'No. I came home to get cleaned. Did you see the article about Vinnie and the visa bond?'
'Yeah.'
'Samuel Singh, the bondee, is missing.'
Morelli grinned. 'That's fun.'
No one wanted to see Vinnie selling used cars in Scottsdale, but we all enjoyed watching him sweat. Vinnie sat on a rotting branch of my family tree. Only a couple roaches from my Aunt Tootle's kitchen sat lower than Vinnie. He was a pervert, a con man, and a paranoid grouch. And in spite of all that (or maybe because of it) he was liked. He was Jersey. How can you not like Jersey?
'As soon as I change my clothes I'm going out to talk to Singh's boss,' I told Morelli.
'I'm surprised Vinnie didn't give this to Ranger.'
Our eyes locked for a long moment while I searched for a reply, thinking a fib might be the way to go.
'Shit, Stephanie,' Morelli finally said, hands on hips, hard set to his mouth. 'Don't tell me you're working with Ranger again.'
Morelli and I were legitimately separated when I slept with Ranger. When Morelli and I got back together, he never asked and I never told. Still, the suspicion was there and the association rankled. And beyond the suspicion, there was a very real concern that Ranger sometimes operated a tad too far left of the law. 'It's my job,' I told Morelli.
'The guy's nuts. He doesn't have an address. The address on his driver's license is an empty lot. And I think he kills people.'
'I'm pretty sure he only kills bad guys.'
'That makes me feel a lot better.'
I didn't actually know if Ranger killed people. Truth is, no one knows much about Ranger. The only thing I know for sure is that he's a primo bounty hunter. And he's the sort of lover who could make a woman forget she values commitment.
'I have to take a shower,' I told Morelli.
'Need help?'
'No! I want to talk to Singh's employer, TriBro Tech. It's on the other side of Route One and I want to get there before the workday ends.'
'I think I'm getting turned on by the Vaseline,' Morelli said.
Everything turns Morelli on. 'Go to work! Catch a drug dealer or something.'
'I'll hold the thought for tonight,' Morelli said. 'Maybe you should come home and take a nap after TriBro.' And he left.
Twenty minutes later, I was out the door. My clean hair was pulled into a pony tail. I was wearing sandals, a short black skirt, and a white sweater with a low scoop neck. I had pepper spray in my purse, just in case. I couldn't match Connie in the cleavage department, but thanks to Victoria's Secret I was making the most of what I had.
TriBro was located in a light industrial park just east of the city. I cut across town, picked up Route 1, and counted off two exits. I took the off-ramp directly into the complex, located B Street, and parked in TriBro's lot. The structure in front of me was single story, cinderblock construction, brick front, sign to the right of the front door.
The reception area was utilitarian. Industrial-grade charcoal carpet, commercial-grade dark wood furniture, overhead fluorescent lighting. Large fake potted plant by the door. Very orderly. Very clean. The woman behind the desk was professionally friendly. I introduced myself and asked to speak to Singh's superior.
A man appeared in an open doorway behind the woman. 'I'm Andrew Cone,' he said. 'Perhaps I can help you.'
He was mid-forties, average height, slim build, seriously thinning brown hair, amiable brown eyes. He wore a blue dress shirt, one button open at the throat, sleeves neatly rolled. Khaki slacks. He ushered me into his office and directed me to a chair across from his desk. His office was tastefully decorated. He had a World's Best Dad coffee mug on his desk and framed photos in his bookcase. The photos were of two little boys and a blond woman. They were at the beach. They were dressed for a party. They were hugging a small spotted dog.
'I'm looking for Samuel Singh,' I told Andrew Cone, passing him a business card.
He smiled at me with slightly raised eyebrows. 'Bond enforcement? What's a nice girl like you doing in a tough job like that?'
'Paying the rent, mostly.'
'And Singh skipped out on you?'
'Not yet. He has another week left on his visa. This is routine monitoring.'
Cone wagged his finger at me. 'That's a fib. Singh's landlord and her daughter were here earlier. They haven't seen Singh in five days. And neither have we. Singh didn't show up for work last Wednesday and we haven't seen or heard from him since. I read the article in today's paper. Unfortunate timing.'
'Do you have any idea where he might be?'
'No, but I don't think it's any place good. He didn't pick up his paycheck on Friday. Usually, only the dead and the deported don't show up for their paycheck.'
'Did he have a locker here? Any friends I might talk to?'
'No locker. I've asked around, but I didn't come up with much. The general opinion is that Singh's likeable
