Four to Score

'You know him?'

'No. Some woman came in around seven, right after I came on. She gave me a picture of Kuntz and ten dollars to pass him a note.'

'Do you know what the note said?'

'Nope. It was in a sealed envelope. Must have been good, though. He left as soon as he read it.'

Well, duh.

I returned to Morelli, slouched down in the seat and closed my eyes. 'Stick a fork in me, I'm done.'

Morelli turned the key in the ignition. 'You sound bummed.'

'Bummed at myself. I was stupid tonight. I let myself get distracted.' Even more embarrassing, I hadn't immediately thought to question the bartender. And that wasn't all that had me bummed. Morelli had me bummed. He didn't understand about cookie jars. He gave his mother the wrong answer at the table. And I hated to admit it, but that eye thing had me worried. My God, what if Bella was right and I was pregnant?

I looked over at Morelli. His features were softened by shadow, but even in the dark I could see the paper-thin scar that sliced through his right eyebrow. A few years ago, Morelli had walked into a knife. And he'd probably walk into another. Maybe a bullet. Not a comforting thought. Nor was his love life comforting. In the past, Morelli'd had a short attention span when it came to romance. From time to time, he'd shown flashes of protective tenderness for me, but I wasn't always a priority. I was a friend, like Terry Gilman and the pissed-off woman, whoever the hell she was.

So I was thinking maybe Morelli wasn't prime husband material. Not even counting the fact that he didn't want to get married. Okay, now for the big one. Was I in love with Morelli? Hell, yes. I'd been in love with him since I was six years old.

I smacked myself in the forehead with the heel of my hand. 'Unh.'

Morelli gave me a sideways glance.

'Just thinking,' I said.

'Must have been some thought. You almost knocked yourself out.'

The thing is, while I was in love with Morelli for all these years, I'd always known it was best if nothing came of it. Loving Morelli was like loving cheesecake. Hours of misery on the Stairmaster, working off ugly fat, in return for a moment of blissful consumption.

All right, maybe it wasn't as bad as all that. Morelli had matured. How much he'd matured I couldn't nail down. Truth is, I didn't know a lot about Morelli. What I knew was that I had a hard time trusting him. Past experience led me to believe blind faith in Morelli might not be a smart thing.

In fact, now that I thought about it, maybe love wasn't the right word. Maybe enamored was better. I was definitely enamored.

We rode in silence for most of the way home. Morelli had the golden oldies station on, and I was sitting on my hands so I wouldn't rip the knob off the radio.

'You look worried,' Morelli said.

'I was thinking about the note the bartender gave to Eddie Kuntz. He said Kuntz read it and took off.'

'And?'

'The other notes were all in code. Kuntz couldn't figure them out. That's why Sally was brought into it. Sally was always the only one who could read the notes.'

Morelli cruised down his street and parked in front of his house. 'I don't suppose you'd consider turning all this over to the police?'

And cut myself out of a recovery fee and leave the possibility open for Joyce to bring Maxine in? Fat chance. 'Nope. I wouldn't consider it.'

Lights were blinking off in the downstairs windows in Joe's neighborhood. Early to bed, early to rise meant you had a job that allowed you to make the mortgage payment every month. Blocks away cars hummed on Chambers, but there was no traffic on Joe's street.

'I had something else sort of odd happen tonight,' I said. 'I had a run-in with a woman at the bar.'

Morelli unlocked his front door and flipped the light switch. 'And?'

I gave Morelli the details of the conversation. 'So what do you think?' I asked.

'I don't know what to think. Obviously it wasn't Terry.'

'No. It wasn't Terry. There was something familiar about her, though. Like maybe I'd seen her someplace before. You know, like a nameless face in the supermarket.'

'You think she firebombed your apartment?'

'I wouldn't write her off the list. You recognize any women going in or out?'

'No. Sorry.'

Our eyes locked, and we both knew the doubt was there.

He tossed his keys on a sideboard, shrugged out of his jacket and tossed it across the lone wooden chair. He moved to the kitchen, where he checked his answering machine, unclipped his gun and his pager and laid them on the counter. 'You need to pass that information about the woman on to the arson squad.'

'Should I call tonight?'

Morelli closed the distance between us and took me in his arms. 'Monday will be soon enough.'