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.