“Are you shitting me? That is so cool.”
I gave her the number.
“Hold on,” she said. There was some clicking of computer keys, and Marilyn came back on. “The plate belongs to Terry Gilman. Isn't she working for Vito Grizolli?”
I was momentarily speechless. Next to Joyce Barnhardt, I disliked Terry Gilman most. For lack of a better term, she'd dated Joe in high school, and I had a feeling she wouldn't mind resuming the relationship. Terry worked for her Uncle Vito Grizolli now, which put a crimp in her Joe designs, since Joe was in the business of stamping out crime, and Vito was in the business of producing it.
“Uh-oh,” Lula said. “Did I hear you right? Are you sticking your big fat nose in the Ramos case?”
“Well, I happened to run across—”
Lula's eyes widened. “You're working for Ranger!”
Vinnie popped out of his inner office. “Is that true? Are you working for Ranger?”
“No. It's not true. There's not a shred of truth to it.” Well, what the hell—what's one more lie?
The front door crashed open and Joyce Barnhardt stomped in.
Lula, Connie, and I all ran to get Bob on the leash.
“You dumb bitch,” Joyce yelled at me. “You sent me on a wild goose chase. Ranger doesn't have a sister working at the Macko Coat Factory.”
“Maybe she quit,” I said.
“Yeah,” Lula said, “people quit all the time.”
Joyce looked down at Bob. “What's this?”
“It's a dog,” I said, shortening his lead.
“Why's his hair standing up like that?”
From the woman who adds five inches to her height with a rat-tail comb.
“Beside the wild goose chase, how're you doin' on the Ranger hunt?” Lula asked. “You track him down yet?”
“Not yet, but I'm getting close.”
“I think you're fibbing,” Lula said. “I bet you don't have anything.”
And I bet you don't have a waistline," Joyce said.
Lula leaned forward. “Oh yeah? If I throw a stick, will you go fetch it?”
Bob wagged his tail.
“Maybe later,” I told him.
Vinnie popped back out of his office. “What's going on out here? I can't hear myself think.”
Lula, Connie, and I all exchanged glances and bit down hard on our lower lips.
“Vinnie!” Joyce cooed, pointing her C cups in his direction. “Looking good, Vinnie.”
“Yeah, you're not looking so bad yourself,” Vinnie said. He looked at Bob. “What's with the dog with the bad hair day?”
“I'm dog-sitting,” I told him.