I looked over her shoulder to read the note.
"I saw you in the mall," the note said. "You shouldn't tempt men by wearing dresses like that."
"Guess this is for you," Lula said. "On account of I wasn't wearing no dress."
I did a quick scan of the lot. "Unlock the car and let's get out of here," I said to Lula.
"It's just some pervert note," Lula said.
"Yeah, but it was written by someone who knew where our car was parked."
"Could have been someone who saw us when we first got here. Some little runt waiting for his wife to come out of Macy's."
"Or it could have been written by someone who tailed me out of Trenton." And I didn't think that someone was Bunchy. I'd been alert for Bunchy's car. And besides, I was pretty sure Bunchy would watch Mabel, like I asked.
Lula and I looked at each other and shared the same thought . . . Ramirez. We quickly jumped into the Firebird and locked the doors.
"Probably it wasn't him," Lula said. "You would have seen him, don't you think?"
* * * * *
MY NEIGHBORHOOD IS quiet after dark. All the seniors are tucked away in their apartments by then, settled in for the night, watching reruns of Seinfeld and Cop Bloopers.
Lula dropped me off at the back door to my building at a little after nine, and true to form, not a creature was stirring. We looked for headlights and listened for footfalls and car engines and came up empty.
"I'll wait until you get in the building," Lula said.
"I'll be fine."
"Sure. I know that."
I took the stairs, hoping they'd help out with the chicken and fries. When I'm scared, it's always a toss-up between the elevator and the stairs. I feel more in control on the stairs, but the stairwell feels isolating, and I know when the fire doors are closed, sound doesn't carry. I had a sense of relief when I reached my floor and there was no Ramirez.
I let myself into my apartment and called hello to Rex. I dropped my shopping bags on the kitchen counter, kicked my shoes off, and stripped out of the pantyhose. I did a fast room-by-room check, and no large men turned up there, either. Whew. I returned to the kitchen to listen to my phone messages and shrieked when someone knocked at my door. I squinted out the peephole with my hand over my heart.
Ranger.
"You never knock," I said, opening the door.
"I always knock. You never answer." He handed me my jacket. "The little sheik said you weren't any fun."
"Scratch chauffeuring off the list."
Ranger studied me for a moment. "Do you want me to shoot him?"
"No!" But it was a tempting idea.
He glanced down at the shoes and pantyhose on the floor. "Am I interrupting something?"
"No. I just got home. Lula and I went shopping."
"Recreational therapy?"
"Yeah, but I also needed a new dress." I held the dress up for him to see. "Lula sort of talked me into this. What do you think?"
Ranger's eyes darkened and his mouth tightened into a small smile. My face got warm and the dress slipped from my fingers and fell to the floor.
Ranger picked the dress up and handed it to me.
"Okay," I said, blowing a strand of hair off my forehead. "Guess I know what you think of the dress."
"If you knew, you wouldn't be standing here," Ranger said. "If you knew, you'd have yourself barricaded in the bedroom with your gun in your hand."
Gulp.
Ranger's attention strayed to the note on the counter. "Someone else shares my opinion of the dress."
"The note was left on the windshield of Lula's Firebird. We found it when we came out of the mall."
"You know who wrote it?"
"I have a couple ideas."
"You want to share them with me?"
"Could just be some guy who saw me at the mall."
"Or?"
"Or it could be Ramirez."
"You have reason to think it's Ramirez?"
"Touching it makes my skin crawl."
6
"WORD ON THE street is that Ramirez got religion," Ranger said, relaxed against my kitchen counter, arms crossed over his chest.
"So maybe he doesn't want to rape and mutilate me. Maybe he just wants to save me."
"Either way, you should carry a gun."
When Ranger left I listened to the single message on my phone machine. "Stephanie? This is your mother. Remember you promised to take your grandmother to the funeral parlor tomorrow night. And you can come early and have something to eat with us. I'm going to have a nice leg of lamb."
The lamb sounded good, but I would have preferred the message to have been about Fred. Like, guess what, the funniest thing just happened . . . Fred showed up.
There was another knock on the door, and I looked out the peephole at Bunchy.
"I know you're lookin' out at me," he said. "And I know you're thinking you should go get your gun and your pepper spray and your electronic torture device, so just go get them all because I'm getting tired of standing here."
I opened the door a bit, leaving the security chain in place.
"Give me a break," Bunchy said.
"What do you want?"
"How come the Rambo guy gets in and I don't?"
"I work with him."
"You work with me, too. I just did a surveillance shift for you."
"Anything happen?"
"I'm not telling you until you let me in."
"I don't need to know that bad."
"Yes, you do. You're nosy."
He was right. I was nosy. I slid the chain off and opened the door.
"So what happened?" I asked.
"Nothing happened. The grass grew an eighth of an inch." He got a beer out of the refrigerator. "You know, your aunt is a real boozer. You should get her into AA or something." He noticed the dress on the counter. "Wowy kazowy," he said. "This your dress?"
"I got it to wear to a wedding."
"You need a date? I don't look so bad when I get cleaned up."
"I have a date. I've been sort of seeing this guy—"
"Yeah? What guy?"
"His name's Morelli. Joe Morelli."
"Oh, man, I know him. I can't believe you're going with Morelli. The guy is a loser. Excuse me for saying so, but he porks everyone he meets. You shouldn't have anything to do with him. You could do better."
"How do you know Morelli?"
"We have a professional relationship, being that he's a cop and I'm a bookie."
"I asked him about you, and he said he never heard of you." Bunchy tipped his head back and laughed. It was the first time I'd ever heard him laugh, and it wasn't bad.
"He might know me by one of my other names," Bunchy said. "Or maybe he just doesn't want to come clean because he knows I might spill the beans about him."
"What would these other names be?"
"They're secret names," he said. "If I told you, then they wouldn't be secret anymore."
"Out!" I said, pointing stiff-armed to the door.
* * * * *
MORELLI CALLED AT nine the next morning. "Just wanted to remind you the wedding is tomorrow," he said. "I'll pick you up at four. And don't forget you have to come in to make a report on the Sloane Street shooting."
"Sure."
"You get any leads on Fred?"
"No. Nothing worth mentioning. Good thing I don't do this for a living."
"Good thing," Morelli said, sounding like he was smiling.
I hung up, and I called my friend Larry at RGC.
"Guess what, Larry?" I said. "I found the check. It was on my uncle's desk. Payment for three months' worth of garbage pickup. And the check has been canceled and everything."
"Fine," Larry said. "Bring the check in, and I'll credit the account."
"How late are you open?"
"Five."
"I'll be there before you close."
I shoveled my gear into my shoulder bag, locked my apartment behind me, and took the stairs to the lobby. I exited the building and crossed the lot to my car. I had the key in hand, ready to unlock my door, when I felt the presence of someone behind me. I turned and found myself toe-to-toe with Benito Ramirez.