Twelve Sharp

Both men looked over at me. We all knew a locked door was meaningless. Morelli and Ranger went where they wanted to go. I blew out a sigh and closed the bedroom door behind me.

I got a tote bag out of the closet, stuffed clothes and cosmetics into it, quietly opened my bedroom window, and climbed out onto the fire escape. I tossed the tote bag and my shoulder bag to the ground, lowered the ladder, and jumped the remaining couple feet. I turned and bumped into Morelli and Ranger, standing hands on hips, not amused.

'How did you know?' I asked.

'Tank called,' Ranger said. 'He's watching the lot.'

'I'm divorcing both of you,' I said. 'I'm moving in with my parents. You can stay here,' I said to Ranger. 'Remember to give Rex fresh water and food in the morning.' I turned to Morelli. 'You and Bob should go home. You'll be more comfortable there.'

Silence.

I gathered my tote bag and shoulder bag up from the ground.

'One of us should stop her,' Ranger said to Morelli, his eyes fixed on me.

'Not going to be me,' Morelli said. 'Have you ever tried to stop her from doing something she wanted to do?'

'Haven't had much success at it,' Ranger said.

Morelli rocked back on his heels. 'One thing I've learned about Stephanie over the years, she's not good at taking orders.'

'Has authority issues,' Ranger said.

'And if you piss her off, she'll get even. She ran over me with her father's Buick once and broke my leg.'

That got a small smile out of Ranger.

'Nice to see you boys bonding,' I said.

I hiked the tote up onto my shoulder and left them still standing hands on hips. I crossed the lot to the Mini and got in. I cranked the engine over and drove out of the lot. I looked in my rearview mirror. Tank was following. Fine by me. I was actually very scared. I was scared for me, and I was scared for little Julie.

It was a little after nine when I got to my parents' house. I parked in the driveway and looked around for Tank. I didn't see him, but I knew he was there. He'd probably work shifts with Hal or Ranger doing surveillance on me. My mother and grandmother were at the door waiting for me. How they always knew I was in the neighborhood was a mystery. Some female homing device that announced the approach of a daughter.

'I'm letting a friend use my apartment,' I told them. 'I was wondering if I could stay here for a couple days.'

'Of course you can stay here,' my mother said. 'But what about Joseph? I thought you two were… you know, almost married.'

I dropped the tote bag in the little hall foyer. 'He has a full case load and is really busy. He's spending a lot of hours on the Manoso murder and kidnapping.'

'The phone's been ringing off the hook,' my mother said. 'Everyone calling about the viewing. They said you fainted.'

'They had way too many people in the funeral home. It was hot, and it smelled like funeral flowers, and I hadn't eaten any dinner. I'm fine now. And Joe was there to catch me.'

The buzzwords in that explanation were hadn't eaten dinner. Those were the words that without fail got my mother up and running every time.

'No dinner!' my mother said. 'No wonder you fainted in that crush. Come into the kitchen, and I'll make you a nice roast beef sandwich.'

My mother pulled a bunch of dishes out of the refrigerator and put them on the small kitchen table. Cole slaw, potato salad, three-bean salad, macaroni. She hauled out a chunk of roast beef, bread, mustard, olives, pickled beets, lettuce, sliced tomatoes, sliced provolone.

'This is great,' I said, filling my plate.

'Good,' my mother said, 'and after you've had something to eat, you can tell me how your grandmother managed to get the lid open on the casket.'

Seventeen

Morelli and my parents live in houses that are almost identical, but Morelli's house feels larger. Morelli's house has less furniture, fewer people, and one more bathroom. My parents' house is filled with overstuffed couches and chairs and end tables and candy dishes, vases, fruit bowls, china doo-dads, stacks of magazines, afghans, area rugs, and kid things for my sister Valerie's three girls. My parents' house smells like pot roast and lemon furniture polish and fresh-baked chocolate chip cookies. Morelli's house rarely has a smell, except when it rains… then it smells like wet Bob.

There are three tiny bedrooms and the bathroom on the second floor of my parents' house. At the crack of dawn my mother gets up and is the first in the bathroom. She's quiet and efficient, taking a shower, putting on her face, neatening up after herself. After my mother it's a battle between my grandmother and my father. They rush at the bathroom and the first one there elbows in and slams and locks the door. Whoever is left on the outside starts yelling.

'For crissake, what are you doing in there?' my father will yell. 'You've been in there for days. I need to take a crap. I need to go to work. It's not like I sit around watching television all day.'

'Blow it out your you-know-what,' my grandmother will fire back.

So it's not like I ever have to worry about oversleeping at my parents' house. Toilets are flushing, people are yelling and stomping around. And morning kitchen smells work their way upstairs. Coffee brewing, sweet rolls in the oven, bacon frying.

My room hasn't changed much since I moved out. My sister and her kids took the room over while she was regrouping after her divorce, but they're in their own house now, and the room has reestablished itself. Same floral quilted bedspread, same white ruffled curtains, same pictures on the walls, same chenille bathrobe hanging in the closet, same small chest of drawers that I left behind when I went off on my own. I sleep like a rock in the room. It feels safe… even when it isn't.

By the time I got down to the kitchen my father had already left. He's retired from the post office and drives a cab part-time. He has a few regulars that need rides in the morning, to work or the train station, but mostly he picks his cronies up and takes them to the lodge to play cards. And then he stays and plays cards too.

My grandmother was in the kitchen, hooked up to my mothers iPod. 'Before you break my heart… think it oh oh ver,' she sang, eyes closed, bony arms in the air, shuffling around in her white tennies.

'She tells me she's got a gig,' my mother said. 'Just exactly what's going on?'

'Sally has a new band, and they have a bunch of jobs playing for seniors. He thought Grandma was an appropriate edition.'

'Sweet Jesus!' And my mother made the sign of the cross.

I poured out some coffee and added milk. 'It might not be so bad. They get done early because everyone in the audience gets medicated and falls asleep. And no one can sing, so Grandma will fit right in.'

My mother watched Grandma gyrating and flailing her arms. 'She looks ridiculous!'

I got a cinnamon roll and took it to the table with my coffee. 'Maybe she just needs a costume.'

Grandma paused while there was a song change on the iPod, and then she started skipping and strutting around the kitchen. 'I can't get no satisfaction!' she yelled. 'No, no, no!'

'Actually, she looks a lot like Jagger,' my mother said.

Ranger's cell phone rang, and I opened the connection. 'Yeah?'

'Your friend Scrog called early this morning. I have him on the machine. I want you to come over and listen to this.'

'I knew it was a mistake to get an answering machine.'