“And then I'm moving out. Nothin' personal, but you live in a loony bin.”
“Where will you go?”
“I'm going back with your mother. Your father deserves to have to put up with me, anyway.”
It was Sunday, and Grandma always went to church on Sunday morning. “What about church today?”
“No time for church. God's just gonna have to make do without me today. Anyway, your mother will be there representing the family.”
My mother always represented the family, because my father never went to church. My father stayed home and waited for the white bakery bag to arrive. For as long as I can remember, every Sunday morning, my mother went to church and stopped at the bakery on the way home. Every Sunday morning my mother bought jelly doughnuts. Nothing but jelly doughnuts. Cookies, coffee cakes, and cannoli were bought on weekdays. Sunday was jelly doughnut day. It was like taking communion. I'm a Catholic by birth, but in my own personal religion, the Trinity will forever be the Father, the Son, and the Holy Jelly Doughnut.
I clipped the leash onto Bob's collar and took him out for a walk. The air was cool, and the sky was blue. Spring felt like it wasn't too far away. I didn't see Habib and Mitchell in the parking lot. Guess they didn't work on Sunday. I didn't see Joyce Barnhardt, either. That was a relief.
Grandma was gone when I got back, and the apartment was blissfully quiet. I fed Bob. I drank a glass of orange juice. And I crawled under the quilt. I woke up at one o'clock, and I thought about my conversation with Morelli the night before. I'd held out on Morelli. I hadn't told him I'd seen Ranger leaving Hannibal's town house. I wondered if Morelli had kept information from me, too. Chances were good that he had. Our professional relationship had a whole other set of rules from our personal relationship. Morelli had set the tone from the very beginning. There were cop things he just didn't share. The personal rules were still evolving. He had his. And I had mine. Once in a while we agreed. A while ago we'd had a short fling at living together, but Morelli wasn't comfortable with commitment, and I wasn't comfortable with confinement. So we separated.
I heated up a can of chicken noodle soup and called Morelli. “Sorry about last night,” I said.
“At first I was afraid you'd died.”
“I was tired.”
“I figured that out.”
“Grandma's gone for the day, and I have some work to do. I was wondering if you'd baby-sit Bob for me.”
“For how long?' Morelli asked. ”A day? A year?"
“A couple hours.”
I called Lula next. “I need to do some breaking and entering. Want to come along?”
“Hell, yes. Nothing I like better than illegal entry.”
I dropped Bob off and gave Morelli instructions. “Keep your eye on him. He eats everything.”
“Maybe we should make him a cop,” Morelli said. “What's his liquor capacity?”
Lula was waiting on her stoop when I drove up. She was discreetly dressed in poison green spandex pants and a shocking pink faux-fur jacket. You could stand her on a corner, in a fog, at midnight, and she'd be visible for three miles.
“Nice outfit,” I said.
“I wanted to look hot in case I got arrested. You know how they take your picture, and all.” She buckled herself in and looked over at me. “You're gonna be sorry you wore that drab-ass shirt. It's not gonna show up. And for that matter, you didn't even mousse your hair. What kind of Jersey hair is that?”
“I'm not planning on getting arrested.”
“You never know. Doesn't hurt to take some precaution and add a little extra eyeliner. Who we breaking in on, anyway?”
“Hannibal Ramos.”
“Say what? You mean like the brother of the dead Homer Ramos? And the number one son of the Gun King, Alexander Ramos? Are you freakin' nuts?”
“He's probably not home.”
“How are you gonna find out?”
“I'm going to ring his doorbell.”
“And if he answers?”