'Okay, loaded.'
He released my neck. 'Sweet dreams.'
I ran into the building and up the stairs, rushed into my apartment, and dialed Mary Lou.
'I need help with a stakeout tonight,' I told Mary Lou. 'Can Lenny sit with the kids?'
Lenny is Mary Lou's husband. He's a nice guy, but he hasn't got much upstairs. That's fine with Mary Lou because she's more interested in what's
'Who are we staking out?'
'Morelli.'
'Oh, honey, you heard!'
'I heard what?'
'Uh-oh. You didn't hear?'
'What?
'Terry Gilman.'
Argh. Direct shot to the heart. 'What about Terry?'
'The rumor is she's been seen with Joe late at night.'
Man, you can't get away with anything in the Burg. 'I know about the late-night stuff. Anything else?'
'That's it.'
'Besides seeing Terry, he's also involved in a project that ties in with Uncle Fred's disappearance, and he won't tell me anything.'
'Asshole.'
'Yeah. And after I gave him some of the best weeks of my life. Anyway, it seems like he works nights, so I thought I'd see what he was up to.'
'You going to pick me up in the Porsche?'
'The Porsche is out of commission. I was hoping you could drive,' I said. 'I'm afraid Morelli might recognize the Buick.'
'No problemo.'
'And wear sneakers and something dark.'
Last time we went snooping together Mary Lou wore ankle boots with spike heels and gold earrings the size of dinner plates. Not exactly the invisible snooper.
Briggs was standing behind me. 'You're going to spy on Morelli? This should be good.'
'He's leaving me no choice.'
'I bet you five dollars he spots you.'
'Deal.'
* * * * *
'THERE COULD BE a perfectly good explanation for the Terry thing,' I said to Mary Lou.
'Yeah, like he's a prick?'
That's one of the things I like about Mary Lou. She's willing to believe the worst about anyone. Of course it's easy to believe the worst about Morelli. He's never cared a whole lot about public opinion and has never made much of an attempt to improve his rogue reputation. And in the past, his reputation was well deserved.
We were in Mary Lou's Dodge minivan. It smelled like Gummi Bears and grape lollipops and McDonald's cheeseburgers. And when I turned to look out the back window I was confronted with two kiddie car seats that made me feel sort of left out of things. We were idling in front of Morelli's house, staring into his front windows, seeing nothing. The lights were on, but the curtains were drawn. His truck was parked at the curb, so probably he was home, but there was no guarantee. He lived in a rowhouse and that made surveillance difficult because we couldn't creep around the entire house and easily do our Peeping Tom thing.
'We can't see anything like this, ' I said. 'Let's park on the cross street and go on foot.'
Mary Lou had followed my instructions and was dressed in black. Black leather jacket with fringe running down the sleeves, tight black leather slacks—and as a compromise between my suggestion of sneakers and her preferred four-inch heels, she was wearing black cowboy boots.
Morelli's house was halfway down the block, his narrow yard backed up to a one-lane service road, and the side borders of his yard were delineated by bedraggled hedgerows. Morelli hadn't yet discovered gardening.
The sky was overcast. No moon. No streetlights lining the back alley. This was all fine by me. The darker the better. I was wearing a utility belt that held pepper spray, a flashlight, a Smith and Wesson .38, a stun gun, and a cell phone. I'd constantly watched our tail for signs of Ramirez and had seen nothing. That didn't fill me with security, since spotting Ramirez clearly wasn't one of my talents.
We walked the alley and paused when we reached Morelli's yard. Lights were on in the kitchen. Shades were up at the single kitchen window and at the back door. Morelli passed in front of the window, and Mary Lou and I took a step back, further into shadow. He returned and worked at the counter, probably fixing something to eat.
The sound of the phone ringing carried out to us. Morelli answered the phone and paced in the kitchen while he
