The Orr household was quiet when Joe and I arrived. There were no vehicles on the street or in the driveway, and the front rooms of the small blue Cape Cod home were dark. Morelli parked in the driveway and shut off the Porsche.

"Do you think they're home?" he asked, unbuckling his seatbelt.

"Yeah," I sighed. "They park in the garage out back."

I climbed out of the vehicle, my arms piled full of cookies, croissants, and sandwich-making goods.

"Let me help you," said Morelli, scrambling across the gravel drive.

"I'm good," I said. "Just ring the bell for me."

We climbed onto the front stoop lined with black iron handrails, and Morelli rang the bell. A few beats passed before the door locks tumbled.

"Stephanie?" Mrs. Orr answered, peering out at us. She was wearing a pale-yellow blouse and light-colored jeans, her feet slid into ballet-style house shoes. Her graying dark hair was tugged into a tight bun on the back of her head.

"Good morning, Mrs. Orr," I greeted. "I'm so sorry to disturb you, but I wanted to give you my condolences and bring you some things."

In the Burg, all occasions are marked with food. Did you just have a baby? You need a lasagna to keep up your strength. Did you get out of the hospital after your heart attack? Let me drop off these rolls and a cake to keep your cardiologist in a job. Did a loved one die? Cry into this casserole.

My former mother-in-law clasped her hands in front of her chest and bit into her lower lip, her eyes welling with tears.

"Thank you, dear," she said, stepping aside. "Please come in."

"No, we're good…" I said.

"Please, just for a few minutes," she asked, her face sad. "You came all this way."

I gritted my teeth and stepped inside the door, finding the living room just as I'd remembered it—mauve and teal furniture straight out of the '90s, pastel pink carpet, and a variety of brass lamps with crisp white shades. Mrs. Orr scurried about the room, turning on lights and straightening pillows.

"We don't want to intrude, Mrs. Orr," I said, hoping to make the visit short. "Please don't feel you have to straighten the room for us."

"Please, call me Ethel," she said, straightening a photo frame sitting on the mantel.

"Who is it, Ethel?" sounded from the kitchen at the back of the house.

"It's Stephanie!" Mrs. Orr shouted in response.

The swinging door to the kitchen burst open, and Richard Orr, Dickie's dad and namesake, hobbled into the room. He was wearing a blue chambray dress shirt with khaki pants and brown leather shoes, his large frame visually consuming the small living room.

"I'm sure surprised to see you here," Mr. Orr said, his tone gruff. "It's been a minute."

"I wanted to stop by and give my condolences," I said, extending the cake box to him. "I brought you some things, too."

He took the cake box from me and peered inside, a look of delight spreading on his face.

"I always liked you, Stephanie," he said, tracing his steps back to the kitchen, presumably to cut himself a slice of cake.

I caught Morelli smirk out of the corner of my eye, and I winked back at him. They may not have been my in-laws for long, but I knew the drill. Ten points: Plum.

"Please, sit," said Ethel, shooing us into living room furniture. "You're Joseph Morelli, right?" she asked Joe.

"Yes, ma'am," he answered politely, sitting in a pink wing-back chair.

"Joe is my partner at work," I said, hoping to prevent another bakery-type debacle given our public history. "He was kind enough to give me a ride today."

"Oh dear, did your car get blown up again?" Ethel asked. "I've heard tales about your cars."

"No," I said eagerly. "He's just helping me out today."

"That's nice. Can I offer you tea? Coffee?" she asked.

"No, thank you," I said, extending the other items I'd brought to her. "I just wanted to leave these things with you. The bakery will be delivering more on Saturday morning."

"Thank you, dear. That's very kind," she said, taking the items and setting them on the coffee table. "I sure was sorry to hear you got dragged into Dickie's mess. Are you alright, dear? Were you hurt?"

I swallowed hard, the topic not one I wished to discuss.

"I was roughed up a bit, but I'm good as new now," I said, playing down my experience. "Nothing a few days of rest couldn't fix."

I caught Joe flashing me a serious look, and I looked away quickly. He was the one who found me. He'd seen me at my worst. He knew I was lying.

"I'm relieved to hear it," Ethel said, worrying her hands in her lap.

"If it is any consolation, Dickie was on the right side of this mess. He died while trying to help others," I said quietly, hoping to console the older woman's heart.

"Thank you, dear," she said, pursing her lips and wiping away a stray tear.

"Is there anything I can do for you, Mrs. Orr?"

"I don't think so," she said, her voice trembling.

I dug around in my purse and pulled out a business card, which I laid in front of her on the coffee table.

"Please call me if you need anything. And please consider my offer to reimburse Dickie's final expenses. It is only right, given the circumstances."

I stood, and Morelli did the same.

"Thank you dear," Ethel said, getting to her feet and pulling me into a tight embrace. "I'm sorry things didn't work out for you and Dickie, but I'm glad you two worked it out in the end."

Morelli raised his eyebrow at that statement, but he said nothing.

I broke from the hug, wished her well, and Morelli and I went back out to the Porsche.

"You're too nice, Plum. You should take the money and run," said Morelli, dragging his hand over his short hair.

I smirked, knowing he wasn't wrong.

"You want me to drive?" Morelli asked.

I nodded, and we loaded into the car.

"What did she mean by you and Dickie 'worked it out in the end'?"

I rubbed my hands over my face and worried my lower lip between my teeth.

"She thinks that Dickie and I were on good terms when he died," I explained. "Since I am in his will and designated as his beneficiary and whatnot."

Morelli rolled the engine over.

"Were you?" he asked curiously.

"Hell no!" I said, throwing my hands into the air. "I'd literally just chased him down—unsuccessfully, I might add—less than a week before he died. Vinnie had written bond on him. How do you tell someone's mother that you weren't on speaking terms, but for some weird reason you're receiving her son's two-million-dollar life insurance payout?"

Morelli sucked in air.

"Two million dollars?" he asked, his tone disbelieving and his eyes wide.

I nodded.

"It is insane."

"And you have no idea why you're getting the money?"

"None. Zip. Zero. Literally less than no idea why."

We sat at a stop sign waiting to turn onto Hamilton.

"Well, it's nice of you to offer to pay his final expenses since you're getting the payout. You're a good person, Steph."

We rode in silence for several beats.

"Now… Where to?" Morelli asked.

I rolled a few ideas around in my head.

"Macy's."

We parked the Cayenne in the Rangeman garage after two blissful hours of shopping at Macy's and a trip to see Mr. Alexander. I had a new funeral-appropriate dress and three new pairs of sexy shoes, plus my hair was trimmed, de-frizzed, deep conditioned, and eased into smooth, sexy curls. I was thrilled to have spent time at the mall. Morelli, on the other hand, was not a happy camper.

"Was that really necessary?" Morelli asked, his tone firm.

"Yes," I said unapologetically. "I could have left you in the cubicle to push papers if you'd rather do that. I figured you'd rather go on an adventure."

"You call that torture session an adventure?" Morelli said, raising his voice.

"What would you call it?"

"Purgatory!" he exclaimed. "I didn't want to do that crap with you when I was dating you. I definitely don't want to do that with you now."

I burst into a fit of laughter as I crossed the distance to the elevator, Morelli angrily trailing behind me.

"Don't worry, I'll take Lester next time," I joked.

"Please do," said Morelli, crossing his arms over his chest. "I'd rather take a beating from Ranger."

I pressed the 'up' button on the elevator, and moments later, the doors opened and Lester walked out with Hector. They were both looking like they meant business in Kevlar, with guns strapped to their sides and accessory belts that put cops to shame.

"Speak of the devil," I said, giving Lester a wide smile.

"Hey, beautiful!" Lester greeted, pulling a key ring out of his pocket. "You were talking about me, huh? Were you telling Joe how incredible I am?"

"Something like that," I said, giving him a wink.

"Estephanía!" Hector greeted warmly. "I haven't seen you since you've been home. How are you doing? I was so worried, ella."

"I'm doing okay, thanks for asking," I said, returning his fist bump. "Where are you boys off to?"

"Running patrols," Lester said, looking unhappy. "Tank wants Fitch off the street. He's got nearly the whole Rangeman crew out looking for him. The three-letter agencies on the case seem to have FUBAR'ed the entire thing, but Ranger wants him off the street. Yesterday."

At the mention of Fitch, my stomach rolled uncomfortably and my brain swam. Morelli didn't look happy, either.

"Do you need anything else from me?" Morelli asked, turning his attention to me.

"Nope. Stick a fork in me—I'm done," I complained, feeling tired.

We exchanged parting words, then Morelli turned his attention to Lester and Hector while I took the elevator to the seventh floor.

I fobbed my way into the apartment and dumped my purchases inside the door. I was surprised to find Ranger sprawled on the sofa asleep. His eyes fluttered as I passed.

"Hey," I greeted cautiously. "What's going on?"

"Nothing," Ranger said, stretching his arms above his head. "I took a nap."

I couldn't help it. I let my mouth drop open.

"You… napped?" I asked, unbelieving.

"Is there a problem?"

"I feel like I need to ask you the same question," I answered hesitantly. "Since when do you nap?"

"I did physical therapy and talked to my therapist this morning, plus worked with a realtor for my parents. My concussed brain deserved a nap," he said nonchalantly.

"Works for me," I said. "It's just unusual to see you napping."

Ranger extended his arms to me. "You could join me."

His offer was too good to refuse. I went to him on the couch, and he slid aside to accommodate me. He wrapped his arms around me and kissed my temple.

"I hear you're marrying Morelli. Congratulations," Ranger whispered in my ear, his tone mischievous.

I laughed and playfully smacked him. He wrapped his arms around me and kissed my neck softly.

"How is Baby Guppy?" Ranger asked, placing his warm hand on my abdomen.

"Good," I said, closing my eyes. "She likes donuts."

Ranger laughed. "It's a 'she' now?"

I shrugged. "Maybe. I don't have a preference. Did you have any luck finding a place for your parents?"

Ranger looked indifferent. "I lined up a few places for them to walk through."

"Speaking of homes, I meant to ask you… can I help with any of the bills? I feel like a squatter living here rent-free permanently."

"Babe," he responded flatly.

"I'm serious," I warned. "It feels wrong."

"Living here is a benefit of working for Rangeman," Ranger said. "We own the building, and the utilities are covered by the business."

I sighed. "So what am I supposed to do with my income?"

Ranger shrugged, propping himself up on an elbow.

"Pay off any debt you have. Buy yourself a car you love. Invest in property. Buy stock. Get a condo on the beach in Point Pleasant. Support a start-up. Whatever you want. Make yourself happy."

I let my mind wander on thoughts of a life I'd never lead before—a comfortable life without worries of money—as I allowed myself to drift off to sleep in Ranger's arms.