I pulled the .38 out of my pocketbook and muscled my way in front of him. “My apartment, my problem,” I said, not actually anxious to be a hero, but not wanting to relinquish control.
Morelli grabbed me by the back of my jacket and yanked. “Don't be an idiot.”
Mr. Wolesky opened his door with a bag of garbage in his arms and caught us scuffling. “What's going on?” he asked. “You want me to call the cops?”
“I am the cops,” Morelli said.
Mr. Wolesky gave him a long, considering look, and then turned to me. “He give you any trouble, you let me know. I'm just going down the hall with my garbage.”
Morelli stared after him. “I don't think he trusts me.”
Smart man.
We both peeked cautiously inside my apartment, entering the foyer glued at the hip like Siamese twins. The kitchen and the living room area were empty of intruders. We immediately went to the bedroom and bath, checking out closets, looking under the bed, peering out at the fire escape beyond the window.
“It's clear,” Morelli said. ?
??You assess the damage and see if anything's been stolen. I'll try to secure the front door.”
At first glance damage seemed to consist exclusively of spray-painted slogans having to do with female organs and anatomically impossible suggestions. Nothing seemed to be missing from my jewelry box. Sort of insulting since I had a very nice pair of cubic zirconias that I thought looked every bit as good as diamonds. Well, what did this guy know? This was a person who'd misspelled vagina.
“The door won't lock, but I was able to attach the security chain,” Morelli called from the foyer. I heard him walk to the living room and stop. Silence followed.
“Joe?”
“Un-huh.”
“What are you doing?”
“Watching your cat.”
“I don't have a cat.”
“What do you have?”
“A hamster.”
“Are you sure?”
A little ripple of alarm raced through my chest. Rex! I rushed from the bedroom into the living room, where Rexy's glass aquarium rested on an end table beside the couch. I halted dead center in the room and clapped a hand to my mouth at the sight of a huge black cat stuffed into the hamster cage, the mesh lid held tight with duct tape.
My heart beat with sickening clarity and my throat closed over. It was Mrs. Delgado's cat, and the cat sat hunkered down, ditty-eyed and as pissed off as any cat could get. It didn't look especially hungry, and Rex was nowhere in sight.
“Shit,” Morelli said.
I made a sound that was half gurgle, half sob and bit into my hand to keep from wailing.
Morelli had his arm around me. “I'll buy you a new hamster. I know this guy who owns a pet store. He's probably still up. I'll get him to open the store—”
“I don't want a new h-h-hamster,” I cried. “I want Rex. I loved him.”
Morelli held me tighter. “It's okay, honey. He had a good life. I bet he was pretty old too. How old was he?”
“Two years.”
“Hmmm.”
The cat squirmed in the cage and growled low in its throat.