“I gave him money for the pizza and more beer,” she said.
“Bad move. He probably bought a hooker with the money.”
“I don’t know. He didn’t look all that lively when I was done with him.”
“Yeah, but he’s a sex addict. Got a bunch of diseases. He wore a condom, right? I mean, you didn’t touch him or anything, did you?”
That got her out of bed, hunting for her clothes. “I do not need any more diseases,” she said. She yanked black stretch pants over her ass and tugged a sweater over her head. “That prick had a lot of nerve misrepresenting himself. The more I’m thinking about it, the more steamed I’m getting.” She rammed her feet into four-?inch stilettos and grabbed her purse off the dresser. “He hasn’t heard the last of it from me, either.”
She stormed out of the bedroom, stomped down the stairs, swept past Morelli and out the front door.
“I’m impressed,” Morelli said to me. “How did you do it?”
“We just had a heart-?to-?heart. You know, girl talk.”
“Do I get to be nice to you now?”
“No. Now you put on a pair of rubber gloves and take all the sheets off your bed and throw them away.”
Morelli went upstairs with a new garbage bag, and I continued to pick up the downstairs.
“Where’s Bob?” I called up to Morelli.
“He’s tied out back. I had him at work with me, and I didn’t want him snarfing around in
the living room until I cleaned up.”
Bob is Morelli’s dog. He’s mostly golden retriever, with a touch of Sasquatch. He’s big and goofy, entirely lovable, and he eats everything . . . chairs, table legs, whole hams stolen from the table.
I let Bob in, and Bob rushed through the house, excited to be home, jumping around me like a rabbit. I filled his bowl with fresh water, and another bowl with dog crunchies, and Bob dug in. I tied off my garbage bag and set it by the back door. I was starting up the stairs to help Morelli when Anthony walked in.
“Hey, beautiful,” Anthony said to me. “Haven’t seen you in too long.”
Anthony, for all his faults, can be charming and hideously likable. He was carry ing a large pizza box and had his fingers hooked around a six-?pack of Bud.
“Charlene,” he yelled up the stairs. “Come get your pizza.”
“Jeez,” I said. “Bad news. Charlene took off.”
“No big deal,” Anthony said, not missing a beat. “More pizza for us, right? Where’s Joe?”
“Upstairs.”
The front door banged open, and Charlene stormed in and pointed a nail gun at Anthony. Anthony partially turned to look at her, and she shot him in the ass. Bang, bang, bang.
“That’s for the gravy ladle,” she said. “You should be ashamed of yourself.” And she left, slamming the door shut behind her.
Anthony and I were momentarily stunned, mouths open, bug-?eyed.
“Fuck,” Anthony finally said. He dropped the pizza, and Bob galloped in and ate it.
Morelli appeared at the head of the stairs. “Were those gunshots?”
“Charlene came back and shot Anthony in the ass with a nail gun. She works for a construction company.”
“Where is she now?” Morelli asked.
“Gone.”