'It was worth a shot,' Morelli said.
We disconnected, and I hunkered in to do my surveillance thing. Probably Morelli was right, and Hannibal was living at the shore. There was only one way to find out: watch and wait. By twelve o'clock Hannibal still hadn't appeared. My feet were cold, and I was sick of sitting in the car. I got out and stretched. A final check of the back, and then I was going home.
I walked the bike path with my pepper spray held in my hand. It was stygian. No lights anywhere. Everyone was in bed. I got to Hannibal's back door and looked up at his windows. Cold, dark glass. I was about to leave when I heard the muffled sound of a toilet flushing. No question which house the sound emanated from Hannibal's. A chill raced the length of my spine. Someone was living in the dark, in Hannibal's house. I stood dead still, barely breathing, listening with every molecule of my body. There were no more sounds, and no further sign of life in the house. I didn't know what this meant, but I was totally creeped out. I scurried down the path, crossed the grass to the car, and took off.
REX WAS RUNNING on the wheel when I walked in the door, and Bob ran up to me, eyes bright, panting in anticipation of a pat on the head and possible food. I said hello to Rex and gave him a raisin. Then I gave a couple raisins to Bob, making him wag his tail so hard the whole back half of his body whipped side to side.
I set the box of raisins on the counter and went to the bathroom, and when I returned the raisins were gone. Only a slobbery, mangled corner of the box remained.
'You have an eating disorder,' I said to Bob. 'And take it from someone who knows, compulsive eating isn't the way to go. Before you know it your skin won't fit.'
Grandma had set a pillow and blanket out for me in the living room. I kicked my shoes off, crawled under the blanket, and was asleep in seconds.
I woke up feeling tired and disoriented. I looked at my watch. Two o'clock. I squinted into the darkness. 'Ranger?'
'What's with the dog?'
'I'm baby-sitting. Guess he's not much of a watchdog.'
'He would have opened the door if he could have found the key.'
'I know it's not that hard to pick a lock, but how do you get past the security chain?'
'Trade secret.'
'I'm in the trade.'
Ranger handed me a large envelope. 'Check out these pictures and tell me who you recognize.'
I sat up, switched the table lamp on, and opened the envelope. I identified Alexander Ramos and Hannibal. There were also photos of Ulysses and Homer Ramos and two first cousins. All four were very much alike; each could have been the man I saw standing in the doorway of the Deal house. Except, of course, Homer, who was dead. There was another woman, photographed with Homer Ramos. She was small and blond and smiling. Homer had his arm around her, and he was smiling back.
'Who's this?' I asked.
'Homer's latest girlfriend. Her name's Cynthia Lotte. She works downtown. Receptionist for someone you know.'
'Omigod! Now I recognize her. She works for my exhusband.'
'Yeah,' Ranger said. 'Small world.'
I told Ranger about the town house being dark, with no sign of life, and then the toilet flushing.
'What does that mean?' I asked Ranger.
'It means someone's in the house.'
'Hannibal?'
'Hannibal's in Deal.'
Ranger snapped the table lamp off and stood. He was wearing a black T-shirt, black Gore-Tex windbreaker, and black cargo pants tucked into black boots, army style. The well-dressed urban commando. I could guarantee that any man facing him in a blind alley would have an empty scrotum, his most prized possessions gone north. And any woman would be licking dry lips and checking to make sure all her buttons were buttoned. He looked down at me, hands in pockets, his face barely visible in the dark room.
'Would you be willing to visit your ex and check out Cynthia Lotte?'
'Sure. Anything else?'
He smiled, and when he answered his voice was soft. 'Not with your grandmother in the next room.'
Eek.
When Ranger left I slid the security chain in place and flopped back onto the couch, thrashing around, thinking erotic thoughts. No doubt about it. I was a hopeless slut. I looked heavenward, only the ceiling got in the way. 'It's all hormones,' I said to Whoever might be listening. 'It's not my fault. I have too many hormones.'
I got up and drank a glass of orange juice. After the orange juice I returned to the couch and thrashed around some more because Grandma was snoring so loud I was afraid she'd suck her tongue down her throat and choke to death.
'ISN'T THIS A pip of a morning!' Grandma said, on her way to the kitchen. 'I feel like having some pie!'
I checked my watch. Six-thirty. I dragged myself off the couch and into the bathroom where I stood under the shower for a long time, sullen and bitchy. When I got out of the shower I looked at myself in the mirror over the sink. I had a big zit on my chin. Well, isn't this just great. I have to go see my ex-husband with a zit on my chin. Probably God's punishment for last night's mental lusting.
I thought about the.38 in the cookie jar. I made a fist, thumb up, index finger extended. I put the index finger to my temple and said, 'Bang.'
I dressed myself up in an outfit like Ranger's. Black T-shirt, black cargo pants, black boots. Big zit on my face. I looked like an idiot. I took the black T-shirt and pants and boots off and stuffed myself into a white T-shirt, topped with a plaid flannel shirt and a pair of Levi's with a small hole in the crotch which I convinced myself no one could see. This was an outfit for someone with a zit.
Grandma was reading the paper when I came out of the bedroom.
'Where'd you get the paper?' I asked.
'Borrowed it from that nice man across the hall. Only he don't know it yet.'
Grandma was a fast learner.
'I don't have another driving lesson until tomorrow, so Louise and me are going to look at some condos today. I've been checking out the job situation too, and it looks to me like there's lots of good stuff. There's jobs for cooks and cleaning people and makeup ladies and car salesmen.'
'If you could have any job in the world, what would you choose?'
'That's easy. I'd be a movie star.'
'You'd make a good one,' I said.
'Of course, I'd want to be a leading lady. Some of my parts have started to sag, but my legs are still pretty good.'
I looked at Grandma's legs sticking out from under her dress. I guess everything is relative.
Bob was standing at the door with his knees together, so I clipped his leash on him and we headed out. Look at this, I thought, I'm getting exercise first thing in the morning. Probably after two weeks of Bob I'll be so skinny I'll have to buy all new clothes. And the fresh air is good for my pimple, too. Hell, it might even cure it. Maybe the pimple will be
Bob and I were walking along at a pretty good rate. We rounded the corner and swung into the lot, and there were Habib and Mitchell, waiting for me in a ten-year-old Dodge totally upholstered in chartreuse broadloom. A neon sign on the top of the car advertised Art's Carpet's. It made the wind machine look tasteful.
'Holy cow,' I said. 'What is this?'
'It was all that was available on short notice,' Mitchell said. 'And I wouldn't make a big deal out of it if I was you, because it's a sensitive topic. And not to change the subject, or anything, but we're getting impatient. We don't want to freak you out, but we're gonna have to do something real mean if you don't deliver your boyfriend pretty soon.'
'Is that a threat?'
