“Who's that?” Bunchy wanted to know.
“That's Randy,” I said.
“Want to see him disappear?”
I looked over at Briggs. It was a tempting offer. “Some other time,” I said to Bunchy.
Bunchy unpacked his bag and set everything out on the kitchen counter. “You've got some strange friends.”
And they hardly counted at all compared to my relatives. “I'll make you lunch if you tell me who you're working for and why you're interested in Fred,” I said.
“No can do. Besides, I think you'll make me lunch anyway.”
I made canned tomato soup and grilled cheese sandwiches. I made grilled cheese because that's what I felt like eating. And I made the soup because I like to keep a clean can in reserve for Rex.
Halfway through lunch I looked at Bunchy, and Morelli's words echoed in my ear. I'm working with a couple Treasury guys who make me look like a Boy Scout, he'd said. The Hallelujah Chorus rang out in my head, and I had an epiphany. “Holy cow,” I said. “You're working with Morelli.”
“I don't work with anyone,” Bunchy said. “I work alone.”
“That's a load of pig pucky.”
This wasn't the first time Morelli had been involved in one of my cases and had kept it from me, but it was the first time he'd sent someone to spy on me. This was a new all-?time low for Morelli.
Bunchy sighed and pushed his dish away. “Does this mean I'm not getting dessert?”
I gave him one of the leftover candy bars. “I'm depressed.”
“Now what?”
“Morelli is scum.”
He looked down at the candy bar. “I told you I work alone.”
“Yeah, and you told me you were a bookie.”
He glanced up. “You don't know for sure that I'm not.”
The phone rang, and I snatched it up before the machine could take over.
“Hey, Cupcake,” Morelli said. “What do you want on your pizza tonight?”
“I want nothing. There is no pizza. There is no you, no me, no us, no pizza. And don't ever call me again, you scummy, slimy fungus-?ridden dog turd, piece of fly crud.” And I slammed the phone down.
Bunchy was laughing. “Let me guess,” he said. “That was Morelli.”
“And you!” I yelled, pointing my finger, teeth clenched. “You are no better.”
“I gotta go,” Bunchy said, still doing his Mr. Chuckles impersonation.
“So, have you always had a problem with men?” Briggs asked. “Or is this something recent?”
I WAS IN the lobby, waiting for Ranger at six o'clock. I was all showered and perfumed and hair freshly done up to look sexily unkempt. Mike's Place is a sports bar frequented by businessmen. At six o'clock it would be filled with suits catching ESPN and having a drink to unwind before going home, so I chose to look suity, too. I was wearing my Wonderbra, which worked wonders, a white silk shirt unbuttoned clear to the front clasp on the magical bra, and a black silk suit with the skirt rolled at the waist to show a lot of leg. I covered the mess at the waist with a wide fake leopard skin belt, and I stuffed my stocking-?clad feet into four-?inch fuck-?me pumps.
Mr. Morganthal shuffled out of the elevator and winked at me. “Hey, hootchie-?mamma,” he said. “Want a hot date?” He was ninety-?two and lived on the third floor, next to Mrs. Delgado.
“You're too late,” I told him. “I've already made plans.”
“That's just as well. You'd probably kill me,” Mr. Morganthal said.