Chapter Seventeen

I crawled out of bed at five the next morning, started the coffee going, and climbed in the shower. I stood under the water with my eyes closed for a good five minutes before I realized that my hair wouldn't wash itself, and then rummaged up the strength to lift the shampoo bottle. Why do they make those things so heavy, anyway?

The smell of coffee was wafting through the apartment when I was done. I wrapped my hair in a towel, slid into my bathrobe, and shuffled into the kitchen. After a couple cups of coffee, I was feeling better. I dressed in jeans and an oversized sweat-shirt, secured my hair in a ponytail, and slicked on some mascara and lip balm. Most of the swelling had gone down on the left side of my face, but now I had a pair of big, puffy bags under my eyes. One step forward, two steps back.

There was a knock at the door. I checked the peephole and opened the door to a squinty-eyed Mary Lou. She was clutching a doughnut bag in one hand, and a tall mocha macchiato in the other. She shambled over and spread the doughnuts on a couple napkins on the coffee table without a word.

"Tell me again why we're doing this," she said as she bit into her third Boston cream.

"Because I have twelve hours before I have to show up at my parents' place for Christmas Eve dinner and I don't have anything. No cards. No presents. Nothing."

When we were done, Mary Lou crumpled the pastry bag into a tight ball and tossed it in the trash. "So, where to?"

I blew out some air and rinsed the coffee pot in the sink. "The mall," I said.

"Okay," said Mary Lou with a grimace. "But you'd better bring your stun-gun."

About the only thing I remember from working at The Gap my sophomore year of college is Black Saturday. Black Saturday is the Saturday before Christmas. It's the last chance for nine-to-fivers to get their holiday rocks off, and one of the busiest shopping days of the holiday season. Stores are crowded. Parking is nil. And the lines at the ATM need velvet ropes.

The sky was overcast and the highway desolate, making the journey to Quaker Bridge Mall seem all the more ominous. By the time we'd pulled into the lot, lines were forming at the doors. Mary Lou angled into a slot near the front.

"We can't park here," I said, motioning to the sign in front. It was a slot zoned for expectant mothers and people with small children.

"Sure we can," said Mary Lou, pressing down the emergency brake as she cut the motor. "You're pregnant and I look it. Now let's get this over with."

At three o'clock, Mary Lou and I were fighting for a table for two at the food court. I piled my shopping bags on the spare chair and went over my Christmas list in my head. In seven hours, we'd managed to hit every store, some of them twice. My hair was a mess, and my allowance nearly gone. Somehow, I'd managed to pick up gifts for everyone. Well, almost everyone. I still had Joe left to buy for. And Ranger. God only knows what I'd get him. Last year I got him handcuffs. That seemed wildly inappropriate, given our current situation. For one thing, it seemed too impersonal. Plus, I was afraid he would take that as a sexual invitation.

Mary Lou came back with two McDonald's bags. I couldn't get mine open fast enough. I was starving. Boston creams were great, but they could only carry you so far. I shoved a few French fries in my mouth, chewed and swallowed, enjoying the feeling as they padded my stomach.

I explained my conundrum as we finished our sodas.

"What about a toaster? You could get him a toaster," Mary Lou suggested.

"Joe or Ranger?"

"Joe."

"He already has one of those," I said, slurping the last of my Coke from the bottom of the cup.

"Ranger?"

I thought about it for a moment. "He doesn't seem like the toaster kind of guy."

"Good point. What does he like?"

Guns. Black. High-end import cars. Actually, I didn't know if he liked any of those things. Only that he had a lot of them. "I dunno."

I got back to my apartment with just enough time to wrap gifts and get ready for Valerie's wedding rehearsal. I was on all fours in my living room, wrestling with the tape dispenser when the phone rang. I checked the Caller ID and answered.

It was Morelli. "I thought you were going to call me back."

"Shit," I said, pulling a piece of tape from the back of my hand. I slapped it on the wrapping paper seam and folded down the ends. "I meant to. I forgot."

"You're forgetting a lot of things lately, Cupcake." He sounded more amused than annoyed.

"Tell me about it. Hey, do you have a toaster?"

"Yes, I have a toaster."

"Does it work?"

"Don't know. I've never used it." Morelli was quiet for a moment. "Do I want to know what this is about?"

"Probably not."

He sighed. "What are the chances of us blowing off this rehearsal dinner?"

"Less than zero. And I've already talked to Eddie Gazarra, so if you even think about faking work, I'll-"

"Fine," Morelli said, cutting me off. "I'll pick you up at five."

He disconnected and I looked at the clock. It was already a quarter after four. That left me less than an hour to finish wrapping and get dressed.

I rushed through the rest of the gifts, hurried through a quick shower, and dressed in a knee-length black skirt and sweater. I double-lined my eyes in a futile attempt to direct the attention away from my hair, slicked on some lip gloss, and met Morelli in the living room. He had let himself in somewhere between the shower and the skirt, and was sitting on the couch watching an old Burt Reynolds movie. He stood and gave me an appraising look, running the tips of his fingers around the edge of my sweater.

"Nice," he said. His eyes were dark under the awning of his lashes, and for a split second, I thought he was going to kiss me. Then his eyes regained their focus and he asked, "You got everything?"

I nodded and let him help me into my coat. Then he switched off the living room light and locked the door behind him.

The ceremony was being held at The Silver Loon, a small bed and breakfast on the edge of town. In its time, it had been one of the more discreet, high-class brothels. The irony of this had not been lost on my mother, who had had her heart set on a proper church wedding. In the end, she caved. I guess even a brothel wedding was better than no wedding at all.

The house was an old two-story Folk Victorian painted a pale purplish blue with white and gray trim. A large wrap-around porch bordered three sides. On one end was a small lot that curved around to the rear of the house. On the other was a courtyard with a large fountain and a couple small stone benches.

Morelli parked in the lot and cut the engine. He sat for a while with the key in the ignition. Then he turned to me and said, "I got a call from Bruce Campbell yesterday. Do you know Bruce?"

I shook my head, and Morelli continued.

"He was one of my father's old poker buddies. He's one paranoid son of a bitch. Owns a small business in Hamilton Township. Always convinced people are trying to get one over on him."

"I'm not sure I follow."

The lines around Morelli's mouth tightened. "I have to ask you something." I nodded him the go ahead, and he opened his mouth to speak. There was a loud rapping sound on the driver's side window, and Morelli ran a hand through his hair.

"Jesus," he said, turning the key back in the ignition and pressing the power button on the side panel. The window slid down to reveal my Grandma Mazur.

"What are you two doing out here?" she asked. "This isn't a drive-in. We need you inside, quick."

"Uh-oh," I said, leaning forward to get a better view. "What happened?"

"Beats the hell out of me. The girls are fighting over who got more rose petals in their baskets. Valerie's locked herself in the bathroom. No one knows what happened to Oogie Woogams. And I think your mother's out back sampling the champagne. It's one big fucking mess in there."

"Okay," I said to Grandma. "Go back and see if you can get Valerie to come out.

Then try Albert on his cell phone. Maybe he's lost."

Morelli rolled the window back up and shook his head. "Since when does your grandmother say fuck?"

"Since she started crowd surfing with Sally Sweet," I told him. "What did you want to ask me?"

Morelli sighed and opened his door. "Forget it. We'll talk later."

The interior of the house was warm and dimly lit. It was decorated in white and blue streamers, clear lights, and little silver Christmas balls. A tall spruce tree was decorated in the far corner of the parlor by the fireplace. The only things that were missing were the flowers. And the bride and groom.

I spotted Sally talking with someone by far window wall which looked out onto the courtyard. He was dressed in purple a pair of sequined purple spandex pants and a ruffly white shirt, and had tinsel in his hair.

"We're fucking late," he said. "We've got half an hour to get the placement right, and the fucking bride won't come out of the fucking bathroom."

"Any news on Albert?"

Sally shook his head. "Nothing. Not a fucking thing"

I blew out some air. This didn't look good. The last time Albert missed his wedding rehearsal it was because he'd ended up shit-faced on his office floor. "I'll go talk to Valerie."

I went to move up the stairs and Sally caught me by the arm. "No," he said. "Stay here. You and Joe can stand in for them. We just need to get the right placement for the cameras."

He took hold of my arm and guided me to the middle of a holly- and mistletoedecorated arch in front of the window wall. Then he motioned Joe forward and positioned him so that we were standing facing each other. Morelli's expression was settled somewhere between a fake smile and a real grimace, and I was hit with a tiny pang of guilt. He was going through all of this and he wasn't even going to get sex out of it. Talk about devotion.

"Stephanie, move in." Sally was backing up, holding his thumbs and forefingers to make a three-sided box in front of him. "A little more... a little more... a little more..."

I threw Sally an exasperated look, took a huge step forward, and crashed into

Morelli. He put his hands at my shoulders to steady me.

"Sorry," I said. I tilted my head back to look at him. His features were softened and a hint of a smile played at the edges of his mouth.

Sally was saying something in the background. Something about stepping back and turning a little to my left. But all of that was going in one ear and out the other as Morelli ran his hands in soft circles along my shoulders. He reached up and brushed a lock of hair out of my eyes, and suddenly I was very aware that I was standing in the crux of a matrimonial arch. Huh, I thought. This isn't so bad. In fact, it was kind of nice.

Morelli traced a finger down the side of my face to my chin, holding my gaze. His eyes were lidded, filled with something warm and heavy. Usually he reserved this look for when I was shot or stabbed. The I love you look.

Oh, shit. What was I doing? It had to be the hormones, I decided. Or possibly the onset of Burg guilt. Sure, the idea of a wedding was appealing. You get to dress up and eat cake and open presents. It's like Halloween, birthday, and Christmas all rolled into one nice package. Then you get to have sex afterwards. What could be wrong with that?

It was the marriage part I worried about. I'd tried the marriage thing before, and it had ended in a screaming divorce before the year was out. My relationship with Dickie had been different from my relationship with Joe, but it essentially boiled down to the same problem. I loved Morelli, but I wasn't in love with him. I wasn't sure how that had happened, either. But I suspected it had something to do with Ranger.

Oh, god.

Was I in love with Ranger?

Maybe, I decided. But it was a big maybe.

The Grand Canyon of maybes.

I took a step back and swallowed and Morelli let his hands fall by his sides. There was a low, descending sigh, and I turned to see my mother, sister, and Albert Kloughn standing with Sally at the rear of the room. Kloughn was disheveled and covered in grease stains. Probably he had run into car trouble on the way to The Loon. Valerie was pressed up against him, her hand around his middle. My mother had her hands clasped under her chin. They were all smiling.

A couple hours later, we were crowded around my parents' dining room table. I was in the middle, between Joe and Valerie, across from my mother. I suspected this was to deter me from making a fast getaway should I get any ideas about the back door. Valerie was as bubbly as I'd ever seen her, beaming a thousand rays of sunshine as she made a small toast. This was the Valerie I had grown up with. Saint Valerie. She had gone missing for a couple years since her divorce, and during that time I'd sort of missed her. Now I couldn't remember why. The return of Valerie the Serene meant I was back to being my mother's lost cause. One daughter married, one still to go.

Kloughn was at Valerie's left, beside Mary Alice and Angie, who were beside Grandma Mazur. He gave her hand a light squeeze as she concluded, and we all took a drink of wine. It hit me mid-gulp that I shouldn't even be drinking wine. In fact, there were a lot of things I probably shouldn't be doing. Like bounty hunting. I could probably wing it for a while, but what about in three months? Six months? A year? And who would hire me with my track record? Insurance rates in Trenton were already among the highest in New Jersey. Adding me to the roster would make it skyrocket. I would have to move out of state, I thought to myself. Maybe change my name. And probably it would be a good idea if I found some way to keep my cars from blowing up, too, though I couldn't figure out how to get around that one. Those sorts of things just seemed to happen.

I gagged and coughed a little and spit the wine back into my glass. My mother dropped her fork with a clatter, and Joe looked at me, his meatloaf halfway to his mouth. He put his fork down on his plate and placed his hand between my shoulder blades. "You okay, Cupcake?"

"Sounds like it went down the wrong way," said Grandma Mazur. "A friend of mine died that way once."

My grandmother was somewhere between eighty and a hundred. She was at that age where dying was the next logical step in life. While my peers got married or pregnant or divorced, hers had heart attacks and croaked.

"I'm okay," I said, feeling slightly flushed from the attention. "I think I just need some water."

I moved to get up, but my mother beat me to it. "I'll get it," she said, reaching for my wine glass. Probably she was afraid I'd escape out the back door. She returned with the water and we tucked into dinner.

"Sally said there might be an opening at The Loon in February," said Valerie. She was spooning Baby Lisa some mashed potatoes from her plate, but her attention was turned to me and Morelli. "Maybe he could put you on the waiting list."

She waggled her eyebrows, and my mother chimed in. "That's a good idea. You know how long it takes to book these things. And you won't want to wait."

Morelli met her with a tight smile and I noticed he was white-knuckling his fork.

"You look a little pale," he said to me. "Maybe I should take you home early."

"What about dessert? We can't leave before dessert."

"Cupcake," Morelli said in a low voice, "leave with me now, and I'll buy you dessert for a whole month. No. A year."

I narrowed my eyes and gave him a sideways glance. "You're just saying that."

"No, I'm not." Morelli blew out a sigh. "Okay, maybe not a year. I don't make enough to keep you in cake for a year. I don't think anyone makes that much."

Morelli was waiting by the door with our coats when the cheesecake had been reduced to a sticky spot on the cake plate.

"One more minute and I would've caved," he said once we were in his SUV. "I would've married you, your sister, your grandmother."

"Don't let Grandma Mazur hear you say that," I said. "She's sweet on you. And I hear she's been taking yoga classes down at the Macedonia Senior Citizens Center."

Morelli shook his head and backed out of the drive.

A couple years ago, Morelli had inherited a small two-story house from his Aunt Rose. The house was on Slater, two blocks from Chambers, in a nice neighborhood of starter families. It was a brown shingle, two stories, with a small porch, and three bedrooms upstairs. There used to be a small detached garage at the back of the house, but that had been blown up, along with Morelli's SUV. He pulled into the driveway at the side of the house and cut the engine.

"When you agreed to take me home, I thought you meant my home."

Morelli smiled and opened the door. He came around to my side and helped me out of the SUV. "This is just a detour," he said.

I followed him to the door and waited while he opened it. Then he ushered me inside, and dropped his keys on the sideboard in the foyer. The last time I'd been in Morelli's house had been right after the Stiva incident. Since then he'd finished the work on the trim, painted the foyer and living room a soft tan color, and invested in a large brown leather sofa. There was a small fake tree in the corner by the television, dressed in lights but no ornaments, and an Xbox sitting in front of the TV.

I plopped down on the sofa and looked around while Morelli disappeared into the kitchen.

"Where's Bob?"

"Dunno," he called from the kitchen. "He's around here somewhere." I heard a short whistle, followed by the click-click-click of doggy paws on the stairs. Bob came in, tail wagging, and greeted me with a Rolf!

"He's still not one-hundred percent, but he's getting there," Morelli said as I scratched behind Bob's ears. "I caught him trying to eat a pair of thongs last night, so that's some improvement."

My pang of guilt was overshadowed by a sudden pang of jealousy. "Thongs?" I turned my head toward the kitchen and gave Morelli a look. "Mine?"

Morelli sidled into the living room carrying two bottles of beer. He took a long draw off one and said, "Who else's would they be?"

He passed me the second beer. I stared at it a while before shaking my head.

"None for me, thanks."

Morelli watched me carefully and took another long draw off his beer. He took a seat on the wooden chair in the corner and leaned forward, resting his arms on his knees. "You've been acting strange ever since that night in Point Pleasant," he said. "Are you okay?"

I nodded and leaned into the far corner of the couch. "Just tired," I said, pulling my legs beneath me. "It's been a long week."

"Tell me about it." He paused for a moment, and then asked, "Is there something you want to talk about?"

I thought about this for a minute, and decided the answer was yes. But Morelli wasn't the person I needed to be talking to. That person was miles away, either sleeping in a forest or enjoying Christmas Eve with his family. My bet was on the latter. I thought about that for a while. Ranger had a family. He was with his family. And I was with Morelli. Hard to miss the irony in that one. A long time ago, after spending the night together, Ranger had told me I needed to work things out with Morelli. It had been the right thing for both of us at the time. But now the situation was reversed. I needed to work things out with Ranger. And instead of being around, I couldn't shake the feeling that he was instead passing me off again. I'll be damned if I didn't hate him just a little for that.

"Stephanie?" Morelli's brow was creased. He set his near-empty beer bottle on the end table beside the lamp and took a seat at the opposite end of the couch. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing," I said, shaking my head. "It's nothing."

"Seems like more something than nothing." I gave him a look. "I'm a cop. I know these things."

"Very perceptive of you."

He flicked his eyebrows up slightly and said, "They're not paying me for my looks, kiddo."

Morelli had won the award for Best Ass in Trenton ten years running, and he knew it. A couple lines around the eyes and a house with a dog had only served to solidify his standing as quite a catch. "You're just fishing for compliments."

Morelli smiled. "Maybe."

I rolled my eyes and pulled the afghan off the back of the couch and wrapped myself in it. Joe Morelli had an afghan. Who would've thought?

"There are some rumors circulating the Burg that you're moving to Boston."

Morelli let out a soft chuckle and shook his head. "No, I'm not moving to Boston.

But I have some things to take care of there in a few weeks. It's no big deal."

"No big deal," I repeated, not believing it for a second.

Morelli sucked in some air and leaned in. I leaned in to meet him and he ran his fingers along my shoulder. "No big deal," he repeated. "Standard cover work. I've done it before." That didn't make me feel better. "You remember a few years ago, right before your apartment got firebombed?"

"Yeah," I said. "We were making out on my couch and your pager went off, and I didn't see you again for months. Are you saying that's the standard?" "The pager and the leaving part, yeah. But I should've called."

"Damn right you should've," I said only half-indignantly.

Morelli looped a finger through one of my curls. "I'm going to tell you something that's just between us."

"Okay."

"There's a guy named Julian Troy. He's a mid-level coke dealer. Recently he's gotten into the arms dealing business. We're not sure where he's getting them, but we do know that most of them are ending up on the street."

My heart flip-flopped. "Where do you fit into this?"

"When I worked vice, I posed as one of his contacts. Then the Feds got involved and made a big mess out of everything. Troy got off on a technicality, and I got sent home. There's a good chance I can still use my cover. All I have to do is find the source and I'm out."

"Sounds like a piece of cake."

Morelli pulled me to him and kissed me lightly on the forehead. "You worry too much."

"You should talk," I scoffed.

"Yeah, but I only have to worry about being shot at. Your car could blow up at any given moment."

There was an awkward silence as we both contemplated what he'd just said. Both parts were true, and neither were very comforting. Morelli eased off the couch and moved to the small tree by the window. He dug a couple presents from the bottom and came back to the couch.

"Mine?" I asked.

Morelli nodded and handed me the smaller one. The larger one he shook in Bob's direction.

I shook the package and held it to my ear. "It's not tear gas, is it?"

Morelli snorted a laugh and opened the edges of Bob's present. "No," he said. "Go on, open it."

I tore open the edges of the paper and let it fall to the floor. The box was small and silver. Inside was a silver charm bracelet. Three charms had already been soldered on. One was a small diamond-encrusted S, one was a cupcake, and the other was a mouse which I presumed was posing as a hamster.

"Thank you. It's beautiful." Morelli took the bracelet and fastened it on my wrist.

"What did Bob get?"

I looked over and saw Bob chewing on one of my stilettos. I punched Morelli in the chest and he laughed. "Those shoes cost three hundred dollars!" I told him. "They were my favorites!"

"Sorry, Cupcake," he said.

"No, you're not!"

Morelli shook his head. "Maybe only a little."

Damn it. "I can't believe you gave him my shoes."

"If it makes you feel any better, I saved your underwear. I couldn't bear to part with those."

I thought about it for a second. "Yeah, actually, it does."

"Good." Morelli leaned back and wrapped his arm around my shoulders. We sat in silence for a long time watching Bob hork up various parts of my shoe. I was feeling warm. Cozy. Relaxed.

I closed my eyes for one second and woke up in the guest room wearing nothing but one of Morelli's T-shirts and my panties. I checked the clock on the chest of drawers. It was just after eight a.m. I had just enough time to drive to my apartment, shower, and get dressed before my mother had a target out on my head.

I was met in the hallway by the smell of coffee and doughnuts, courtesy of Morelli. Morelli was an early riser, in part due to his stint in the Navy, and in part due to his previous life as a womanizer. Both were from his younger days. He was fully dressed and clean-shaven by the time I ambled down the stairs, wearing dark jeans, a white sweater, and a pair of black Timberland boots. The sleeves of his sweater were pushed halfway to his elbow and he had his cell phone at his hip.

"Morning." He motioned to the dining room table where a pastry bag was sitting, still folded at the top. I opened the bag and inhaled. Hallelujah.

"Morning," I offered, taking a seat in one of the ladder-back chairs. I dug through the bag and pulled out one of the Boston creams and put it on a napkin. Morelli passed me a mug of coffee and took a seat in the chair to my right. "Did you undress me?"

"Yeah." Morelli grinned. "But don't worry, I didn't peek."

"Liar. You always peek. You've been peeking since you were eight."

Morelli gave me a shit-eating grin. "Okay, you got me. But it was PG-13, I swear."

His cell phone buzzed at his hip, and Morelli moved into the living room to answer. He came back a few minutes later with a tight-lined jaw and a furrowed brow.

"Uh-oh." I wiped my mouth with the back of my hand. "That's not a wedding look. That's a work look."

"Something came up." I questioned him with my eyes. "It's Warner. He's awake, but he's not talking."

My stomach did that slip-n-slide thing it had gotten used to, and I forced down my bite of doughnut. All of a sudden I didn't feel so hungry anymore.

Morelli continued. "He's claiming to have no memory of Wednesday night, or of any association with the house. He's saying he blacked out."

I shook my head. "He's lying."

"I know. I'm going to go check things out, but I'll be back in time for the wedding."

"Promise me."

Morelli stood and leaned across the table. He pressed his lips to mine in a light kiss and said, "I promise." Then he holstered his gun at his hip, and tossed Bob a dog crunchy from the cookie jar by the stove. "Stay as long as you want. I picked up some things from your apartment this morning. They're upstairs in the bathroom. And I fed Rex."

"You're too good to me."

"Don't I know it," he said, flashing me a smile. Then he pulled on his coat and left out the front door.