He was slouched in the chair, one long leg extended, his arms on the arms of the chair, his eyes on me. He set his cup on the coffee table, rose from the chair, and stood over the couch. He bent and kissed me lightly on the lips. “Some things are better left a mystery,” he said. And then he moved to the door.
“Hey, wait a minute,” I said. “Am I supposed to keep watching Hannibal?”
“Can you watch him without getting shot?”
I gave him a pissy look in the dark.
“I see that,” he said.
“Morelli wants to talk to you.”
“I'll call him tomorrow, maybe.”
The front door opened and clicked shut. Ranger was gone. I padded to the door and looked out the peephole. No Ranger anywhere. I slid the security chain in place and went back to the couch. I fluffed up my pillow and crawled under the quilt.
And I thought about the kiss. What was I supposed to make of the kiss? Friendly, I told myself. It had been friendly. No tongue. No groping hands. No gnashing of teeth in uncontrollable passion. A friendly kiss. Only it hadn't felt friendly. It had felt . . . sexy.
Damn!
“WHAT WOULD YOU like for breakfast?” Grandma asked. “How about some nice warm oatmeal?”
Left to my own devices, I'd have eaten the cake. “Sure,” I said, “oatmeal would be okay.”
I poured a cup of coffee, and there was a knock on the door. I opened the door, and a big orange thing rushed in.
“Holy cow!” I said. “What is it?”
“Golden retriever,” Simon said. “Mostly.”
“Isn't he big for a golden retriever?”
Simon dragged a fifty-pound bag of dog food into the foyer. “I got him at the pound, and that's what they told me. Golden retriever.”
“You said you had a small dog.”
“I lied. So sue me.”
The dog ran into the kitchen, stuck his nose in Grandma's crotch, and snuffled.
“Dang,” Grandma said. “Guess my new perfume really works. I'm gonna have to try it out at the seniors meeting.”
Simon pulled Bob away from Grandma and handed me a brown grocery bag. “Here's his stuff. Two dog bowls, some dog treats, a chew toy, a hairbrush and his pooper-scooper.”
“Pooper-scooper? Hey, wait a minute—”
“I gotta run,” Simon said. “I got a plane to catch.”
“What's his name?” I yelled down the hall.
“Bob.”
“Isn't this something,” Grandma said. “A dog named Bob.”
I filled Bob's water bowl and set it on the floor in the kitchen. “He's only staying for a couple days,” I said. “Simon will be back for him on Sunday.”
Grandma eyeballed the dog food bag. “Awful big bag of food for a couple days.”
“Maybe he eats a lot.”