I pulled a file out of my bag. “Maybe we want to try the purse snatcher next.”
“I don’t think that’s a good plan,” Lula said. “Purse snatchers are runners. That’s what makes them good purse snatchers. And I just had two Clucky Burgers. I’ll get a cramp if I gotta chase after some skinny, baggy-pants idiot now. Don’t we have a bad guy who lives by the mall? Macy’s is having a shoe sale.”
I checked the addresses. No one lived by the mall.
“I might need a nap after all that chicken,” Lula said.
A nap sounded like a good idea. I hadn’t gotten much sleep on the plane ride home. For that matter, I hadn’t gotten much sleep the whole time I was in Hawaii, what with all the nighttime activity. And tonight I was seeing Morelli, and I suspected that wouldn’t lead to a lot of sleep. Morelli and I had things to discuss.
I have a long history with Morelli. We played choo choo when I was six years old. He relieved me of my virginity when I was sixteen. I ran him down with a Buick when I was nineteen. And now that we’re both adults, more or less, I sort of have a relationship with him … although I’d be hard-pressed to define the relationship at this moment. He’s a Trenton cop working plainclothes, crimes against persons. He’s six foot tall with wavy black hair, a lean, hard-muscled body, and a world-class libido. He’s movie-star handsome in jeans and a T-shirt. If you put him in a suit, he looks like a hit man.
“Are we talking about a catnap or a full-on afternoon nap?” I asked Lula.
“It might be a major nap. And then I got a date tonight with a guy who could be Mr. Good Enough. So I’m gonna need some time to make wardrobe decisions.”
“In other words, I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“Yeah. I’ll be here at eight sharp, and we could get an early start.”
“You’re never here that early.”
“Well, I’m gonna be motivated to be a excellent bounty hunter assistant. I can feel it coming on. And I’ll be ready to go first thing in the morning after a satisfying night of doing … you know. Cross my heart and hope to die.”
THREE
LULA DROPPED ME at my car, and I took a fast assessment of the surroundings. Work was continuing on the new office. The bus wasn’t in flames. DeAngelo’s Mercedes was gone, and Vinnie’s Caddy was still parked. All good things.
I thought about checking in with Connie, but decided against it. I hadn’t made any captures, and a conversation with Vinnie might include a lot of unpleasant nagging about catching Joyce Barnhardt. I’d get her eventually, but I wasn’t up to it right now, so I jumped into my RAV and took off for my parents’ house.
An hour later, I was in my apartment building, lugging my basket of clean clothes, plus my hamster cage, down the hall. I unlocked my door, pushed it open with a hip, and staggered into the kitchen, arms full. I set the laundry basket on the floor, and the hamster cage on my kitchen counter.
“Here you are, back home,” I said to Rex. “Did you have fun with Grandmom?”
Rex was out of his soup can, looking like he wanted a treat, so I got the box of crackers from the cupboard and shared one with him.
Someone rapped on my front door, and I opened the door a crack, leaving the security chain attached. Two men dressed in bureaucrat-level gray suits peeked in at me. Their dress shirts were long past crisp. Their striped ties were loosened at the neck. Their hair was receding. They looked to be late forties. One was around five foot ten. The other was in the five-foot-seven range. I suspected they liked their double bacon cheeseburgers.
“FBI,” the big guy said, flashing me an ID, then returning it to his pocket. “Can we come in?”
“No,” I told him.
“But we’re the FBI.”
“Maybe,” I said to the big guy. “Maybe not. I didn’t catch your name.”
“Lance Lancer.” He gestured at his partner. “This is agent Sly Slasher.”
“Lance Lancer and Sly Slasher? Are you kidding me? Those can’t be real names.”
“It’s right here on our badges,” Lancer said. “We’re looking for an envelope you might have inadvertently picked up.”
“What kind of envelope?”
“A large yellow envelope. It contained a photograph of a man we’re looking for in conjunction with a murder.”
“Wouldn’t that be a job for the local police?”
“It was an international murder. And there was a kidnapping involved. Do you have the envelope?”
“No.” And that was the truth. I suspected they were looking for the envelope I’d thrown away at my parents’ house.