'How much cake did you want?' my mother asked. 'This much?' And she threw a wad of cake at me.
I jumped to dodge the cake, but I wasn't quick enough, and it caught me in the middle of the chest. Grandma nailed me in the side of my head, and before I could move she got me a second time.
My father came in from the living room. 'What the devil?' he said.
Splat, splat, splat. They got my father.
'Jesus Marie,' he said. 'What are you, friggin' nuts? That's good wedding cake. You know how much I paid for that cake?'
My mother threw one last piece of cake. It missed my father and hit the wall.
I had cake and icing in my hair, on my hands and arms, on my shirt, my face, my jeans. I looked over at the cake plate. It was empty. The aroma of sugar and butter and vanilla was enticing. I swiped at the cake sliding down the wall and stuck my finger in my mouth. If I'd been alone I probably would have licked the wall. My mother was right. I was a cakeaholic.
'Boy,' my grandmother said to my mother. 'You're fun when you've got a snootful.'
My mother looked around the room. 'Do you think that's how this happened?'
'Do you think you'd do this if you were sober?' Grandma asked. 'I don't think so. You got a real stick up your ass when you're sober.'
'That's it,' my mother said. 'I'm done tippling.'
I caught myself licking cake off my arm. 'And maybe I should cut back on the cake,' I said. 'I do feel a little addicted.'
'We'll have a pact,' my mother said. 'No more tippling for me and no more cake for you.'
We looked at Grandma.
'I'm not giving up nothing,' Grandma said.
I took my bag of meatballs and went out to the car. I slid behind the wheel, turned the key in the ignition, and Morelli leaned over the seat at me.
'What the hell happened to you?' he asked.
'Food fight.'
'Wedding cake?'
'Yep.'
Morelli licked icing off my neck, and I accidentally jumped the driveway and backed out over my parents' front lawn.
'Okay, let me get this correct,' Morelli said. 'You're giving up sweets.'
We were sitting at Morelli's kitchen table, having a late breakfast.
'If it's got sugar on it, I'm not eating it,' I told Morelli.
'What about that cereal you've got in front of you?'
'Frosted Flakes. My favorite.'
'Coated with sugar.'
Shit. 'Maybe I got carried away last night. Maybe I was overreacting to Valerie gaining all that weight, and then Kloughn dreaming about her smothering him. And my mother said I ate seven pieces of wedding cake, but I don't actually remember eating anything. I think she must have been exaggerating.'
Morelli's phone rang. He answered and passed it to me. 'Your grandmother.'
'Boy, that was some mess we made last night,' Grandma said. 'We're gonna have to put up new paper in the dining room. It was worth it, though. Your mother got up this morning and cleaned the bottles out of the cupboard.
'Course, I still got one in my closet, but that's okay on account of I can handle my liquor. I'm not one of them anxiety-ridden drunks. I just drink because I like it. Anyway, your mother's not drinking so long as you're off the sugar. You're
off the sugar, right?'
'Right. Absolutely. No sugar for me.'
I gave the phone back to Morelli, and I went to look in the cupboard. 'Do we have cereal that's not coated with sugar?'
'We have bagels and English muffins.'
I popped a bagel into the toaster and drank coffee while I waited. 'Ranger thinks some of the bombings feel off.'
'I agree,' Morelli said. 'Laski's double-checking the crime-lab reports to make sure we don't have an opportunist at work. And I left a message for him to talk to Chester Rhinehart. So far Chester's the only other person besides you to see Spiro.'
'So, what's up for today? How's your leg?'
'The leg is a lot better. No pain. My foot isn't swollen.'
