other guys that were mowed down by Spiro were going to be okay, too. One had been sent home with scrapes and bruises. The other was being kept overnight with a concussion and broken collarbone.
I was allowed to see Morelli for a moment when he was brought up to his room. He was hooked to an IV drip, his leg was elevated on the bed, and he was still groggy. He was half a day beyond a five o'clock shadow. He had a bruise on his cheek. His eyes were partly closed, and his dark lashes shaded his eyes.
I brushed a light kiss across his lips. 'You're okay,' I told him.
'Good to know,' he said. And then the drugs dragged him back into sleep.
I walked the short distance to the parking garage and found a blue-and-white parked next to Morelli's SUV. Gazarra was at the wheel.
'I had late shift and this is as good a place as any to hang,' he said.
'Lock the car in Morelli's garage tonight. I wouldn't want to see you in the room next to Mama Mac tomorrow.'
I left the garage and followed Gazarra's instructions. It was a dark moonless night with a chill in the air that ordinarily would have me thinking about pumpkins and winter clothes and football games. As it was, I had a hard time pushing the anger and fear generated by Spiro into the background. Hard to think about anything other than the pain he'd caused Morelli.
Morelli's garage was detached from his house and at the rear of his property. Bob was waiting for me when I let myself into the house through the back door.
He was sleepy-eyed and lethargic, resting his big shaggy orange head against my leg. I scratched him behind his ear and gave him a dog biscuit from the cookie jar on the counter.
'Do you have to tinkle?' I asked Bob.
Bob didn't look especially interested in tinkling.
'Maybe you should try,' I told him. 'I'm going to sleep late tomorrow.'
I opened the back door, Bob picked his head up, his nose twitched, his eyes got wide, and Bob bolted through the door and took off into the night. Shit!
I could hear Bob galloping two yards over, and then there was nothing but the sound of distant cars and the whir of Morelli's refrigerator in defrost cycle behind me.
Great job, Stephanie. Things aren't bad enough, now you've lost Morelli's dog. I got a flashlight, pocketed the house key, and locked up behind me. I crossed through two yards and stopped and listened. Nothing. I kept walking through yards, occasionally sweeping the area with the light. At the very end of the block I found Bob munching his way through a big black plastic garbage bag. He'd torn a hole in the bag and had pulled out chicken remains, wads of paper towels, empty soup cans, lunch-meat wrappers, and God knows what else.
I grabbed Bob by the collar and dragged him away from the mess. Probably I should clean up the garbage, but I was in no mood. With any luck, a herd of crows would descend on the carnage and cart everything off to Crowland.
I dragged Bob all the way home. When I got to the house there was a piece of notebook paper tacked to the back door. A smiley face was drawn on thepaper, isn't THIS FUN? was printed under the smiley face.
I got Bob inside and threw the bolt. And then as a double precaution I locked us into Morelli's bedroom.
It was a little after nine, and I had the phone cradled between my ear and shoulder as I scoured Morelli's kitchen floor, cleaning up the chicken bones Bob had hacked up.
'I can come home,' Morelli said. 'I need some shorts and a ride.'
'I'll be there as soon as I finish cleaning the kitchen.' I disconnected and looked over at Bob. 'Are you done?'
Bob didn't say anything, but he didn't look happy. His eyes cut to the back door.
I hooked a leash to Bob and took him into the yard. Bob hunched over and pooped out a red lace thong. I was going to have to check upstairs to be sure, but I strongly suspected it was mine.
Morelli was ON the couch with his foot propped up on a pillow on the coffee table. He had the television remote, a bowl of popcorn, his cell phone, a six-pack of soda, crutches, a week's supply of pills for pain, an Xbox remote, his iPod with headset, a box of dog biscuits, and a gun, all within reach. Bob was sprawled on the floor in front of the television.
'Is there anything else before I go?' I asked him.
'Do you have to go?'
'Yes! I promised my mother I'd get the decorations for the cars. I need to check in on Valerie. We have no food in the house. I used up all the paper towels cleaning up Bob barf. And I need to stop at the personal products plant and get a job application.'
'I think you should stay home and play with me. I'll let you write dirty suggestions on my cast.'
'Appealing, but no. Your mother and your grandmother are going to show up.
They're going to need to see for themselves that you're okay. They're going to bring a casserole and a cake, because that's what they always do. And if I'm here they're going to grill us about getting married, because that's what they always do. And then Bella is going to have a vision that involves my uterus, because that's also a constant. Better to take the cowards way out and run errands.' Plus, I wanted to drop in at the funeral home and talk to Constantine Stiva about his son.
'What if I fall and I can't get up?'
'Nice try, but I've got it covered. I've got a babysitter for you. Someone who will attend to your every need while I'm gone.'
There was a sharp rap on the front door, and Lula barged in. 'Here I am, ready to baby-sit your ass,' she said
