“You’re desirable, but in this case not necessary,” I told him.
“Babe,” Ranger said. And he disconnected.
Two Rangeman SUVs arrived, we loaded the SUVs and headed out. I led the parade in the Buick, and Susan brought up the tail in her van. We parked in front of Cranberry Manor and I told Tank to stack the gold up in the lobby.
“This is from Geoffrey,” Susan Cubbin said to the room filled with gawkers. “It was all a misunderstanding. I found a note from him, and it turns out he was investing your money in gold and now you’re all rich.”
There was stunned silence and then a cheer went up.
“It worked,” Susan said to me. “Let’s get out of here before they start asking questions.”
“We’ll need a receipt,” I said to Carol, the facility’s tour guide.
She counted the bars and wrote out a receipt. “One hundred and thirty-two bars,” she said.
I looked at Susan.
“I might have left one in the kitchen,” Susan said.
“One hundred and thirty-two bars is correct,” I said to Carol.
I stopped at Pino’s, got lasagna with meat sauce, extra bread, and tiramisu for dessert, and took it to Morelli’s house. He was on the couch, watching television with his leg propped up on the coffee table. Bob was by his side, offering sympathy, standing guard.
“How’s it going?” I asked.
“It’s going good. And it’s even better now that I have you here with dinner.”
I went to the kitchen and got knives and forks and napkins and beer and brought it all back to Morelli.
“I hear Cranberry Manor had some good fortune today,” Morelli said. “Apparently a photographer and a news guy arrived shortly after you left.”
“Geoffrey had the bars buried in his backyard. Susan found a landscape plan and dug them up. When I got there she had them stacked up in her kitchen.”
“Why did she give them back?”
I shrugged. “I guess she felt bad. I think she might not have had a storybook marriage, but she cared for him. Probably she still loved him. She didn’t want to be the one to rat on him.”
“Suppose it was me,” Morelli said. “And I had gold buried in my backyard . . .”
“I’d love you even more.”
Morelli grinned. “So are you telling me that you love me? Just not as much as if I were rich?”
“Yep. That’s what I’m telling you.”
“Good to know,” Morelli said.
We ate dinner and watched television and Morelli was asleep on the couch by nine o’clock. I got him upstairs, gave him a pill, and tucked him in.
I carted Rex out to the Buick and drove to my apartment. Stars were out and the air felt warm and gentle. My apartment building looked benign and safe, dark against the night sky, lights shining from my neighbors’ windows.
I took the elevator, walked the length of the hall, and balanced the hamster tank on one knee while I opened my front door. I stepped inside and flipped on the light. Everything looked perfect. No Orin splattered on the wall. No broken window. Clean floor.
There was a bottle of champagne on my kitchen counter plus a check and a note from Ranger.
For a job well done, the note said. I’ll be around later. I need a date.