Morelli was motionless, staring irresolutely through the rainstreaked windshield. “I need a different car. Kenny knows my truck.”
It went unsaid that he knew my Buick. The whole world knew my Buick. “What about the tan cop car?”
“He's probably got that spotted, too. Besides, I need something that'll give me more cover. A van or a Bronco with tinted windows.” He cranked the engine over and put the truck into gear. “You have any idea when Spiro opens in the morning?”
“He usually gets to work by nine.”
Morelli knocked on my door at six-thirty, and I was way ahead of him. I'd already showered and dressed in what I'd come to think of as my work uniform. Jeans, warm shirt, shoes of the day. I'd cleaned Rex's cage and had Mr. Coffee cooking.
“This is the plan,” Morelli said. “You follow Spiro, and I follow you.”
I didn't think that sounded like much of a plan, but I didn't have anything better, so I didn't complain. I filled my thermos with coffee, packed two sandwiches and an apple into my little cooler, and turned my answering machine on.
It was still dark when I walked to my car. Sunday morning. No traffic. Neither of us was in a talkative mood. I didn't see Morelli's truck in the lot.
“What are you driving?” I asked.
“A black Explorer parked on the street, to the side of the building.”
I unlocked the Buick and threw everything into the backseat, including a blanket, which it looked like I wouldn't need. It had stopped raining and the air felt much warmer. In the fifties, I guessed.
I wasn't sure if Spiro kept the same schedule on Sundays. The funeral home was open seven days a week, but I suspected weekend hours depended on bodies received. Spiro didn't seem like the sort to go to church. I crossed myself. I couldn't remember the last time I'd attended mass.
“What was that all about?” Morelli asked. “What's with the sign of the cross?”
“It's Sunday, and I'm not in church . . . again.”
Morelli put his hand on the top of my head. It felt steady and reassuring, and heat seeped into my scalp.
“God loves you anyway,” he said.
His hand slid to the back of my head, he pulled me to him, and kissed me on the forehead. He gave me a hug, and then he was suddenly gone, striding across the lot, disappearing into the shadows.
I stuffed myself into the Buick, feeling warm and fuzzy, wondering if something was going on with Morelli and me. What did a kiss on the forehead mean, anyway? Nothing, I told myself. It didn't mean anything at all. It meant that sometimes Morelli could be a nice guy. Okay, so why was I smiling like an idiot? Because I was deprived. My love life was nonexistent. I shared an apartment with a hamster. Well, I thought, it could be worse. I could still be married to Dickie Orr, the horse's patoot.
The drive to Century Court was quiet. The sky had begun to lighten. Black layers of clouds and blue strips of sky. Spiro's apartment complex was dark, with the exception of Spiro's apartment. I parked and watched the rearview mirror for Morelli's headlights. No headlights appeared. I swiveled in my seat and scanned the lot. No Explorer.
No matter, I told myself. Morelli was out there, somewhere. Probably.
I had few illusions about my place in the scheme of things. I was the decoy, making myself clearly visible in the Buick, so Kenny wouldn't look too hard for a second man.
I poured coffee and settled in for the long wait. A band of orange appeared on the horizon. A light blinked on in the apartment next to Spiro. Another light appeared a few apartments down. The charcoal sky turned azure. Ta daaa! It was morning.
Spiro's shades were still drawn. There was no sign of life in his apartment. I was beginning to worry when his door opened and Spiro walked out. He tried his door to make sure it was locked and quickly walked to his car. He drove a navy blue Lincoln Town Car. The car of choice for all young undertakers. Undoubtedly leased and charged off to the business.
He was dressed more casually than usual. Stone-washed black jeans and running shoes. Bulky dark green sweater. A white bandage was wrapped around his thumb and peeked out from under his sweater sleeve.
He gunned the Lincoln out of the lot and turned onto Klockner. I'd expected some sort of acknowledgment, but Spiro barreled past without a sideways glance. Most likely he was concentrating on not messing his pants.
I followed at a leisurely pace. There weren't a lot of cars on the road, and I knew where Spiro was heading. I parked half a block from the funeral home, at an angle where I could see the front entrance, the side entrance, and also the small parking lot on the side with the walkway leading to the back door.
Spiro parked in the drive-through and entered through the side. The door stayed open while he punched in the security code. The door closed and a light flicked on in Spiro's office.
Ten minutes later Louie Moon showed up.
I poured more coffee and ate half a sandwich. No one else went in or out. At nine-thirty Louie Moon left in the hearse. He returned an hour later, and someone was rolled into the back of the house. I guessed this was why Louie and Spiro had to come in on a Sunday morning.
At eleven I used my cellular phone to call my mother and make sure Grandma Mazur was okay.