“Why would they keep those rats in their freezer?”
“I guess initially the rats were sent to them for testing, but through sloppy housekeeping the rats were misplaced or something. Anyway, time passed, the rats were never tested, and they stayed in the freezer. Pooka knew about them, and one day he went in and dropped them into his raincoat pocket and walked off with them. If he’d looked into it a little more he would have found that the reason the rats weren’t tested was because no plague had been found in the area where they were trapped.”
“There’s no plague?”
“Looks that way. At least not in Trenton.”
I choked back the rush of emotion. I had my hands clasped tight in my lap, and my teeth sunk into my lower lip. I didn’t want to burst into tears in the restaurant. I was half-afraid that once I got started crying I wouldn’t be able to stop. It didn’t matter that I was crying because I was so happy. I wasn’t an attractive crier. My nose would run and my face would get blotchy and people would stare.
“Jeez,” I said, pausing a beat to get my voice under control. “I’m really relieved.”
Morelli nodded. His eyes were dark and serious, and his voice was soft. “Me, too,” he said. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner. I thought the hospital called you.”
We clinked our glasses in a silent toast, and we both chugged our wine. The waiter rushed over and refilled our glasses.
“Okay, so there’s no plague,” I said. “How could Pooka make a mistake like that? Didn’t he do any of his own testing?”
“By the time Pooka went to get the rats he was not in a good place.”
“He seemed odd, but he didn’t seem insane when I first met him.”
“People said that about Jeffrey Dahmer. Remember him? He was the guy who worked in a candy factory and kept decapitated heads in his freezer.”
“Like Blatzo.”
“Blatzo didn’t work in a candy factory,” Morelli said. “Even if there had been plague in the rats or in the fleas Pooka was breeding, the blood cocktail he was feeding the fleas probably would have killed the bacilli. He thought he was breeding super fleas but the lab tests suggest he was doing the opposite. None of the fleas that were found and tested were infected.”
“I’m not going to suffer the agony of the plague.”
I said it with a smile. I couldn’t stop smiling.
“So what about you?” I asked Morelli.
“Xanthan gum.”
“Excuse me?”
“I can’t digest xanthan gum. I thought I had cancer. My doctor thought I had Crohn’s disease. My Sicilian grandmother said I was cursed. I’ve been through a month of testing. I’ve been on a restrictive diet. And it turns out the restrictive diet was the worst thing. I was eating tons of gluten-free bread, and it all contains xanthan gum. So I was getting worse instead of better.”
“How did the colonoscopy turn out?”
“The colonoscopy was the best thing that happened to me. Not only am I perfect inside, but I haven’t had any xanthan gum in three days and I feel great.”
“How did you find out about the xanthan gum?”
“I was working with an allergist along with a bunch of other doctors and the allergy panel just came back.”
“You’re allergic to xanthan gum.”
Morelli cut into his steak. “Actually it’s a sensitivity, but it acts like an allergy. I can eat meat and drink wine. I just have to read labels and stay away from food additives. And it’s not stress. It’s not my job, and it’s not you.” Morelli sat back and grinned at me. “I’m cured. So do you want to get married?”
“I don’t know. Do you have a ring?”
“No. Do I need a ring?”
“My mom will expect to see a ring.”
“Since I don’t have a ring maybe we can get engaged to get engaged.”