“Nope. Not me. Gave up on that puppy.”
“What happened to it?”
“Stolen.”
I could hear Morelli laughing over the phone.
“It's not funny!” I yelled. “Do you think I should file a police report?”
“I think you should talk to Ranger first. Do you need a ride?”
“No. Vinnie's on his way.”
“Later, Hotstuff.”
I disconnected and told Lula about Stemper.
“Somebody don't like leaving loose ends,” Lula said.
I took a deep breath and dialed Ranger's home phone. No answer. Car phone. No answer. I could try his cell phone, but I didn't want to press my luck, so I left my number on his pager. The condemned woman gets a few extra minutes.
I'd been watching the window, and I saw Vinnie pull up in his Cadillac. I thought it might be satisfying to delay Vinnie for a half hour an
d see if his car disappeared, but dismissed it as being not practical. I'd only have to call yet another person to come collect us. And even worse, I'd have to spend time with Vinnie.
Lula and I dragged Lally out to the curb and waited while Vinnie popped his door locks.
“Scumbags sit in the backseat,” Vinnie said.
“Hunh,” Lula said, hand on hip, “who you callin' a scumbag?”
“If the shoe fits,” Vinnie said.
“If the shoe fits, you'd have your pervert ass in the backseat,” Lula said.
“Why me?” I asked. I realized I sounded like my mother and had a brief panic attack. I liked my mother, but I didn't want to be her. I didn't want to ever cook a pot roast. I didn't want to live in a house with three adults and only one bathroom. And I didn't want to marry my father. I wanted to marry Indiana Jones. I figured Indiana Jones was the middle ground between my father and Ranger. Morelli fit in there, too. In fact, Morelli wasn't too far off the Indiana Jones mark. Not that it mattered, since Morelli didn't want to get married.
Vinnie dropped Lula and me at the office and took Lally to the police station on North Clinton.
“Well, that was fun,” Lula said. “Too bad about the car. I can't wait to see what you get next.”
“I'm getting nothing next. I'm not taking any more cars. From now on, I'm driving the Buick. Nothing ever happens to the Buick.”
“Yeah,” Lula said, “but that isn't necessarily a good thing.”
I dialed First Trenton, asked for Shempsky, and was told he'd gone home early with an upset stomach. I got his home number out of the directory and tried to reach him there. No answer. Just for the hell of it, I ran a fast credit check. Nothing unusual. Mortgage, credit cards all in good standing.
“Why are you checking on Shempsky?” Lula asked. “You think he's involved?”
“I keep thinking about the bomb in the Porsche. Shempsky knew I was driving a Porsche.”
“Yeah, but he could have told people. He could have mentioned to someone you were going to the garbage company in your brand-?new Porsche.”
“True.”
“Do you want a ride someplace?” Lula asked.
I shook my head no. “I could use some air and exercise,” I said. “I'm going to walk home.”