High Five

8

I WAS SUPER late when I barreled through the back door to my apartment building. I quickly crossed to the bank of mailboxes on the far side of the lobby, spun the dial on my box, and grabbed my mail. A phone bill, a wad of junk mail, and an envelope from RangeMan Enterprises. My curiosity was stronger than my desire to be punctual, so I tore the RangeMan envelope open on the spot. RangeMan Enterprises is Ricardo Carlos Manoso. Better known as Ranger. Incorporated as RangeMan.

It was a payroll check issued by Ranger's accountant, paying me for the two jobs I screwed up. I had a moment of guilt, but brushed it aside. I didn't have time to feel guilty right now.

I rushed upstairs, hurled myself into the shower, and was out in record time. I went for the big soft curly look to my hair, natural frosted polish on my nails, and an extra sweep of mascara on my lashes. I tugged the little black dress into place, checked myself out in the mirror, and thought I looked pretty darn good.

I transferred a few things to a small black beaded purse, hooked a pair of long, dangly rhinestone earrings into my ears, and slipped my faux-diamond cocktail ring onto my ring finger.

My apartment is on the parking-lot side of the building, and my bedroom window opens to an old-fashioned fire escape. More modern buildings have balconies instead of fire escapes. Those buildings charge twenty-five dollars more a month than mine for rent, so I like my fire escape just fine.

The only problem with the fire escape is that people can climb up as well as down. Now that Ramirez was back on the street, I checked my bedroom window fourteen times a day to make sure it was locked. And when I left the apartment, not only was the window locked, but the curtain was pushed open, so I could immediately see upon entering the room if the window was broken.

I went to the kitchen to say good-bye to Rex. I gave him a green bean from my cache of leftovers and told him not to worry if I came home late. He watched me for a beat and then took the bean to his soup can. "Don't look at me like that," I said to Rex. "I'm not going to sleep with him."

I looked down at the black dress with the low scoop neck and slinky little skirt. Who was I kidding? Morelli wouldn't waste any time getting me out of this dress. We'd be lucky if we got to the wedding at all. Is that what I wanted? Shit. I didn't know what I wanted.

I ran back to the bedroom, kicked off the heels, and shimmied out of the black dress. I tried on a tan suit, a red knit dress, an apricot cocktail dress, and a gray silk suit. I ransacked my closet some more and came up with a tea-length rayon dress. It was a soft teal color with a small pink rose print and a skirt that was soft and swirly. It wasn't hot like the little black dress, but it was sexy in an understated romantic way. I changed my pantyhose, junked the earrings, dropped the dress over my head, shoved my feet into low-heeled shoes, and dumped the contents of the black purse into a small tan bag.

I had just buttoned the last button on the dress when the doorbell rang. I grabbed a sweater and hustled to get the door. I threw the door open and didn't see anyone.

"Down here."

It was Randy Briggs.

"Why aren't you in jail?"

"I made bail," he said. "Again. And thanks to you I don't have anyplace to live."

"You want to run that by me again?"

"You wrecked my door, and while I was in jail, thieves came in and ransacked my apartment. Stole everything and set fire to my couch. Now I don't have anyplace to live while they fix my apartment. And when your cousin wrote my bail he said I had to have an address. So here I am."

"Vinnie sent you here?"

"Yeah. Isn't that a kick in the ass? You want to help me with this stuff I've got?"

I stuck my head out the door. Briggs had a couple big suitcases propped against the wall.

"You are not living here," I told him. "You must be crazy to think for a single moment that I'd let you live here."

"Listen, Toots, I don't like it any more than you do. And believe me, I'll be out of here as soon as possible." He pushed past me, wheeling one of the suitcases. "Where's my bedroom?"

"You don't have a bedroom," I said. "This is a one-bedroom apartment. And that one bedroom is mine."

"Christ," he said, "when was the last time you got laid? You need to relax a little." He had the second suitcase by the handle.

"Halt!" I said, blocking the doorway. "You are not living here. You aren't even visiting here."

"This is what it says on my bond agreement. Call your ratfaced cousin and ask. You want to violate my bond agreement? You want to come after me again?"

I held my ground.

"It's only for a couple days. They have to put down a new rug and put in a new door. And in the meantime I have a job to do. Which, by the way, thanks to you again, I'm behind schedule."

"I don't have time to stand here and argue. I'm going out, and there's no way I'm leaving you alone in my apartment."

He put his head down and pushed past me. "Don't worry about it. I'm not interested in hocking your silverware. I just want a place to work." He flopped the suitcase on its back, unzipped it, took out a laptop computer, and set it on my coffee table.

Shit.

I dialed Vinnie at home. "What's the deal with Briggs?" I asked.

"He needed a place to stay, and I thought if he stayed with you, you could keep an eye on him."

"Are you nuts?'

"It's only for a couple days until they get a door on his apartment. Which, for your information, I took a lot of grief over. You destroyed that door."

"I don't baby-sit FTAs."

"He's harmless. He's just a little guy. And besides, he threatened me with a civil liberties suit. And if he goes through with it, you're not gonna come out looking like roses. You beat the shit out of him."

"I didn't!"

"Look, I gotta go. Just humor him, will you?"

Vinnie disconnected.

Briggs was on the couch, booting up his computer. He was sort of cute with his little legs sticking out. Kind of like a big, cranky doll with a bashed-in face. He had a Band-Aid across his broken nose, and a beauty of a black eye. I didn't think he could win a lawsuit, but I didn't want to put it to the test.

"This comes at a bad time for me," I said to him. "I have a date."

"Yeah, I bet that's a big event in your life. And just between you and me, that dress is a dud."

"I like this dress. It's romantic."

"Men don't like romantic, Sis. Men like sexy. Short and tight. Something you can get your hand up real easy. And I'm not saying I'm like that . . . I'm just telling you about men."

I heard the elevator doors open down the hall. Morelli was here. I snatched my sweater and handbag and ran for the door. "Don't touch anything," I said. "When I get back I'm going to inspect this apartment, and it better be exactly the way I left it."

"I go to bed early, so be quiet if you get home late. Being that you're wearing that dress, I don't guess I have to worry about you spending the night with this guy."

I met Morelli in the hall. "Hmm," Morelli said when he saw me. "Pretty, but not what I'd expected."

I couldn't say the same for him. He was exactly what I'd expected. He was edible. California-cut charcoal silk gabardine suit, French-blue shirt, very cool tie. Black Italian loafers.

"What did you expect?" I asked.

"Higher heels, shorter skirt, more breast."

Damn that Briggs. "I had another outfit," I told him, "but I had to use my little black beaded purse with it, and it was too small to hold my cell phone and pager."

"This is a wedding," Morelli said. "You don't need a cell phone and pager."

"You have a pager clipped to your belt."

"It's this job I'm on. We're close to wrapping it up, and I don't want to miss the takedown. I'm working with a couple Treasury guys who make me look like a Boy Scout."

"Dirty?"

"Crazy."

"I got a break today with Uncle Fred. I found a woman who saw Fred talking to a man in a suit. And then they got in the man's car and drove away."

"You should call Arnie Mott and let him know what you've got," Morelli said. "You don't want to withhold information on a possible kidnapping and murder."

* * * * *

HOLY ASCENSION CHURCH had a small lot that was already filled. Morelli parked a block and a half from the church and blew out a sigh. "I don't know why I agreed to do this. I should have pulled duty."

"Weddings are fun."

"Weddings suck."

"What don't you like about weddings?"

"I have to talk to my relatives."

"Okay, I'll concede you that one. What else?"

"I haven't been to church in a year. The Monsignor's going to assign me to Hell."

"Maybe you'll see Fred there. I don't think he went to church, either."

"And I have to wear a suit and tie. I feel like my uncle Manny."

His uncle Manny was a construction expediter. Manny could expedite the completion of a building project by insuring that no unexplained fires would take place during the construction process.

"You don't look like your uncle Manny," I said. "You look very sexy." I felt the material in his trouser leg. "This is a beautiful suit."

His eyes softened. "Yeah?" His voice pitched low. "Why don't we skip the wedding. We could still go to the reception."

"The reception isn't for another hour. What would we do?"

He slid his arm along the back of my seat and twirled a curl around his finger.

"No!" I said, trying to get some conviction behind it.

"We could do it in the truck. We've never done it in the truck."

Morelli drove a four-wheel drive Toyota pickup. It was pretty nice, but it wasn't going to replace a queen-size bed. And besides, my hair would get mussed. Not to mention I was afraid Bunchy might be watching. "I don't think so," I said.

He brushed his lips across my ear and told me some of the things he wanted to do to me. A rush of heat fluttered through my stomach. Maybe I should reconsider, I thought. I liked all of those things. A lot.

A mile-long car pulled to the curb behind us.

"Damn," Morelli said. "It's my uncle Dominic and aunt Rosa."

"I didn't know you had an uncle Dominic."

"He's from New YorkState. And he's in retail," Morelli said, opening his door. "Don't ask him too many questions about the business."

Aunt Rosa was out of the car and running toward us. "Joey," she yelled. "Let me look at you. It's been so long. Look, Dominic, it's little Joey."

Dominic ambled up and nodded at Joe. "Long time."

Joe introduced me.

"I heard you had a girl," Rosa said, talking to Joe, beaming at me. "It's about time you settled down. Give your mother more grandchildren."

"One of these days," Joe said.

"You're not getting any younger. Pretty soon it'll be too late."

"It's never too late for a Morelli," Joe said.

Dominic made a move like he was going to smack Joe in the head. "Wise guy," he said. Then he smiled.

* * * * *

THERE ARE ONLY a few places big enough to handle an Italian wedding reception in the Burg. Julie Morelli held hers in the back room of Angio's. The room could hold two hundred and was reaching maximum capacity when Joe and I arrived.

"And when is your wedding?" Joe's Aunt Loretta wanted to know, smiling broadly, giving Joe the squinty eye. She shook her finger at him. "When are you going to make an honest woman out of this poor thing? Myra, come here," she called. "Joe's here with his girl."

"This is such a pretty dress," Myra said, examining my roses. "It's so nice to find a modest young woman."

Oh, great. I always wanted to be a modest young woman. "I need a drink," I said to Joe. "Something with cyanide."

I spied Terry Gilman across the room, and she wasn't modest at all. She was wearing a dress that was short and clingy, and shimmery gold. Leaving me to wonder where the gun was hidden. She turned and stared directly at Joe for a couple beats, then she blew him a kiss.

Joe acknowledged her with a noncommittal smile and a nod of his head. If it had been more I'd have stabbed him with one of the butter knives.

"What's Terry doing here?" I asked Joe.

"Cousin to the groom."

A hush fell over the crowd. For a moment there was total silence, and then talking resumed, first with low murmurings and finally building to a roar.

"What was that silence all about?" I asked Joe.

"Grandma Bella's arrived. That was the sound of terror spreading through the room."

I looked to the entrance and sure enough, there she was . . . Joe's grandma Bella. She was a small woman with white hair and piercing hawklike eyes. She dressed in black and looked like she belonged in Sicily, herding goats, making the lives of her daughters'-in-law a living misery. Some people believed Bella had special powers . . . some thought she was wacko. Even the nonbelievers were reluctant to incur her wrath.

Bella scanned the room and picked me out. "You," she said, pointing a bony finger at me. "You, come here."

"Oh, shit!" I whispered to Joe. "Now what?"

"Just don't let her smell fear, and you'll be fine," Joe said, guiding me through the crowd, his hand at the small of my back.

"I remember this one," Bella said to Joe, referring to me. "This is the one you sleep with now."

"Well, actually . . ." I said.

Joe brushed a kiss across the nape of my neck. "I'm trying."

"I see babies," Bella said. "You will give me more great-grandchildren. I know these things. I have the eye." She patted my stomach. "You're ripe tonight. Tonight would be good."

I looked at Joe.

"Don't worry," he said. "I've got it covered. Besides, there's no such thing as the eye."

"Hah!" Bella said. "I gave Ray Barkolowski the eye, and all his teeth fell out."

Joe grinned down at his grandmother. "Ray Barkolowski had periodontal disease."

Bella shook her head. "Young people," she said. "They believe in nothing." She took my hand and dragged me after her. "Come. You should meet the family."

I looked back at Joe and mouthed "Help!"

"You're on your own," Joe said. "I need a drink. A big one."

"This is Joe's cousin, Louis," Grandma Bella said. "Louis fools around on his wife."

Louis looked like a thirty-year-old loaf of fresh raised white bread. Soft and plump. Scarfing down appetizers. He stood next to a small olive-skinned woman, and from the look she gave him, I assumed they were married.

"Grandma Bella," he said, croaky-voiced, his cheeks mottled in red, mouth stuffed with crab balls. "I would never—"

"Silence," she said. "I know these things. You can't lie to me. I'll put the eye on you."

Louis sucked in some crab and clutched his throat. His face got red, then purple. He flailed his arms.

"He's choking!" I said.

Grandma Bella tapped her finger to her eye and smiled like the wicked witch in The Wizard of Oz.

I gave Louis a good hard thwack between his shoulder blades, and the crab ball flew out of his mouth.

Grandma Bella leaned close to Louis. "You cheat again, and next time I'll kill you," she said.

She moved off toward a group of women. "One thing you learn about Morelli men," she said to me. "You don't let them get away with a thing."

Joe nudged me from behind and put a drink in my hand. "How's it going?"

"Pretty good. Grandma Bella put the eye on Louis." I took a sip. "Champagne?"

"All out of cyanide," he said.

* * * * *

AT EIGHT O'CLOCK the waitresses were clearing the plates off the tables, the band was playing, and all the Italian ladies were on the dance floor, dancing with one another. Kids were running between the tables, squealing and shrieking. The wedding party was at the bar. And the Morelli men were out back, smoking cigars and passing gas.

Morelli had forsaken the cigar ritual and was slouched back in his chair, studying the buttons on my dress. "We could go now," he said. "And no one would notice."

"Your grandma Bella would notice. She keeps looking over here. I think she might be getting ready to do the eye thing again."

"I'm her favorite grandson," Morelli said. "I'm safe from the eye."

"So your grandma Bella doesn't scare you?"

"You're the only one who scares me," Morelli said. "You want to dance?"

"You dance?"

"When I have to."

We were sitting close, with our knees touching. He leaned forward and took my hand and kissed the inside, and I felt my bones heat up and start to liquefy.

I heard the click of stiletto heels approaching and caught a flash of gold in my peripheral vision.

"Am I disturbing something?" Terry Gilman said, all glossy lipstick and carnivorous, perfect white teeth.

"Hello, Terry," Joe said. "What's going on?"

"Frankie Russo's taking the men's room apart. Something about his wife eating potato salad off Hector Santiago's fork."

"And you want me to talk to him?"

"Either that or shoot him. You're the only one with a legal piece. He's racking up a hell of a bill in there."

Morelli gave my hand another kiss. "Don't go anywhere."

They walked off together, and I had a moment of doubt that they might not be going to the men's room. That's dumb, I told myself. Joe isn't like that anymore.

Five minutes later he still hadn't returned, and I was having a hard time controlling my blood pressure. I was distracted by ringing, far off in the distance. I realized with a start that it wasn't far off at all—it was my cell phone, the ringing smothered in my, purse.

It was Sandy. "He's here!" she said. "I was just walking the dog, and I looked in the Ruzicks' windows, and there he was, watching television. It was easy to see because the lights are all on, and Mrs. Ruzick never pulls her shades."

I thanked Sandy and dialed Ranger. No answer, so I left a message on his machine. I tried his car phone and cell phone. No answer at those numbers either. I called his pager and left my cell phone number. I tapped my finger on the table for five minutes while I waited for a call back. No call back. No Joe. Little wisps of smoke were starting to escape from my hairline.

The Ruzicks' house was three blocks away. I wanted to go over and keep my eye on things, but I didn't want to walk out on Joe. No problem, I told myself. Just go find him. He's in the men's room. Only he wasn't in the men's room. No one was in the men's room. I asked a few people if they knew where I could find Joe. Nope. No one knew where I could find Joe. Still no call from Ranger.

The steam was coming out my ears now. If this kept up I'd start whistling like a teakettle. Wouldn't that be embarrassing?

Okay, I'll leave him a note, I decided. I had a pen but no paper, so I wrote on a napkin. "Be right back," I wrote. "I have to check on an FTA for Ranger." I propped the napkin up against Joe's drink and left.

I power-walked the three blocks and pulled up across from the Ruzick house. Sure enough, Alphonse was there, big as life, watching television. I could see him crystal clear through the living room window. No one had ever accused Alphonse of being smart. You might say that about me too, because I'd remembered to take my purse, but I'd left my sweater and cell phone at Angio's. And now that I was standing still, I was freezing. No problem, I told myself. Go to Angio's, get your stuff, and come back.

It would have been a good plan, except at that moment Alphonse stood, scratched his belly, hiked up his pants, and walked out of the room. Damn. Now what?

I was across the street from the Ruzicks', crouched between two parked cars. I had good line of sight to the living room and front of the house, but all else was lost to me. I was contemplating this problem when I heard the back door open and close. Shit. He was leaving. He'd probably parked his car in the alley behind the house.

I ran across the street and hugged the shadows on the side of the house. Sure enough, I could see the hulking outline of Alphonse Ruzick making his way to the alley, carrying a bag. He was charged with armed robbery and assault with a deadly weapon. He was forty-six, and he weighed in at 230 pounds, with the bulk of his weight in his gut. He had a little pinhead and a brain to match. And he was getting away. Damn Ranger. Where the hell was he?

Alphonse was halfway down the yard when I yelled. I didn't have a weapon. I didn't have cuffs. I didn't have anything, but I yelled, anyway. It was all I could think to do.

"Stop!" I yelled. "Bail Enforcement Agent! Drop to the ground."

Alphonse didn't even turn to look. He just took off, cutting across yards, rather than going for the alley. He ran for all he was worth, handicapped by his lard butt and beer gut, hanging on to the bag in his right hand. Dogs barked, porch lights flashed, and back doors were thrown open all down the block.

"Call the police," I yelled, chasing after Alphonse, my skirt up around my neck. "Fire, fire. Help. Help."

We reached the end of the block, and I was within an arm's length when he whirled around and hit me with the bag. The impact burst the bag and knocked me off my feet. I was flat on my back, covered in garbage. Alphonse hadn't been leaving at all. He'd been taking the garbage out for his mother.

I scrambled to my feet and charged after Alphonse. He'd rounded the block and was running back to his mother's. He had half a house length on me when he pulled a set of keys from his pocket, pointed at a Ford Explorer parked at the curb, and I heard the alarm system chirp off.

"Stop!" I yelled. "You're under arrest! Stop or I'll shoot!"

It was a stupid thing to say because I didn't have a gun. And even if I had a gun I certainly wouldn't shoot him. Alphonse looked over his shoulder to check me out, and it was enough to uncoordinate the forward momentum of his blubber. The result was that he started to stumble, and I inadvertently plowed into his gelatinous body.

We both went down to the sidewalk, where I hung on for dear life. Alphonse was trying to get to his feet, and I was trying to keep him on the ground. I could hear sirens in the distance and people yelling and running toward us. And I was thinking I just had to wrestle around with him long enough for help to get to me. He was on his knees, and I had a fistful of his shirt in my hand, and he batted me away like I was a bug.

"Dumb cunt," he said, getting to his feet. "You haven't got a gun."

I get called lots of names. That's not one of my favorites. I latched onto his cuff and pulled his feet out from under him. He seemed suspended in air for a fraction of a second, and then he crash-landed with a loud whump that shook the ground and hit about 6.7 on the Richter scale.

"I'm gonna kill you," he said, sweating and panting, rolling on top of me, hands to my neck. "I'm gonna fuckin' kill you."

I squirmed under him and sunk my teeth into his shoulder.

"Yow!" he yelled. "Sonovabitch. What are you, a goddamn vampire?"

We rolled around for what seemed like hours, locked onto each other. Him trying to kill me, and me just hanging on like a tick on a dog's back, oblivious to my surroundings and the state of my skirt, afraid if I let go he'd beat me to death. I was exhausted, and I was thinking I was about at the end of the line when I was hit with a splash of ice-cold water.

We both instantly unlocked and flopped onto our backs, sputtering.

"What?" I said. "What?" I blinked my eyes and saw there were lots of people around us. Morelli and Ranger, a couple uniformed cops, and some people from the neighborhood. Plus Mrs. Ruzick was there, holding a big empty pot.

"Works every time," Mrs. Ruzick said. "Except usually I hose down cats. This neighborhood has too many cats."

Ranger grinned down at me. "Good bust, Tiger."

I got to my feet and took stock of myself. No broken bones. No bullet holes. No knife wounds. Ruined manicure. Soaking wet hair and dress. What looked like vegetable soup clinging to my skirt.

Morelli and Ranger were staring at my breasts and smiling at the wet dress that was plastered to my skin.

"So I have nipples," I snapped. "Get over it."

Morelli gave me his jacket. "What's with the vegetable soup on your skirt?"

"He hit me with a bag of garbage."

Morelli and Ranger were smiling again.

"Don't say anything," I told them. "And if you value your lives you'll stop grinning."

"Hey, man," Ranger said, grinning wider than ever. "I'm out of here. I've got to take Bluto for a ride."

"Show's over," Morelli said to the neighbors.

Sandy Polan was there. She gave Joe an appraising once-over, giggled, and left.

"What was that about?" Joe asked me.

I gave him a palms-up. "Go figure."

I traded his jacket for my sweater when we got to his truck. "Out of morbid curiosity, how long were you standing there watching me wrestle with Ruzick?"

"Not long. A minute or two."

"And Ranger?"

"The same."

"You could have jumped in and helped me."

"We were trying. We couldn't get hold of you the way you were tumbling around. Anyway, you looked like you were doing okay."

"How did you know where I was?"

"I talked to Ranger. He called your cell phone."

I looked down at my dress. It was probably wrecked. Good thing I hadn't worn the little black number.

"Where were you? I went to the men's room, and it was empty."

"Frankie needed some air." Morelli stopped for a light and glanced over at me. "Whatever possessed you to go after Alphonse like that? You were unarmed."

Charging after Alphonse wasn't what bothered me. Okay, so it hadn't been the bright thing to do. But it hadn't been as stupid as walking the streets, alone and unarmed, when Ramirez might have been stalking me.

Morelli parked the truck in the lot and walked me up to my apartment. He backed me against my door and kissed me lightly on the lips. "Do I get to come in?"

"I have coffee grounds in my hair." And Randy Briggs in my apartment.

"Yeah," Morelli said. "Makes you smell kind of homey."

"I don't know if I'm up to being romantic tonight."

"We don't have to be romantic," Morelli said. "We could just have some really dirty sex."

I rolled my eyes.

Morelli kissed me again. A good-night kiss this time. "Call me when you want some," he said.

"Some what?" As if I didn't know.

"Some anything."

I let myself into my apartment and tiptoed past Briggs, who was asleep on my couch.

* * * * *

SUNDAY MORNING I woke up to rain. It was coming down in a steady drone on my fire escape, spattering against my window. I opened the curtains and thought, ick. The world was gray. Beyond the parking lot, the world didn't exist at all. I looked at the bed. Very tempting. I could crawl into bed and stay there until the rain stopped, or the world came to an end, or until someone showed up with a bag of doughnuts.

Unfortunately, if I went back to bed I might lie there taking stock of my life. And my life had some problems. The project that was taking most of my time and mental energy wasn't going to get me lunch money. Not that it mattered, I was determined to find Fred, dead or alive. The projects Ranger gave me weren't working out. And the bounty hunter projects were a big goose egg. If I thought about my life long enough I might reach the conclusion I needed to go out and get a real job. Something that required pantyhose every day and a good attitude.

Even worse, I might get to thinking about Morelli, and that I was an idiot not to have invited him to spend the night. Or worse still, I might think about Ranger, and I didn't want to go there at all!

And then I remembered why I hadn't invited Morelli into my apartment. Briggs. I closed my eyes. Let it all be a bad dream.

Bam, bam, bam, on my door. "Hey!" Briggs yelled. "You haven't got any coffee. How am I supposed to work without coffee? Do you know what time it is, Sleeping Beauty? What, do you sleep all day? No wonder you can't afford any food in this hellhole."

I got up and got dressed and stomped out to the living room. "Listen, Shorty, who the hell do you think you are, anyway?"

"I'm the guy who's gonna sue your ass. That's who I am."

"Give me a little time, and I could really learn to hate you."

"Jeez, and just when I was thinking you were my soul mate."

I gave him my best eat-dirt-and-die look, zipped myself into my rain jacket, and grabbed my shoulder bag. "How do you like your coffee?"

"Black. Lots of it."

I sprinted through the rain to the Buick and drove to Giovichinni's. The front of the store was redbrick, sandwiched between other businesses. On either side of Giovichinni's the buildings were single story. Giovichinni's was two stories, but the second floor wasn't used for much. Storage and an office. I drove to the end of the block and took the service alley that ran behind the store. The back side of Giovichinni's was redbrick, just like the front. And the back door opened to a small yard. At the end of the yard was a dirt parking area for delivery trucks. Two doors down was a real estate office. The back wall was stuccoed over and painted beige. And the back door opened to a small asphalt parking lot.

So suppose cheapskate Fred drives his leaves to Giovichinni's in the dark of night. He parks the car and turns off his lights. Doesn't want to get caught. He unloads the leaves and hears a car coming. What would he do? Hide. Then maybe he's there hiding, and he sees someone come along and deposit a garbage bag behind the real estate office.

After that I was lost. I had to think about after that some more.

Next stop was the 7-Eleven and then home with a large coffee for me and a Big Gulp of coffee for Briggs and a box of chocolate-covered doughnuts . . . because if I had to put up with Briggs, I needed doughnuts.

I shucked my wet jacket and settled down at the dining room table with the coffee and doughnuts and a steno pad, doing my best to ignore the fact that I had a man typing away at my coffee table. I listed out all the things I knew about Fred's disappearance. No doubt now that the photographs played a large role. When I ran out of things to write in the steno pad, I locked myself in my bedroom and watched cartoons on television. This took me to lunchtime. I didn't feel like eating lamb leftovers, so I finished off the box of doughnuts.

"Cripes," Briggs said, "do you always eat like this? Don't you know about the major food groups? No wonder you have to wear those 'romantic' dresses."

I retreated to my bedroom, and while I was retreating I took a nap. I was startled awake by the phone ringing.

"Just wanted to make sure you were going to come take me to the Lipinski viewing tonight," Grandma said.

The Lipinski viewing. Ugh. Trekking out in the rain to see some dead guy wasn't high on my list of desirable things to do. "How about Harriet Schnable?" I suggested. "Maybe Harriet could take you."

"Harriet's car's on the fritz."

"Effie Reeder?"

"Effie died."

"Oh! I didn't know that."

"Almost everybody I know has died," Grandma said. "Bunch of wimps."

"Okay, I'll take you."

"Good. And your mother says you should come for dinner."

* * * * *

I BUZZED THROUGH the living room, but before I could get to the door Briggs was on his feet.

"Hey, where are you going?" he asked.

"Out."

"Out where?"

"My parents' house."

"I bet you're going there for dinner. Man, that's the pits. You're gonna leave me here with nothing to eat, and you're going to your parents' house for dinner."

"There's some cold lamb in the refrigerator."

"I ate that for lunch. Hold on, I'll go with you."

"No! You will not go with me."

"What, are you ashamed of me?"

"Yes!"

* * * * *

"WELL, WHO'S THIS little guy?" Grandma asked when I walked in with Briggs.

"This is my . . . friend, Randy."

"Aren't you something," Grandma said. "I never saw a midget up close."

"Little person," Briggs said. "And I never saw anyone as old as you up close, either."

I gave him a smack on the top of his head. "Behave yourself," I said.

"What happened to your face?" Grandma wanted to know.

"Your granddaughter beat me up."

"No kidding?" Grandma said. "She did a pip of a job."

My father was in front of the TV. He turned in his chair and looked at us. "Oh, cripes, now what?" he said.

"This is Randy," I told him.

"He's kinda short, isn't he?"

"He's not a boyfriend."

My father went back to the television. "Thank God for that."

There were five places set at the table. "Who's the fifth person?" I asked.

"Mabel," my mother said. "Your grandmother invited her."

"I thought it would give us a chance to grill her. See if she's holding something out," Grandma said.

"There will be no grilling," my mother said to my grandmother. "You invited Mabel over for dinner, and that's what we're going to have . . . a nice dinner."

"Sure," Grandma said, "but it wouldn't hurt to ask her a few questions."

A car door slammed at the front of the house and everyone migrated to the foyer.

"What's that car Mabel's driving?" Grandma asked. "That's not the station wagon."

"Mabel bought a new car," I said. "She thought the old one was too big."

"Good for her," my mother said. "She should be able to make those decisions."

"Yeah," Grandma said. "But she better hope Fred's dead."

"Who's Mabel and Fred?" Briggs asked.

I gave him the condensed explanation.

"Cool," Briggs said. "I'm starting to like this family."

"I brought a coffee cake," Mabel said, handing a box to my mother, closing the door with her other hand. "It's prune. I know Frank likes prune." She craned her neck to the living room. "Hello, Frank," she called.

"Mabel," my father said.

"Nice car," Grandma said to Mabel. "Aren't you afraid Fred'll come back and have a cow?"

"He shouldn't have left," Mabel said. "And anyway, how am I to know he'll come back? I got a new bedroom set, too. It's getting delivered tomorrow. New mattress and everything."

"Maybe you were the one who bumped Fred off," Grandma said. "Maybe you did it for the money."

My mother slammed a bowl of creamed peas down on the table. "Mother!" she said.

"It was just a thought," Grandma said to Mabel.

We all took our seats, and my mother set a highball down for Mabel and a beer for my father and brought a kid cushion for Briggs to sit on.

"My grandchildren use these," she said.

Briggs looked over at me.

"My sister Valerie's kids," I said.

"Hah," he said. "So you're a loser in the grandchildren race, too."

"I have a hamster," I told him.

My father forked some roast chicken onto his plate and reached for the mashed potatoes.

Mabel swilled down half her highball.

"What else you gonna buy?" Grandma asked her.

"I might go on a vacation," Mabel said. "I might go to Hawaii. Or I might go on a cruise. I always wanted to go on a cruise. Of course I wouldn't do that for a while. Unless Stephanie finds that man. Then that might speed things up."

"What man?" Grandma wanted to know.

I told her about the woman at the Grand Union.

"Now we're getting somewhere," Grandma said. "This is more like it. All we have to do is find that man." She turned to me. "You have any suspects?"

"No."

"Nobody at all?"

"I'll tell you who I suspect," Mabel said. "I suspect that garbage company. They didn't like Fred."

Grandma waved a chicken leg at her. "That's just what I said the other day. There's something funny going on with that garbage company. We're going to the viewing tonight to look into it." She ate some chicken while she thought. "You met the deceased when you went to the garbage office, didn't you?" she asked me. "What did he look like? He look like the guy who took Fred for a ride?"

"I guess he could fit the description."

"Too bad it's gonna be a closed casket. If it was open we could take the Grand Union woman with us and see if she recognizes Lipinski."

"Hell," my father said, "why don't you just haul Lipinski out and put him in a lineup?"

Grandma looked at my father. "You think we could do that? I imagine he'd be stiff enough."

My mother sucked in some air.

"I don't know if you stay stiff," Mabel said. "I think you might loosen up again."

"How about passing the gravy," my father said. "Could I get some gravy down here?"

Grandma's face lit with inspiration. "There'll be lots of Lipinski's relatives there tonight. Maybe one of them will give us a picture! Then we can show the picture to the Grand Union lady."

I thought this was all a little grim, considering Mabel was at the table, but Mabel seemed unfazed.

"What do you think, Stephanie?" she asked. "Do you think I should go to Hawaii? Or do you think I should take a cruise?"

"Jesus," Briggs said to me, "you turned out pretty good considering your gene pool."