“Holy Mary, mother of God,” my mother said. “You were being chased by Richard Nixon, Bill Clinton, and a rabbit.”
“Yeah,” I said. “Good thing you came along when you did.”
“I ran over the rabbit,” she wailed. “I probably killed him.”
“He was a bad rabbit. He deserved to die.”
“He looked like the Easter bunny. I killed the Easter bunny,” she sobbed.
I pulled a tissue out of my mother's purse and handed it to her. Then I looked through the purse more thoroughly. “You have any Valium in here? Any Klonapin or Ativan?”
My mother blew her nose and put the car in gear. “Do you have any idea what it's like for a mother to drive down the street and see her daughter being chased by a rabbit? I don't know why you can't have a normal job. Like your sister.”
I rolled my eyes. My sister again. Saint Valerie.
“And she's dating a nice man,” my mother said. “I think he has honorable intentions. And he's a lawyer. He'll make a good living someday.” My mother drove back to the intersection, so I could retrieve my shoulder bag. “And what about you,” she wanted to know. “Who are you dating?”
“Don't ask,” I said. I wasn't dating anyone. I was fornicating with Batman.
“I'm not sure what I should do next,” my mother said. “Do you think I should report this to the police? What would I say to them? I mean, how would it sound? I was on my way to Giovichinni's for lunch meat when I saw a rabbit chasing my daughter down the street, so I ran over him, but now he's gone.”
“Remember when I was a kid, and we were all going to the movies, and Daddy hit the dog on Roebling? We got out and looked for the dog, but we couldn't find him. He just ran off somewhere.”
“I felt terrible about that.”
“Yeah, but we went to the movies anyway. Maybe we should just go get the lunch meat.”
“It was a rabbit,” my mother said. “And he had no business being in the road.”
“Exactly.”
We drove to Giovichinni's in silence and parked in front of the store. We both got out and looked at the front of the Buick. There was some rabbit fur stuck to the grille, but aside from that the LeSabre looked okay.
While my mother was talking to the butcher, I stole off and called Morelli on the outside pay phone. “This is a little awkward,” I said, “but my mother just ran over the rabbit.”
“Ran over?”
“As in roadkill. We're not sure what to do about it.”
“Where are you?”
“Giovichinni's, buying lunch meat.”
“And the rabbit?”
“Gone. He was with two other guys. They scooped him up off the road and drove away with him.”
There was a long silence on the phone. “I'm fucking speechless,” Morelli finally said.
An hour later, I heard Morelli's truck pull up in front of my parents' house. He was in jeans and boots and a cotton crew with the sleeves pushed up. The crew was loose enough to hide the gun that was always at his waist.
I'd showered and fixed my hair, but I didn't have fresh clothes to change into, so I was still in the torn, bloodstained jeans and dirt-smudged T-shirt. I had a ragged cut on my knee, a large scrape on my arm, and another on my cheek. I met Morelli on the porch and closed the door behind me. I didn't want Grandma Mazur joining us.
Morelli gave me the long, slow lookover. “I could kiss that cut on your knee and make it all better.”
A skill acquired from years of playing doctor.
We sat side by side on the step, and I told him about the rabbit at the bakery and the attempted abduction at the intersection. “And I'm almost sure Darrow was driving,” I said.