.
The first was from Morelli. “Call me.”
I knew it was Morelli because my nipples contracted at the sound of his voice. His tone held a hint of annoyance. No surprise there.
The second message was just as cryptic. “Leave Mo alone. Or else.” A man’s voice, muffled. Unrecognizable. Great. Just what I needed. Anonymous threatening messages.
The third was from the Nissan service center telling me I had new points and plugs. The timing had been reset. And my car was ready to be picked up.
The fourth was from my mother. “Stephanie! Are you there? Are you all right? What’s this I hear about a shooting? Hello? Hello?”
Good news travels fast in the burg. Bad news travels even faster. And if there’s scandal attached, life as we know it comes to a halt until every detail of the tawdry event has been retold, examined, exclaimed over and enhanced.
If I allowed myself to consider what was being said about me at this very moment I’d probably fall over in a faint.
I dialed my parents’ number and got a busy signal. I briefly considered whether this absolved me from the obligatory explanatory phone call and decided it didn’t.
I made myself a tuna fish, potato chip and pickle sandwich and ate it at the kitchen counter.
I tried calling my mother again. Still busy.
I put Rex in the bathtub while I cleaned his cage. Then I cleaned the tub. Then I cleaned the rest of the bathroom. I ran the vacuum. I damp-mopped the kitchen floor. I scoured some of the crud off the top of the stove. Just in case I was arrested, I didn’t want my mother coming into my apartment and finding it dirty.
At three o’clock I gave up with the cleaning and tried another call to my mother. No luck.
I called Sue Ann to get the scoop on myself and to set the record straight. You could always get Sue Ann. Sue Ann had call waiting.
“You ever hear anything about Uncle Mo being…odd?” I asked Sue Ann.
“Odd?”
“Romantically.”
“You know something!” Sue Ann shouted into the phone. “What is it? What is it? What’s the dirt on Uncle Mo? He’s having an affair, right?”
“I don’t know. I was just wondering. Probably you should forget I said anything.”
I disconnected and tried my mother again. Her line was still busy. It was close to four o’clock, and the light was fading. I went to the window and peered down at the parking lot. No sign of Morelli.
“So what do you think?” I asked Rex. “Should I keep trying the phone or should I just take a ride over?”
Rex telepathically suggested that communicating with my mother in person would have the added advantage of being able to scrounge dinner.
I thought this was pretty clever considering Rex had a brain the size of a dried pea.
I grabbed my shoulder bag and my jacket and squinted into the security peephole on my front door. No one in view. I cracked the door and looked out at the hall. Clear. I took the stairs, crossed the small lobby and exited through the rear door to the lot.
The seniors always snapped up all the good slots close to the back entrance, so my Buick was parked at the outer edge, next to the Dumpster.
I could hear a steady drone of cars on St. James, and streetlights had just blinked on. I had almost reached the Buick when a black Jeep Cherokee suddenly wheeled into the lot and rolled to a stop.
The tinted driver’s side window slid down and a man wearing a ski mask looked out at me, leveled a .45 and squeezed off two rounds that zinged into the blacktop about six inches from my foot. I stood rooted to the spot, paralyzed by fear and astonishment.
“This is a warning,” the man said. “Stop looking for Mo. Next time these bullets will be in your brain.” He discharged three rounds into the heavy iron side of the Dumpster. I dove for cover. A fourth round whistled overhead.
The window rolled up, and the car sped out of the lot.
CHAPTER 6
When my heart resumed beating I got to my feet and cautiously looked over the edge of the Dumpster. Mrs. Karwatt was coming toward me, halfway across the lot, picking her way around icy spots on the macadam, clutching a small plastic bag of garbage to her chest.
“Did you see that?” I asked, my voice approaching a level audible only to canines.
“What?”
