Monica slid off her barstool a little after eleven o’clock. “I’m done,” she said. “Take me home.”
I’d managed to choke down three drinks and my world was out of focus. I was hoping Ranger was waiting in the lot because otherwise it was going to be an Uber night.
Monica and I marched arm in arm out of the bar and my wish came true. Ranger appeared at my side, and a Rangeman SUV drove up. Monica was trundled into the SUV, the door was closed, and the car disappeared into the night.
“I’m trashed,” I said to Ranger. “Take me home and put me to bed.”
“Babe.”
FIFTEEN
I WOKE UP in Ranger’s bed. Ranger was no longer in it, but it was clear that he had been. This is what happens when you tell a man to put you to bed and you don’t specify which bed. I felt around and determined I was wearing panties and one of Ranger’s T-shirts. I suspected I’d had help with the undressing. And I vaguely recalled Ranger tucking me in. The fact that I was still wearing panties was a good sign. I’d hate to think I had an event with Ranger and couldn’t remember it. That would be a horrible waste of guilt.
The room was cool and dark. A sliver of light peeked from behind a curtain. My iPhone had been placed on the bedside table. It was almost eight o’clock. I had a text message from Morelli telling me to call him.
Ranger owns a nine-story office building on a quiet, mostly residential street in downtown Trenton. He has underground parking, state-of-the-art security in the entire building, and a private apartment that occupies the top floor. The apartment is professionally decorated and feels right for Ranger. Clean classic lines, warm browns, and black leather. It’s slick and comfortable but feels impersonal. There are no family photos displayed, no trinkets brought back from vacations, no clutter. The apartment is kept pristine by his housekeeper, Ella. His T-shirts are neatly folded. His dress shirts and slacks are perfectly ironed and hung. His guns are kept in locked drawers. Everything is easy to arrange because he only wears black.
His bathroom is Zen and ultra modern. His bedroom is luxuriously calm and unpretentiously masculine. His towels are fluffy. His sheets are smooth. The scent of Bulgari Green shower gel lingers on everything he touches. I’d marry him if for no other reason than to inherit Ella and his expensive linens.
My clothes had been draped over a chair in the dressing room. A note was pinned to the clothes. It told me to help myself to breakfast and to take the car in parking space number twelve. He reminded me that the Linken funeral was at eleven, and I had to be at the mortuary chapel at ten-thirty. Crap!
/> I got dressed, grabbed a bagel from the kitchen, and took the elevator to the basement garage. A shiny black Porsche Macan was in parking space number twelve. The key was on the dash. I jumped in and took off. By nine o’clock I was in my apartment, in my shower. No time for a hangover. I had my hair dry and pulled into a ponytail by nine-thirty. I washed a couple Advil down with a mug of coffee, brushed my teeth, and grimaced at myself in the mirror. The bruise was even worse than it had been yesterday.
I ransacked my closet, looking for something appropriate for a funeral, preferably something without gravy or bloodstains. I settled on an ancient black suit with a pencil skirt, and I dressed it up with heels. I grabbed my bag, yelled goodbye to Rex, and took off at a run. I called Morelli from the car.
“Did you have any luck last night?” Morelli asked.
“I didn’t pick anything up at the viewing, but as you know I didn’t stay for the whole thing. Monica wanted to leave so I went with her.”
“I’m told you went to Lotus.”
“Monica needed a drink and a hook-up.”
“And?”
“She got lots of drinks,” I told him. “There was slim pickings in the hook-up department.”
“Yeah, there’s an older crowd at Lotus these days thanks to Viagra. Used to be we had to worry about guys bootlegging roofies. Now it’s little blue stiffie pills. Gives all the swingers from the seventies a second chance to get an STD. Were you able to get anything from Monica?”
“Nothing useful. She’s halfway afraid she’s on the hit list, but she’s hostile about getting questioned. And I think her brain is too pickled to hold a thought.”
“Thanks for trying. I appreciate it. I’ll see you at the funeral.”
“Don’t get too close to me. I’m making a huge effort to be civil, but deep down inside I’d really like to punch you in the face.”
“Understood.”
•••
Ranger was in the funeral home lot waiting for me when I skidded to a stop and parked. He was in a perfectly tailored black suit, black dress shirt, and tie. The Glock at his waist was undetectable and didn’t ruin the line of the jacket.
I got out of the Macan and made an attempt to smooth some of the wrinkles out of my skirt. “Thanks for rescuing me last night,” I said. “And thanks for the car loaner.”
“It’s part of my fleet, and it’s a permanent loaner. At least for as long as it lasts. You can’t go around collecting felons in a ’53 Buick. You’re too recognizable.”
People were beginning to gather for the funeral, pulling into the lot and lining up on the street.
“This is going to be a circus,” I said to Ranger. “Is the widow here yet?”