'Whoever invented Costco knew what they were doing,' Lula said. 'I don't know what I'd do without my Costco membership. Sometimes, I even buy shit there. Costco's got everything. You can buy a casket at Costco.'
We got into the Vic, and I drove us back to Coglin's house. I idled at the curb for a couple minutes, watching to see if anything was going on, then I motored around the block and took the alley that led to Coglin's backyard. No car in his parking place, so I parked there.
'Gonna see if he's hiding in a closet?' Lula asked.
'Yep.'
I knocked on Coglin s back door and yelled, 'Bond enforcement!'
No answer.
I opened the door and yelled again. Still no answer. I stepped into the kitchen and looked around. It was just as we'd left it over an hour ago, except for the opossum on the kitchen table. The opossum looked like a balloon with feet. And it smelled worse than squirrel. A lot worse.
'Whoa,' Lula said. 'He wasn't kidding about this sucker defrosting.'
'Maybe we should put it in the freezer for him.'
Lula had her scarf over her nose. 'I'm not touching it. Bad enough I got squirrel on me. I don't need no 'possum cooties. Anyways, it's not gonna fit in his freezer with the way it's all swelled up.'
'Coglin isn't here,' I said to Lula. 'He would have done something with this animal if he'd returned.'
'Fuckin' A,' Lula said. 'I'm outta here.'
I parked in front of the office, behind Lula's Firebird, and Lula and I got out of the Vic and gaped at the telephone pole at the comer. It was plastered with posters of me. It was a candid photo, and the caption read WANTED FOR MURDER.
'What the heck?' I said. My first reaction was panic deep in my chest. The police were looking for me. That only lasted a moment. This wasn't any sort of official 'wanted' poster. This was made on someone's home scanner and printer.
I tore the posters off the pole and looked down the Street. I could see posters on a pole half a block away.
'There's posters all over the place,' Lula said. 'They're stuck to store windows, and they're stuck on parked cars.' She unlocked her Firebird.
'I'm going home. I gotta get this squirrel funk off me.'
I went into the office and showed Connie the posters.
'It's Joyce,' Connie said. 'I saw her putting them up, but I didn't realize what they were.'
'They're probably all over town. I should probably ride around and take them down, but I have better things to do with my time… like find out who killed Dickie.'
'Anything I can do to help?'
'Yes. I need a background search. Joyce says he's worth lots of money.'
Connie punched his name into one of the search programs and the screen filled with information. 'He leased a $42,000 Audi a year ago. His house is appraised at $350,000. And it's mortgaged to the rafters. No litigation pending against him. Nothing derogatory in his file. He's part owner of the building housing his law firm. His partners are also listed as owners. Looks like the building was bought outright. No mortgage there.'
Connie printed the report and passed it over to me.
'Any calls for me?' I asked her.
'No. Were you expecting calls?'
'I was supposed to talk to Marty Gobel this morning. I expected him to call my cell.' Not that I wanted to talk to Marty Gobel, but it was better than having a warrant issued for my arrest.
I dialed Morelli. No answer.
Ranger was next up.
'Babe,' Ranger said.
'Anything new on Dickie?'
'No, but the natives are restless. I can feel Smullen sweating on the bug.'
I left the bonds office, climbed into the Vic, and drove to Dickie s house. It was easy to find since it was the only house on his block draped in yellow crime scene tape. It was a large cape with black shutters and a red door. Probably thirty years old but recently painted. Two-car garage. Nicely landscaped. Medium-size lot. Very respectable, if you overlooked the tape. I wasn't sure what I'd expected to find, but I'd felt compelled to do a drive-by. Morbid curiosity, I suppose, since Joyce had been impressed with his wealth. As it was, he seemed comfortable but not excessively rich.
I did a mental reenactment of the crime. I imagined the door to Dickie’s house open, and Dickie getting dragged out by whoever shot him. There would have been a car in the driveway. Shots were fired a little before midnight, so it was dark. Overcast sky. No moonlight. Still, you'd think someone would have at least seen the car leave. If you hear shots fired, and you care enough to call the police, you care enough to look out the window.
I parked the Vic, crossed the street, and knocked on the door of the house across from Dickie’s. The knock was answered by a woman in her fifties.
'I'm investigating the Orr incident,' I told her. 'I'd appreciate it if you could just answer a few questions for me.'
'I suppose, but I've already spoken to the police. I don't have much more to say.'
'You reported the shots?'
'Yes. I was getting ready for bed. I heard the shots, and I thought it was kids. They ride through and shoot at mailboxes. But then when I looked out the window, I saw the car pull out of the Orr driveway. And I saw that the front door to the house was left open.'
'What did the car look like?'
'It looked a little like your police car. It was dark out, so I can't be certain, but I think it was that burgundy color. And the shape was similar. I'm not much of a car person. My husband would have known exactly, but he was already in bed. He didn't get to the window in time.'
'Did you see any people in the car? Did you see the license plate?'
'No. I just saw the car. It pulled out of the driveway and went north, toward 18th Street.'
I thanked her and went back to the Vic.
I had two means of exit from the Vic. I could crawl across the console and go out the passenger side door, or I could crawl out the driver's side window. It was easier to crawl out the window, but that meant the window stayed open, and it was freezing cold when I returned to the car. Although, since' I had half a rotting squirrel stuck to my dashboard, there was some advantage to the open window.
I'd chosen to do the crawl over the console thing this time so as not to tip off the neighbors I wasn't really a cop. I returned to the Vic, got some heat going, and reviewed my choices. I could take a shot at finding one of the remaining skips. I could go on a poster hunt. I could head over to my parents' house and talk to Grandma about Milton Buzick. Or I could go home and take a nap.
I was leaning toward the nap when my phone buzzed.
'I need help,' Grandma said. 'I got a hot date tonight with Elmer. We're going to the Rozinski viewing, and I'm thinking I might have to show some skin to keep Elmer away from Loretta Flick. I figure I can open a couple buttons on my blue dress, but I can't get my boobs to stay up. I thought you might be able to get me one of them pushup bras.'
Forty-five minutes later, I had Grandma in the Victoria 's Secret dressing room, trying on push-up bras.
'Okay,' Grandma said from the other side of the door. 'I got them all lifted up, and they look pretty good except for the wrinkles.'
'I wouldn't worry about the wrinkles,' I told her. 'It looked to me like Elmer has cataracts.'
'Maybe I need one of them thongs to go with this bra,' she said.
I didn't want to think about Grandma in a thong. 'Some pretty panties might be better.'
'As long as they're sexy. I might get lucky tonight.'
If she got lucky, Elmer would drop dead before dinner. 'I'll pick out something that will match while you're getting dressed,'' I told Grandma.
We were at the register with the bra and panties, and I heard something sizzle in my head, and the next thing I knew I was on the floor and my lips were tingling.
