activity inside. No television. No footsteps. No dog barking. I was about to ring a third time when the door opened, and Ranger motioned me in. I followed him to the second floor, and we methodically worked our way through all three levels.
'I don't see any evidence of a second person living here,' Ranger said when we reached the basement.
'This is a real bummer,' I said. 'No books on how to build a bomb. No sniper rifles. No dirty underwear with 'Spiro' embroidered on it.'
We were in the kitchen and only the garage remained. We knew there was something in the garage because Anthony never parked his fancy new Vette in the garage.
Ranger drew his gun and opened the door that led to the garage, and we both looked in at wall-to-wall boxes. Never-been-opened cartons containing toaster ovens, ceiling fans, nails, duct tape, grout guns, electric screwdrivers.
'I think the little jerk is stealing from his brothers,' I said to Ranger.
'I think you're right. There'd be larger quantities of single items if he was hijacking trucks or legally storing inventory. This looks like he randomly fills his trunk every night when he leaves.'
We backed out and closed the garage door.
Ranger looked at his watch. 'We have a little time. Let's see what he's got on his computer.'
Anthony had a small office on the first floor. Cherry built-ins lined the walls, but Anthony hadn't yet filled them with books or objets d'art. The cherry desk was large and masculine. The cushy desk chair was black leather.
The desktop held a phone, a computer and keyboard, and small printer.
Ranger sat in the chair and turned the computer on. A strip of icons appeared on the screen. Ranger hit one of the icons and Anthonys e-mail program opened.
Ranger scrolled through new mail and sent mail and deleted mail. Not much there. Anthony didn't do a lot of emailing. Ranger opened Anthony's address book.
No Spiro listed. Ranger closed the program and tried another icon.
'Let's see what he surfs,' Ranger said. He went to the bookmarked sites.
They were all porn.
Ranger closed the program and returned his attention to the icon strip. He hit iPhoto and worked his way through the photo library. There were a couple pictures of Anthony's Vette. A couple pictures of the front of his town house. And three photos from the Macaroni funeral. The quality wasn't great since they were downloaded from his phone, but the subject matter was clear.
He'd been taking pictures of Carol Zambelli's hooters. Zambelli had just purchased the set, and couldn't get her coat closed at graveside.
Ranger shut the computer down. 'Time to get out of here.'
We left through the back door and followed a bike path through common ground to the street. Ranger remoted the SUV open, we buckled ourselves in, and Ranger hung a U-turn and headed back to the office.
'This trip doesn't take Anthony Barroni out of the picture,' Ranger said, 'but it definitely back-burners him.'
We pulled into the Rangeman garage at five-thirty. Ranger parked and walked me to the Buick. 'You have a half hour to get to Morelli. Where are you taking him?'
'We're having dinner with my parents. They have wedding cake for two hundred.'
'Isn't this nice,' my mother said, glass in hand, amber liquid swirling to the rim, stopping just short of sloshing onto the white tablecloth. 'It's so quiet. I hardly have a headache.'
Two leaves had been taken out of the dining room table, and the small dining room seemed strangely spacious. The table had been set for five. My mother and father sat at either end, and Morelli and I sat side by side and across from Grandma, who was lost behind the massive three-tier wedding cake that had been placed in the middle of the table.
'I was looking forward to a party,' Grandma said. 'If it was me, I would have had the reception anyway. I bet nobody would even have noticed Valerie wasn't there. You could have just told everybody she was in the ladies' room.'
Morelli and my father had their plates heaped with meatballs, but I went straight for the cake. My mother was going with a liquid diet, and I wasn't sure what Grandma was eating since I couldn't see her.
'Valerie called when they got off the plane in Orlando, and she said Albert was breathing better, and the panic attacks were not nearly as severe,' my mother said.
My father smiled to himself and mumbled something that sounded like 'friggin' genius.'
'How'd Sally take the news?' I asked my mother. 'He must have been upset.'
'He was upset at first, but then he asked if he could have the wedding gown. He thought he could have it altered so he could wear it onstage. He thought it would give him a new look.'
'You gotta credit him,' Grandma said. 'Sally's always thinking. He's a smart one.'
I had the cake knife in hand. 'Anyone want cake?'
'Yeah,' Morelli said, shoving his plate forward. 'Hit me.'
'I heard your garage got blown up,' Grandma said to Morelli. 'Emma Rhinehart said it went up like a bottle rocket. She heard that from her son, Chester. Chester delivers pizza for that new place on
