“If you'd known Choochy you'd have known to watch the windows,” Ronald said. “He's gone out a lot of windows in his time. Once he got caught in Florence Selzer's bedroom. Flo's husband, Joey the Rug, came home and caught Choochy going out the window and shot him in the . . . what do you call it, glutamus maximus?”
A big guy with a big belly tipped back on his chair. “Joey disappeared after that.”
“Oh yeah?” Lula said. “What happened to him?”
The guy did a palms-up. “No one knows. Just one of those things.”
Right. He was probably an SUV bumper like Jimmy Hoffa. “So, have any of you seen Choochy? Anyone know where he might be?”
“You could try his social club,” Ronald said.
We all knew he wouldn't go to his social club.
I put my business card on the table. “In case you think of something.”
Ronald smiled. “I'm thinking of something already.”
Ugh.
“That Ronald is slime,” Lula said when we got into the car. “And he looked at you like you were lunch.”
I gave an involuntary shiver and drove away. Maybe my mother and Morelli were right. Maybe I should get a different job. Or maybe I should get no job. Maybe I should marry Morelli and be a housewife like my perfect sister, Valerie. I could have a couple kids and spend my days coloring in coloring books and reading stories about steam shovels and little bears.
“It could be fun,” I said to Lula. “I like steam shovels.”
“Sure you do,” Lula said. “What the hell are you talking about?”
“Kids' books. Remember the book about the steam shovel?”
“I didn't have books when I was a kid. And if I did have a book it wouldn't have been about a steam shovel . . . it would have been about a crack spoon.”
I crossed Broad Street and headed back into the Burg. I wanted to talk to Angela Marguchi and possibly take a look in Eddie's house. Usually I could count on friends or relatives of the fugitive to help me with the chase. In Eddie's case, I didn't think this was going to work. Eddie's friends and relatives weren't of the snitch mentality.
I parked in front of Angela's house and told Bob I'd only be a minute. Lula and I got halfway to Angela's front door and Bob started barking in the car. Bob didn't like being left alone. And he knew I was fibbing about the minute.
“Boy, that Bob sure can bark loud,” Lula said. “He's giving me a headache already.”
Angela stuck her head out the door. “What's making all that noise?”
“It's Bob,” Lula said. “He don't like being left in the car.”
Angela's face lit. “A dog! Isn't he cute. I love dogs.”
Lula opened the car door and Bob bounded out. He rushed up to Angela, put his paws on her chest, and knocked her on her ass.
“You didn't break nothing, did you?” Lula asked, picking Angela up.
“I don't think so,” Angela said. “I got a pacemaker to keep me going, and I got stainless steel and Teflon hips and knees. Only thing I have to watch out for is getting hit by lightning or getting shoved in a microwave.”
Thinking about Angela going into a microwave got me to thinking about Hansel and Gretel, who faced a similar horror. This got me to thinking about the unreliability of bread crumbs as trail markers. And that led to th
e depressing admission that I was in worse shape than Hansel and Gretel because Eddie DeChooch hadn't even left bread crumbs.
“I don't suppose you've seen Eddie,” I asked Angela. “He hasn't returned home, has he? Or called and asked you to take care of his houseplants?”
“Nope. I haven't heard from Eddie. He's probably the only one in the whole Burg I haven't heard from. My phone's been ringing off the hook. Everybody wanting to know about poor Loretta.”
“Did Eddie have many visitors?”