Smokin Seventeen

TWENTY-SIX

MORELLI AND BOB were waiting for me when I got home.

“I finished off whatever was in the casserole dish in the refrigerator,” Morelli said. “Were you serious about Dave Brewer cooking?”

I dropped my bag on the kitchen counter and tapped on Rex’s cage by way of greeting. “Yeah. He likes to cook, and his mom doesn’t want him in her kitchen, so he mooches kitchens. He didn’t stay to eat. He just wanted to cook. I guess it relaxes him.”

“He never struck me as someone who needed to relax. From what I remember he never looked stressed. He played football like it was a walk in the park.”

“Everyone loves him. Lula, Connie, my mom, my grandmother.”

Morelli leaned against the counter, arms crossed over his chest. Serious. “And you?”

“Not so much. His mother said he was framed in Atlanta. What do you think?”

“It’s possible. He could have taken a bullet for someone else. Or he could have been encouraged to operate in a gray area. Or he could have been fed bad information.”

“Or he could have been guilty?”

“Yeah, that, too. I checked on him. He had a good lawyer, and several people who were supposed to testify had a lastminute lapse of memory. And two other bank officials who were also accused of crimes took off for parts unknown.”

“I didn’t know any of that.”

“It wasn’t a hot ticket item with the press, but the whole deal was messy, at best.”

We wandered into the living room to watch TV and stood looking at Bob. He was sprawled on the couch, feet in the air, sound asleep.

“There’s no room for us,” I said to Morelli.

He hooked a finger into the neckline of my shirt and pulled me into the bedroom. “Guess we’ll have to find some other way to occupy our time.” He wrangled me out of my shirt and bra. He moved on to my jeans, got them to my knees and stopped. “What the hell?”

I followed his eyes to my granny panties.

“It’s complicated,” I said.

“Cupcake, complicated is your middle name.” He tugged my jeans entirely off and went for the granny panties. “It’s a good thing I’m Italian with a strong sex drive. A normal man would walk away from this.”

“It’s all your grandmother’s fault. She put the vordo on me.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. And I don’t care if she put vordo, peanut butter, or mayo on you. These pants should get burned and buried.”

Morelli stripped the pants off me and flipped them out of the bedroom.

“Vordo is a spell,” I told him. “Your grandmother put a spell on me.”

“She’s a crazy old lady. Spells are her hobby.”

“It’s a bad hobby.”

“It’s harmless,” Morelli said. “Spells aren’t real.”

“Then how do you explain this huge pimple on my forehead?”

“Doughnuts?”

Okay, call me overly sensitive, but I’d just had my underwear insulted and been told I got a monster zit from eating doughnuts. Not stuff a naked woman wants to hear. Especially if it has some merit. I leaned forward, feet apart for stability, hand on hip, eyes narrowed, wisps of smoke possibly curling off my scalp. “Excuse me?”

“Shit,” Morelli said. “You look really hot like that.”

I felt my eyes almost pop out of their sockets and my arms were involuntarily waving in the air. “I’m having a fit of outrage, and you’re still thinking about sex? What the heck is wrong with you?”

“I can’t help it. I’m in launch mode. And if you want me to calm down you need to stop waving your arms and jiggling your breasts in my face.”

“I’m not jiggling my breasts in your face. My breasts are way over here, and your face is way over there.”

“That could change.”

“I don’t think so. I’m getting dressed.” I looked around. “Where are my clothes?”

Morelli looked into the living room. “Uh oh.”

I followed his line of sight. Bob was off the couch, sitting in front of the television, eating my underwear.

“Drop them,” I said to Bob. “This instant!”

Bob jumped up and ran into the kitchen with what was left of the granny panties.

“No problem,” Morelli said. “He’s eaten worse. He ate an entire couch once. Not that this was a small meal. There’s enough material in those bloomers to cover a Volkswagen.”

“Are you comparing my ass to a Volkswagen?”

“I’m going to count to ten and we’re going to start over,” Morelli said. “It’ll go smoother this time since you’re already naked.”

Good lord, what the heck was I doing? I was deliberately picking a fight with Morelli. The granny pants hadn’t worked and now I was resorting to a breakup fight.

“Hold it,” I said. “Don’t move.”

I went to my closet, wrapped myself in a robe and returned to Morelli.

“Here’s the thing,” I said. “I’m confused. I’m getting relationship pressure from my mother. I’ve possibly got a curse put on me by your grandmother. And I might have a bladder infection.”

“I can deal,” Morelli said. “Go to the doctor. Drink cranberry juice. And do whatever you have to do to unconfuse yourself. I’ll check in with you tomorrow.”

I was relieved that he was so understanding, but disappointed that he didn’t put up more of a fight to stay.

• • •

I opened my eyes and squinted at the clock. It was almost nine in the morning. The day had started without me. I dragged myself out of bed and stood in the shower until the water ran cold. I got dressed and spent some quality time with Rex while I ate a bowl of cereal, and he ran on his wheel. I brushed my teeth, pulled my hair back into a ponytail, and grabbed my bag. I opened the door to leave and almost ran over Grandma Bella, who was in the hall, in front of my door. She put her finger to her eye and cackled.

I jumped back, slammed the door shut, and locked it. I hauled my phone out of my bag and called Morelli.

“Your Grandma Bella is here,” I told him. “She’s out in the hall.”

“Are you sure?”

“Of course I’m sure. Scary old Italian lady dressed in black, right?”

“She doesn’t drive. How would she get there?”

“Maybe she took a cab. Hell, maybe she flew on a broom.”

“Why?”

“She’s stalking me! Everybody is stalking me!”

“Okay, let me talk to her.”

I opened the door and Bella was gone. No sign of her anywhere.

“She’s gone,” I said to Morelli.

“Thank God for small favors. Are you wearing another pair of those giant underpants?”

“No. I’m wearing a red lace thong.”

“Are you sure that’s the best thing for a bladder infection?”

“I feel okay this morning. I think the infection went away.”

“One less thing to worry about,” Morelli said.

“How’s Bob?”

“He’s fine. He gakked the pants up at 2 a.m. Do you want them back?”

• • •

I hurried out to my car, drove to the bonds office empty lot, and parked behind Mooner’s bus. Connie, Lula, and Vinnie were already there, parked farther up the street. There were no crime scene vans, no cop cars, no coroner’s meat wagon, no satellite television trucks. Woohoo, a day without a murder. I was hugely relieved.

The door to the bus was open, shades were up, and light poured out. I stuck my head in and looked around. “What’s going on?”

“I’m taking charge,” Connie said. “The womb decor isn’t working. I’ve got Uncle Jimmy and two cousins coming today. We’re going to rip out everything black and replace it with something that doesn’t make me want to kill myself.”

Mooner was texting on his phone.

“Hey,” I said to him.

“Peace,” Mooner said.

Vinnie was in a chair, hunched over his computer. “This business is crappin’ out. Nobody’s calling. We’re not getting any bonds. It’s like we don’t exist anymore.”

“Maybe you gotta move away from this lot,” Lula said. “It’s probably leaking death cooties and ruining our usual good juju.”

“Harry wants us here. He doesn’t want to have to change our address in his iPhone. So I got an idea. I figure it’s that we have to advertise. People see the empty lot they think we closed up shop.”

“What kind of advertising you gonna do?” Lula asked.

“Signs and stuff. Last week I got in touch with a company that specializes in promoting brands. They’re making me a jingle so I can advertise on the radio. And they’re going to put a sign on the bus today.”

“A sign for the bus is a good idea,” Lula said. “That’s a step in the right direction.”

“Yeah, and I had some flyers made up. You girls can put them up all over town. Especially in the high-crime areas, like Stark Street.”

“Who all’s included in you girls?” Lula asked. “Because I don’t get paid for littering public property with shit.” She took one of the flyers from him and looked at it. “Wait, this here’s a picture of me.”

“Yeah, the branding company made them up. They thought we needed the personal touch, so they used pictures of you and Stephanie in the ad.”

“That’s a whole different thing then,” Lula said. “This is a real flattering picture. I’m wearing one of my favorite outfits. I’d be happy to staple myself around town. I might even get some modeling jobs from this. This is a good showcase for my talents.”

I snatched the flyer out of her hand. It was Lula and me all right. She was wearing a super low-cut gold sequin tank top showing a lot of squished-together boob, a short poison green skirt, and five-inch gold platform heels. I was wearing the exact same outfit. The headline read: If You’re Bad We’ll Send our Girls out to Get You.

I was speechless. My mouth was open but only little squeaks were coming out.

“You didn’t look that good in any of your pictures,” Vinnie said. “So they did some digital enhancement. They gave you new clothes and bigger hooters.”

I shook my head. “No, no, no, no.”

“My way or the highway,” Vinnie said. “If we don’t get a rush of phone calls from locked-up losers soon, you’re gonna be panhandling for gas money.”

He was right. This was one of the many problems with my job. I don’t get a salary. I make money by capturing skips. If there are no skips to catch, my paycheck is zero. Currently my only outstanding skip was Ziggy, and he wasn’t exactly a big-ticket item.

I grabbed a staple gun off the table and rammed it into my bag. “Fine. Great. Give me a stack of the stupid flyers.”