Brenda was in another black leather outfit. She was wearing four-inch spike-heeled shoes, and her hair and her face and her chest were blue. She had a handheld mic, and she was having a hard time navigating because her heels were sinking into the freshly dug dirt. She climbed onto a dirt mound and looked down into the hole. The cameraman focused on Brenda.
“Here we are at Aunt Rose's house,” Brenda said to the camera. “And as you can see, digging for the stolen money has already begun.”
“Excuse me,” Morelli said. “You're going to have to leave.”
Brenda stumbled over to Morelli with the mic. “Are you by any chance the handsome owner of the property-”
“That's it,” Morelli said. “I've had enough.”
He set his coffee cup on the stoop, reached over the railing, grabbed the garden hose, and turned it on Brenda and the cameraman.
Brenda hit high C at the first blast of water. “Eeeeeee!” she shrieked.
“Dammit, shit, sonovabitch!”
The dirt instantly turned to mud, and Brenda lost her footing and went down.
The sound guy rushed in to help, and he went down, too.
“Maybe you want to turn the hose off,” I said to Morelli.
Brenda had one shoe on and one shoe in her hand. “What is your problem?” she yelled at Morelli. “Do you know who I am? I'm Brenda. I'm doing the news here, and the news is sacred, for cripe's sake. You can't turn the hose on the news, you moron!”
Morelli shut the water off and retrieved his coffee cup. “This is going to be another one of those days,” he said.
We backed into the house, closed and locked the door, and pulled all the shades down.
Morelli stood in the middle of his kitchen. “I hate this,” he said. “I hate bringing this shit into my home.”
“We need to find Dom.”
Morelli n
odded agreement. “I'm going to change my clothes and canvass the neighborhood.”
“We'll split it in half.”
Morelli smiled down at me. “Nice offer, Cupcake, but you're blue. You'll scare the crap out of everyone.”
“I forgot.”
“Stay here with Zook. Keep people out of my yard. Get me some estimates on jackhammer rentals.”
Morelli went upstairs, and I crept to the window and looked out. No Brenda. No cameraman. No film crew van. I went to the front of the house. No one was there, either. Good deal.
Bob was sleeping in a patch of sun in the living room. He was still spray-painted. He didn't seem to care. While I was standing, looking out the window, Lula's red Firebird slid to a stop in front of Morelli's house. Lula hoisted herself out of the car and marched to Morelli's front door.
“Hey,” I said, opening the door to her. “What's up?”
“I need you to help me with my prenup. I got a lawyer appointment this afternoon, and I gotta have this ready.”
“I don't know anything about prenups.”
“You just gotta help me make out my list. I'm supposed to list all my assets. And then Tank lists all his assets. And we got what we got.”
“So Tank is doing this, too?”
“I left a message on his phone. I said if you got anything you want to keep, you better list it out or I could get it in case of divorce. Not that I intend to get a divorce, but I guess you never know, right?”