'Something wrong?' Lula asked.
'This isn't pudding.'
'Well, look on the bright side,' Lula said. 'It didn't explode, did it?'
'Gosh, look at the time,' I said, tapping my watch. 'I'm going to have to run.'
'Yeah, me too,' Lula said. 'I got things to do.'
The color had drained from Kuntz's face. 'What about the clue?'
'You can call me later, or you can leave it on the machine. Just read the letters off to me.'
'But . . .'
Lula and I were gone. Around the side of the house. Into the Firebird. Down the street.
'Now what?' Lula said. 'Gonna be hard to top that for excitement. Not every day I get to see a box full of poop.'
'I need to look for Maxine. I'm not the only one to figure out she's in Point Pleasant. Unfortunately, I've got a vandalized car sitting in my parking lot, and I'm going to have to take care of that first.'
I tried Morelli on the cell phone again, and got him in his car.
'Your girlfriend visited me,' I said.
'I don't have a girlfriend.'
'Bullshit!'
I read him the note and told him about my door and my car.
'Why do you think it's my girlfriend?' Morelli wanted to know.
'I can't think of anyone else who would make a woman so totally deranged.'
'I appreciate the compliment,' Morelli said. 'But I'm not involved with anyone. I haven't been for a long time.'
'What about Terry Gilman?'
'Terry Gilman wouldn't pour gasoline on your car. Terry Gilman would politely knock on your door, and when you answered she'd gouge your eyes out.'
'When was the last time you saw Terry?'
'About a week ago. I ran into her in Fiorello's Deli. She was wearing a little denim skirt, and she looked very fine, but she's not the woman in my life right now.'
I narrowed my eyes. 'So who is the woman in your life now?'
'You.'
'Oh. Then what is this boyfriend stuff all about?'
'Maybe it's Maxine. You said it happened after she chained you to the refrigerator.'
'And she's talking about Kuntz? I don't know. It doesn't feel right.'
* * * * *
LULA PARKED next to the CRX, and we got out to assess the damage.
'I don't know how you get rid of this much gasoline,' Lula said. 'It's everywhere. It's even spilled on the outside. You got gas puddles here.'
I needed to call the police and get a report on file, and then I needed to call my insurance company. The car needed to be professionally cleaned. I probably had a deductible, but I couldn't remember the amount. Not that it mattered. I couldn't drive the car like this.
'I'm going inside to make a couple phone calls,' I told Lula. 'If I hustle I might be done with this in time to go to Point Pleasant and look for Maxine.'
'You know what I love about Point Pleasant? I love those half-orange and half-vanilla swirly frozen custard cones. Maybe I'll have to go with you. Maybe you could use a bodyguard.'
A blue Fairlane swung into the lot and skidded to a stop behind us.
'Holy cats,' Lula said. 'It's old lady Nowicki, driving half in the bag.'
Mrs. Nowicki lurched out of the car and swayed over. 'I heard that, and I'm not half in the bag. If I was half in the bag I'd be a lot happier.'
She was dressed in poison-green spandex. She'd troweled on full face makeup, a cigarette was stuck in the corner of her mouth and wisps of orange frizz framed a poison-green turban . . . which I knew hid a freshly scalped head.
She looked at my car and gave a bark of laughter. 'This yours?'
'Yeah.'
'Didn't anybody tell you the gasoline's supposed to go in the tank?'
'Something you want to see me about?'
'I'm leaving town,' Mrs. Nowicki said. 'And I have some news for you. Maxine would be real mad if she knew I told you this, but I think you were right about it being better you found her than . . . you know.'
