“Ranger wanted you to have this,” he said.
I looked up and down the street. “Where’s the Buick?”
“Hal took it back to Rangeman.”
Another black SUV rolled down the street and stopped by my new car. The Rangeman guy got into the SUV. And the SUV drove off.
“It’s like you got a hot fairy godfather,” Lula said.
I remoted the Mercedes doors open. “Be careful what you say in here. He’s probably got it wired for audio and video to go straight to the control room.” I looked up to the sky, half expecting to see a Rangeman chopper hovering over my head.
I got behind the wheel, pressed the keyless go button, and the phone rang.
“I have your Buick,” Ranger said. “Do you want it stored here, or do you want it taken back to your parents’ house?”
“Leave it at Rangeman. Tiki is in the backseat. Make sure nothing happens to him.”
“There’s a gun in the drawer under your seat. My recommendation is to carry it with you.”
“I have my own gun.”
> “Is it loaded?”
I did a mental groan. “No. I forgot to get bullets from Connie.”
“Babe,” Ranger said. And he disconnected.
“I bet he finds you exasperating,” Lula said.
“Mostly I think I’m an amusement.”
I pulled into traffic and headed for Cranberry Manor. I now had hands-free capability so I called Grandma.
“Were you able to get a name for me at Cranberry Manor?” I asked her.
“Not exactly, but Binney Molnar’s granddaughter used to work there, and she said Bill Smoot is the only one with a car. Seems like he’d be a good place to start on account of they had to get to the hospital somehow.”
“Thanks.”
“Over and out,” Grandma said.
Lula and I entered Cranberry Manor through a side door, by-passing the reception lady, and located the lounge. A woman was sitting off to one side, reading. Two men were playing Scrabble. And people were watching television. I walked over to some cardplayers and told them I was looking for Bill Smoot.
“Figures,” one of the men said. “The chicks always want Smooty. It’s because he’s got a car.”
“Why don’t you have a car?” Lula asked.
“I used to have one but it was a pain in the keester. This place is lousy with pigeons. They crap all over everything. I got better things to do than wash pigeon crap off my car.”
“Like what?” Lula asked him.
“Like this. I got a lot riding on this game. Loser has to get tested for Alzheimer’s.”
“I guess that’s assisted-living humor,” Lula said.
“About Bill Smoot,” I said. “Where can I find him?”
“He’s probably sitting outside the dining room. He gets there early so he can get a good seat.”