I shrugged. “I guess she felt bad. I think she might not have had a storybook marriage, but she cared for him. Probably she still loved him. She didn’t want to be the one to rat on him.”
“Suppose it was me,” Morelli said. “And I had gold buried in my backyard . . .”
“I’d love you even more.”
Morelli grinned. “So are you telling me that you love me? Just not as much as if I were rich?”
“Yep. That’s what I’m telling you.”
“Good to know,” Morelli said.
We ate dinner and watched television and Morelli was asleep on the couch by nine o’clock. I got him upstairs, gave him a pill, and tucked him in.
I carted Rex out to the Buick and drove to my apartment. Stars were out and the air felt warm and gentle. My apartment building looked benign and safe, dark against the night sky, lights shining from my neighbors’ windows.
I took the elevator, walked the length of the hall, and balanced the hamster tank on one knee while I opened my front door. I stepped inside and flipped on the light. Everything looked perfect. No Orin splattered on the wall. No broken window. Clean floor.
There was a bottle of champagne on my kitchen counter plus a check and a note from Ranger.
For a job well done, the note said. I’ll be around later. I need a date.