'It's all that comes to mind. It was the time we were late for your Uncle Spud's birthday party.'
'I remember that. That was great. You're telling me you faked it?'
'We were late! I couldn't concentrate. It seemed like the best way to go.'
Morelli took his arm away and started flipping through channels with the remote.
'You're mad,' I said.
'I'm working on it. Don't push me.'
I got up and closed the cello case and kicked it to the side of the room.
'Men!'
'At least we don't fake it.'
'Listen, it was your uncle. And we were late, remember? So I made the sacrifice and got us there in time for dessert. You should be thanking me.'
Morelli's mouth was open slightly and his face was registering a mixture of astonished disbelief and wounded, pissed-off male pride.
Okay, it wasn't that much of a sacrifice at the time, and I knew he shouldn't be thanking me, but give me a break here... this wasn't famine in Ethiopia.
And it wasn't as if I hadn't tried to have an orgasm. And it wasn't as if we didn't fib to each other from time to time.
'I should be thanking you,' Morelli repeated, sounding like he was making a gigantic but futile effort to understand the female mind.
'All right, I'll concede the thanking thing. How about if you're just happy I got you to the party in time for dessert?'
Morelli cut me a sideways look. He wasn't having any of it. He returned his attention to the television and settled on a ball game.
This is the reason I live with a hamster, I thought.
Morelli was still on the couch watching television when I went downstairs to take Bob for his morning walk. I was wearing sweats that I'd found in Morelli's dresser, and I'd borrowed his Mets hat. I clipped the leash on Bob, and Morelli glanced over at me. 'What's with the clothes? Trying to fake being me?'
'Get a grip,' I said to Morelli.
Bob was dancing around, looking desperate, so I hurried him out the front door. He took a big tinkle on Morelli's sidewalk and then he got all smiley and ready to walk. I like walking Bob at night when it's dark and no one can see where he poops. At night Bob and I are the phantom poopers, leaving it where it falls. By day, I have to carry plastic pooper bags. I don't actually mind scooping the poop. It's carrying it around for the rest of the walk that I hate. It's hard to look hot when you're carrying a bag of dog poop.
I walked Bob for almost an hour. We returned to the house. I fed Bob. I made coffee. I brought Morelli coffee, juice, his paper, and a bowl of raisin bran. I ran upstairs, took a shower, did some makeup and hair magic, got dressed in my black clothes, and came downstairs ready for work.
'Is there anything you need before I leave?' I asked Morelli.
Morelli gave me a full body scan. 'Dressing sexy for Ranger?'
I was wearing black jeans, black Chucks, and a stretchy V-neck black T-shirt that didn't show any cleavage. 'Is that sarcasm?' I asked.
'No. It's an observation.'
'This is not sexy.'
'That shirt is too skimpy.'
'I've worn this shirt a million times. You've never objected to it before.'
'That's because it was worn for me. You need to change that shirt.'
'Okay,' I said, arms in air, nostrils flaring. 'You want me to change my shirt. I'll change my shirt.' And I stomped up the stairs and stripped off all my clothes. I'd brought every piece of black I owned to Morelli's house, so I pawed through my wardrobe and came up with skintight black spandex workout pants that rode low and were worn commando. I changed my shoes to black Pumas. And I wriggled into a black spandex wrap shirt that didn't quite meet the top of the workout pants and showed a lot of cleavage... at least as much as I could manage without implants. I stomped back down the stairs and paraded into the living room to show Morelli.
'Is this better?' I asked.
Morelli narrowed his eyes and reached for me, but he couldn't move far without his crutches. I beat him to the crutches and ran to the kitchen with them. I hustled out of the house, backed Morelli's SUV out of the garage, and motored off to work.
I used my new key fob to get into the underground garage and parked in the area reserved for noncompany cars. I took the elevator to the fifth floor, stepped into the control room, and six sets of eyes looked up from the screens and locked onto me. Halfway to work, I'd pulled Morelli's sweatshirt out of my shoulder bag and put it on over my little stretchy top. It was a nice, big shapeless thing that came well below my ass and gave me a safe unisex look. I smiled at the six men on deck. They all smiled back and returned to their work.
I was a half hour early and for the first time in a long time I was excited to get to work. I wanted to finish the Barroni search, and then I wanted to move on to Jimmy Runion. I still had one file left to search for Frederick Rodriguez. I decided to do it first and get it off my desk. I was still working on the Rodriguez file when Ranger appeared in my cubby entrance.
'We have a date,' Ranger said. 'You're scheduled for ten o'clock practice downstairs.'
