“Yeah, I'm cleaning out my Dior stuff. I decided I was only wearing Versace from now on.”
“If you see Maxine . . .”
“Right. I'm gonna call you.”
There was an end table and chair by the door. A .38 had been placed on the end table.
“You think you need that?” I asked.
Mrs. Nowicki stubbed her cigarette out in the ashtray by the gun. “Doesn't hurt to be careful.”
We got back in the car and my pager beeped, displaying my mother's number.
Grandma answered my callback. “We just wanted to know if you'll be home for dinner,” Grandma said.
“Probably.”
“And what about Sally?”
“Sally, too.”
“I saw he was wearing rhinestones when he went out today. You think I should get dressed up for supper?”
“Not necessary.”
I took off and drove back to the supermarket. I had one last detail to check out with Bernie.
Sally and I staggered through the heat into the air-?conditioned store. Bernie was ripping leaves off heads of lettuce when he saw us. His eyes got round, and by the time we got up to him, he was jiggling around, unable to stand still.
“Oh man,” Bernie said, “you're back! Holy cow!” He was beaming at Sally, and he was wringing his hands. “I thought I recognized you, but I wasn't sure. And then when I saw you just now I knew! You're Sally Sweet! Jeez, I'm a big fan. A big fan! I go to the club all the time. I love that all-?girl revue. Boy, you guys are great. And that Sugar. She's the best. I could really go for her. She's the most beautiful woman I've ever seen.”
“Sugar's a guy,” I said.
“Get out!”
“Hey,” I said. “I know about these things.”
“Oh yeah. I forgot. You look so normal.”
“Did Francine Nowicki pay you with another twenty?”
“Yep. I got it right here.” He took it out of his shirt pocket. “And I did what you said. I only gave her a couple pieces of fruit. Too bad, too, because I could have made a real killing. She had a lot of money on her. She took out a roll of twenties big enough to choke a horse.”
I took the twenty from him and looked at it. It had the scratch mark in the corner.
Bernie was on tiptoe, trying to see the bill. “What's with the interest in the twenty. It marked or something?”
“No. Just checking to see if it's real.”
“Well? Is it?”
“Yep.” Real counterfeit.
“We need to go now,” I said. “Thanks for calling me.”
“My pleasure.” He was gaping at Sally again. “It's been a real treat to meet you,” he said. “I don't suppose I could have your autograph.”
Sally took the black marking pen out of Bernie's shirt pocket and wrote “Best wishes from Sally Sweet” on Bernie's bald dome.