Ziggy and Benny looked at each other, perplexed.

"Yeah?" Ziggy said. "So?"

"Next time feel free to loiter in the hall," I said. I closed and locked the door behind Ziggy and Benny. "I want you to think," I said to the Mooner. "Do you have any idea why someone shot at you? Are you sure about the woman's face in your window?"

"I don't know, man. I'm having a hard time thinking. My mind is like, busy."

"How about strange phone calls?"

"There was just one, but it wasn't all that strange. A woman called up while I was at Dougie's and said she thought I had something that wasn't mine. And I was like, well, yeah."

"Did she say anything else?"

"No. I asked her if she wanted a toaster or a Super Dude Suit, and she hung up."

"Is that all the inventory you've got left? What happened to the cigarettes?"

"Got rid of the cigarettes. I know this real heavy smoker . . ."

It was as if Mooner had been caught in a time warp. I had memories of him in high school, looking exactly like this. Long, thin brown hair, parted in the middle and tied back into a ponytail. Pale skin, slim build, average height. He was wearing a Hawaiian shirt and jeans that probably had been delivered to Dougie's house under cover of darkness. He'd floated through high school in a grass-induced fog of mellow well-being, talking and giggling through lunch, nodding off in English class. And here he was . . . still floating through life. No job. No responsibility. Now that I thought about it, it sounded pretty good.

Connie usually worked mornings on Saturday. I phoned the office and waited while she got off a call.

"That was my Aunt Flo on the line," she said. "Remember I told you there was trouble in Richmond when DeChooch was down there? She thinks it's related to Louie D buying the farm."

"Louie D. He's a businessman, right?"

"He's a real big businessman. Or at least he was. He died of a heart attack while DeChooch was making his pickup."

"Maybe it was a bullet that caused the heart attack."

"I don't think so. If Louie D was whacked we would have heard. That kind of news travels. Especially since his sister lives here."

"Who's his sister? Do I know her?"

"Estelle Colucci. Benny Colucci's wife."

Holy shit. "Small world."

I hung up and my mother called.

"We need to pick out a gown for the wedding," she said.

"I'm not wearing a gown."

"You should at least look."

"Okay, I'll look." Not.

"When?"

"I don't know. I'm busy right now. I'm working."

"It's Saturday," my mother said. "What kind of a person works on Saturday? You need to relax more. Your grandmother and I will be right over."

"No!" Too late. She was gone.

"We have to get out of here," I said to Mooner. "It's an emergency. We have to leave."

"What kind of an emergency? I'm not going to get shot again, am I?"

I took the dirty dishes off the counter and threw them into the dishwasher. Then I grabbed Mooner's quilt and pillow and ran into the bedroom with them. My grandmother lived with me for a short while and I was pretty sure she still had a key to my apartment. God forbid my mother would let herself into my apartment and find it a wreck. The bed was unmade, but I didn't want to take time to make it. I gathered up stray clothes and towels and threw it all in the hamper. I barreled through the living room, back to the kitchen, grabbed my bag and my jacket, and yelled at Mooner to get moving.

We met my mother and grandmother in the lobby.

Damn!

"You didn't have to wait for us in the lobby," my mother said. "We would have come up."

"I'm not waiting for you," I said. "I'm on my way out. I'm sorry, but I have to work this morning."

"What are you doing?" Grandma wanted to know. "Are you tracking down some insane killer?"

"I'm looking for Eddie DeChooch."

"I was half right," Grandma said.

"You can find Eddie DeChooch some other time," my mother said. "I have an appointment for you at Tina's Bridal Shoppe."

"Yeah, you better take it," Grandma said. "We only got this one on account of there was a last-minute cancellation. And besides, we needed an excuse to get out of the house because we couldn't stand any more galloping and whinnying."

"I don't want a wedding gown," I said. "I want a small wedding." Or none at all.

"Yes, but it doesn't do any harm to look," my mother said.

"Tina's Bridal Shoppe rocks," Mooner said.

My mother turned to Mooner. "Is this Walter Dunphy? My goodness, I haven't seen you in ages."

"Dude!" Mooner said to my mother.

Then he and Grandma Mazur did one of those complicated handshakes I could never remember.

"We better get a move on," Grandma said. "We don't want to be late."

"I don't want a gown!"

"We're just looking," my mother said. "We'll only spend a half hour looking, and then you can be on your way."

"Fine! A half hour. That's it. No more. And we're just looking ."

TINA'S BRIDAL SHOPPE is in the heart of the Burg. It occupies half of a red-brick duplex. Tina lives in a small apartment upstairs and conducts business in the bottom half of the house. The other half of the duplex is rental property owned by Tina. Tina is known far and wide as being a bitch of a landlady, and the tenants of the rental almost always leave when their year's lease expires. Because rental properties are scarce as hen's teeth in the Burg, Tina never has a problem finding hapless victims.

"It's you ," Tina said, standing back, eyeballing me. "It's perfect. It's stunning."

I was all decked out in a floor-length satin gown. The bodice had been pinned to fit, the scoop neckline showed just a hint of cleavage, and the full bell skirt had a four-foot train.

"It is lovely," my mother said.

"Next time I get married I might get myself a dress just like that," Grandma said. "Or I might go to Vegas and get married in one of them Elvis churches."

"Dude," Mooner said, "go for it."

I twisted slightly to better see myself in the three-way mirror. "You don't think it's too . . . white?"

"Definitely not," Tina said. "This is cream. Cream is very different from white."

I did look good in the gown. I looked like Scarlett O'Hara getting ready for a big wedding at Tara. I moved around a little to simulate dancing.

"Jump up and down so we can see how it'll look when you do the bunny hop," Grandma said.

"It's pretty, but I don't want a gown," I said.

"I can order one in her size at no obligation," Tina said.

"No obligation," Grandma said. "You can't beat that."

"As long as there's no obligation," my mother said.

I needed chocolate. A lot of chocolate. "Oh gee," I said, "look at the time. I have to go."

"Cool," Mooner said. "Are we going to fight crime now? I've been thinking I need a utility belt for my Super Suit. I could put all my crime-fighting gear in it."

"What crime-fighting gear are you talking about?"

"I haven't totally thought it through, but I guess things like anti-gravitation socks that would let me walk up the sides of buildings. And a spray that would make me invisible."

"You sure your head feels okay where you were shot? You don't have a headache or feel dizzy?"

"No. I feel fine. Hungry, maybe."

A LIGHT RAIN was falling when Mooner and I left Tina's shop.

"That was a total experience," Mooner said. "I felt like a bridesmaid."

I wasn't sure what I felt like. I tried bride on for size and found it didn't fit as well as big fat dope . I couldn't believe I let my mother talk me into trying on wedding gowns. What was I thinking? I smacked myself on the forehead with the heel of my hand and grunted.

"Dude," Mooner said.

No shit. I turned the key in the ignition and shoved Godsmack into the CD player. I didn't want to think about the wedding fiasco, and there's nothing like metal to wipe your mind clean of anything resembling thought. I pointed the car in the direction of Mooner's house and by the time we got to Roebling, Mooner and I were doing serious head banging.

We were strumming and flipping hair and I almost missed the white Cadillac. It was parked in front of Father Carolli's house, next to the church. Father Carolli is as old as dirt and has been in the Burg for as long as I can remember. It would make sense that he and Eddie DeChooch were friends, and that DeChooch would come to him for counsel.

I said a short prayer that DeChooch was inside the house. I could apprehend him there. Inside the church was another matter. There was all that sanctuary stuff to worry about inside the church. And if my mother found out I violated the church there'd be hell to pay.

I walked to Carolli's front door and knocked. No answer.

Mooner waded through the shrubs and peered into a window. "Don't see anybody in here, dude."

We both looked to the church.

Drat. Probably DeChooch was giving confession. Forgive me, Father, because 1 snuffed Loretta Ricci .

"Okay," I said, "let's try the church."

"Maybe I should go home and put my Super Dude Suit on."

"Not sure that would be right for church."

"Not dressy enough?"

I opened the door to the church and squinted into the dim interior. On sunny days the church glowed with light streaming through the stained-glass windows. On rainy days the church felt bleak and without passion. Today the only warmth came from a few votive candles flickering in front of the Virgin Mary.

The church seemed empty. No mumbling coming from the confessionals. No one at prayer. Just the candles burning and the smell of incense.

I was about to leave when I heard someone giggle. The sound was coming from the altar area.

"Hello," I called. "Anyone here?"

"Just us chickens."

It sounded like DeChooch.

Mooner and I cautiously walked down the aisle and peeked around the altar. DeChooch and Carolli were sitting on the floor, their backs to the altar, sharing a bottle of red wine. An empty bottle lay on the floor a couple feet away.

Mooner gave them a peace sign. "Dude," he said.

Father Carolli peaced him back and repeated the mantra. "Dude."

"What do you want?" DeChooch asked. "Can't you see I'm in church?"

"You're drinking!"

"It's medicinal. I'm depressed."

"You need to accompany me back to the courthouse so you can get bonded out again," I said to DeChooch.

DeChooch took a long drag on the bottle and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. "I'm in church. You can't arrest me in church. God'll be pissed. You'll rot in hell."

"It's a commanderment," Carolli said.

Mooner smiled. "These guys are shit-faced."

I searched through my bag and came up with cuffs.

"Eek, cuffs," DeChooch said. "I'm so scared."

I slapped the cuffs on his left wrist and grabbed for his other hand. DeChooch took a 9-mil out of his coat pocket, told Carolli to hold the free bracelet, and fired a round off at the chain. Both men yelped when the bullet severed the chain and sent shock waves up their boney arms.

"Hey," I said, "those cuffs cost sixty dollars."

DeChooch narrowed his eyes and stared at Mooner. "Do I know you?"

"I'm the Mooner, dude. You've seen me at Dougie's house." Mooner held up two fingers pressed tight together. "Dougie and me are like this. We're a team."

"I knew I recognized you!" DeChooch said. "I hate you and your rotten, thieving partner. I should have guessed Kruper wouldn't be in this alone."

"Dude," Mooner said.

DeChooch leveled the gun at Mooner. "Think you're smart, don't you? Think you can take advantage of an old man. Holding out for more money . . . is that your angle?"

Mooner rapped on his head with his knuckles. "No grass growing here."

"I want it, now," DeChooch said.

"Happy to do business with you," Mooner said. "What are we talking about here? Toasters or Super Suits?"

"Asshole," DeChooch said. And he squeezed off a shot that was aimed at Mooner's knee but missed by about six inches and zinged into the floor.

"Cripes," Carolli said, hands over his ears, "you're gonna make me go deaf. Put the piece away."

"I'll put it away after I make him talk," DeChooch said. "He's got something that belongs to me." DeChooch leveled the gun again, and Mooner took off up the aisle, at a dead run.

In my mind I was heroic, knocking the gun out of DeChooch's hand. In real time I was paralyzed. Wave a gun under my nose and everything in my body turns to liquid.

DeChooch got off another one that sailed by Mooner and took out a chunk of the baptismal font.

Carolli smacked DeChooch in the back of the head with the flat of his hand. "Knock it off!"

DeChooch stumbled forward and the gun discharged and shot a hole in a four-foot crucifixion painting hanging on the far wall.

Our mouths dropped open. And we all made the sign of the cross.

"Holy crap," Carolli said. "You shot Jesus. That's gonna take a lot of Hail Marys."

"It was an accident," DeChooch said. He squinted at the painting. "Where did I get him?"

"In the knee."

"That's a relief," DeChooch said. "At least it wasn't no place fatal."

"So about your court appearance," I said. "I'd take it as a personal favor if you'd go down to the station with me and reschedule."

"Boy, you're a real pain in the ass," DeChooch said. "How many times do I have to tell you . . . forget about it. I'm depressed. I'm not gonna go sit in jail when I'm feeling depressed. You ever been in jail?"

"Not exactly."

"Well, take my word for it, it's no place to be when you're depressed. And anyway, there's something I've got to do."

I was sorting through my bag. I had pepper spray in there somewhere. And probably my stun gun.

"Besides, there's people looking for me, and they're a lot tougher than you," DeChooch said. "And locking me up in jail would make it real easy for them to find me."

"I'm tough!"

"Lady, you're amateur hour," DeChooch said.

I pulled out a can of hair spray, but I couldn't find the pepper spray. I needed better organization. Probably I should put the pepper spray and stun gun in the zipper compartment, but then I'd have to find another place for my gum and mints.

"I'm going now," DeChooch said. "And I don't want you to follow me or I'll have to shoot you."

"Just one question. What did you want from Mooner?"

"That's private between him and me."

DeChooch left through a side door, and Carolli and I stared after him.

"You just let a murderer get away," I said to Carolli. "You were sitting here drinking with a murderer!"

"Nah. Choochy's no murderer. We go way back. He's got a real good heart."

"He tried to shoot Mooner."

"He got excited. Ever since that stroke he's been excitable like that."

"He had a stroke?"

"Just a small one. Hardly counted at all. I've had worse strokes."

Oh boy.

I caught up with Mooner half a block from his house. He was scooting along, running and walking, looking over his shoulder, doing the Mooner version of a rabbit fleeing the hounds. By the time I parked, Mooner was already through the door, had located a roach, and was lighting up.

"People are shooting at you," I said. "You shouldn't be smoking dope. Dope makes you stupid, and you need to be smart."

"Dude," Mooner said on an exhale.

Yeesh.

I dragged Mooner out of his house and down to Dougie's house. We had a new development here. DeChooch was after something and he thought Dougie had it. And now he thinks Mooner's got it.

"What was DeChooch talking about?" I asked Mooner. "What's he after?"

"I don't know, man, but it's not a toaster."

We were standing in Dougie's living room. Dougie isn't the world's best housekeeper, but the room seemed unusually disrupted. Cushions were askew on the couch, and the coat closet door was open. I stuck my head into the kitchen and found a similar scene. The cabinet doors and counter drawers were open. The door to the cellar was open, and the door to the small pantry was open. I didn't remember things as looking like this last night.

I dumped my bag onto the small kitchen table and pawed through the contents, picking out the pepper spray and stun gun.

"Someone's been in here," I said to Mooner.

"Yeah, it happens a lot."

I turned and stared at him. "A lot?"

"This is the third time this week. I figure someone's looking for our stash. And that old guy, what's with him? He was real friendly with Dougie, coming over to the house a second time and all. And now he's yelling at me. It's like, confusing, dude."

I stood there with my mouth open and my eyes slightly bulging for several beats. "Wait a minute, are you telling me DeChooch came back after he delivered the cigarettes?"

"Yeah. Except I didn't know it was DeChooch. I didn't know his name. Dougie and me just called him the old dude. I was here when he dropped the cigs. Dougie called me to help unload the truck. And then he came back to see Dougie a couple days later. I didn't see him the second time. I just know from Dougie telling me." Mooner took one last drag on the roach. "Boy, talk about a coincidence. Who would have thought you were looking for the old dude."

Mental head-slap.

"I'm going to check the rest of the house. You stay here. If you hear me scream, call the police."

Am I brave, or what? Actually I was pretty sure no one was in the house. It had been raining for at least an hour, maybe more, and there were no signs that someone had come in with wet feet. Most likely, the house was searched last night after we left.

I flipped the light switch for the cellar and started down the stairs. It was a small house and a small cellar, and I didn't have to go far to see that the cellar had been thoroughly searched and abandoned. I did the second story next and had the same experience. Boxes in the cellar and in the extra bedroom had been ripped open and emptied onto the floor.

Clearly, Mooner had no idea what DeChooch was after. Mooner wasn't smart enough to be devious.

"Is anything missing?" I asked Mooner. "Has Dougie ever noticed anything missing after the house is searched?"

"A rump roast."

"Excuse me?"

"I swear to God. There was a rump roast in the freezer and someone took it. It was a small one. Two and a half pounds. It was left over from a side of beef Dougie happened to come across. You know . . . fell off a truck. It was all that was left of it. We saved it for ourselves in case we felt like cooking something someday."

I returned to the kitchen and checked out the freezer and refrigerator. Ice cream and a frozen pizza in the freezer. Coke and leftover pizza in the refrigerator.

"This is a real downer," Moon said. "The house doesn't feel right without the Dougster here."

I hated to admit it, but I needed help with DeChooch. I suspected he held the key to Dougie, and he kept walking away from me.

CONNIE WAS GETTING ready to close up the office when Mooner and I walked in. "I'm glad you're here," she said. "I have an FTA for you. Roseanne Kreiner. Businesswoman of the ho variety. Has her office on the corner of Stark and Twelfth. Accused of beating the crap out of one of her clients. Guess he didn't want to pay for services rendered. She shouldn't be hard to find. Probably didn't want to give up work time to go to court."

I took the file from Connie and stuffed it into my bag. "Hear anything from Ranger?"

"He delivered his man this morning."

Hooray. Ranger was back. I could get Ranger to help me.

I called his number, but there was no answer. I left a message and tried his pager. A moment later my cell phone rang and a rush skittered through my stomach. Ranger.

"Yo," Ranger said.

"I could use some help with an FTA."

"What's your problem?"

"He's old, and I'll look like a loser if I shoot him."

I could hear Ranger laughing at the other end. "What's he done?"

"Everything. It's Eddie DeChooch."

"Do you want me to talk to him?"

"No. I want you to give me some ideas on how to bring him in without killing him. I'm afraid if I zap him with the stun gun he'll go toes-up."

"Tag team him with Lula. Bookend him and cuff him."

"Already tried that."

"He got away from you and Lula? Babe, he must be eighty. He can't see. He can't hear. He takes an hour and a half to empty his bladder."

"It was complicated."

"You could try shooting him in the foot next time," Ranger said. "That usually works." And he severed the connection.

Great.

I called Morelli next.

"I've got news for you," Morelli said. "I ran into Costanza when I went out for the paper. He said the autopsy report came in on Loretta Ricci, and she died of a heart attack."

"And then she was shot?"

"You got it, Cupcake."

Too weird.

"I know this is your day off, but I was wondering if you'd do me a favor," I said to Morelli.

"Oh boy."

"I was hoping you'd baby-sit Mooner. He's tied up in this DeChooch mess, and I don't know if it's safe to leave him alone in my apartment."

"Bob and I are all set to watch the game. We've been planning this all week."

"Mooner can watch it with you. I'll drop him off."

I hung up before Morelli could say no.

ROSEANNE KREINER WAS standing on her corner, in the rain, looking totally wet and pissed off. If I was a guy I wouldn't let her within twenty feet of my wanger. She was dressed in high-heeled boots and a black garbage bag. It was hard to tell what she was wearing under the bag. Maybe nothing. She was pacing and waving at passing cars, and when the cars didn't stop she'd give them the finger. Her arrest sheet said she was fifty-two.

I pulled to the curb and rolled my window down. "Do you do women?"

"Honey, I do pigs, cows, ducks, and women. You got the dime I put in my time. Twenty for a hand thing. You go into overtime if you take all day."

I showed her a twenty, and she got into the car. I hit the auto door locks and took off for the police station.

"Any side street will do," she said.

"I have a confession."

"Oh shit. Are you a cop? Tell me you're not a cop."

"I'm not a cop. I'm bond enforcement. You missed your court date and you have to reschedule."

"Do I get to keep the twenty?"

"Yeah, you can keep the twenty."

"Do you want a diddle for it?"

"No!"

"Jeez. No need to yell. I just didn't want you to feel cheated. I give people their money's worth."

"How about the guy you clocked?"

"He tried to stiff me. You think I'm out there on that corner for my health? I got a mother in assisted living. I don't make the monthly payment and she's living with me."

"Would that be so bad?"

"I'd rather fuck a rhino."

I parked in the police lot, reached over to cuff her, and she started waving her hands around.

"You're not gonna cuff me," she was saying. "No way."

And then somehow with all the hand waving and struggling the automatic door lock got popped and Roseanne jumped out of the car and ran for the street. She had a head start, but she was in heels and I was in cross-trainers, and I caught her after a two-block chase. Neither of us was in good shape. She was wheezing and I felt like I was breathing in fire. I clapped the bracelets on her and she sat down.

"No sitting," I said.

"Tough. I'm not going anywhere."

I'd left my bag in the car and the car looked a long way off. If I ran back to the car to get my cell phone Roseanne wouldn't be here when I returned. She was sitting, sulking, and I was standing, fuming.

Some days it didn't pay to get out of bed.

I had a really strong urge to give her a good kick in the kidney, but that'd probably leave a bruise and then she might sue Vinnie for bounty hunter brutality. Vinnie hated when that happened.

It was raining harder and we were both soaked. My hair was stuck to my face, and my Levi's were drenched. The two of us settled in for a standoff. The standoff ended when Eddie Gazarra drove by on his way to lunch. Eddie's a Trenton cop, and he's married to my cousin Shirley-the-Whiner.

Eddie rolled his window down, shook his head, and made tsch-tsch-tsch sounds.

"I've got a situation with an FTA," I said to Eddie.

Eddie grinned. "No shit."

"How about helping me get her into your car."

"It's raining! I'll get soaked."

I narrowed my eyes at him.

"It'll cost you," Gazarra said.

"I'm not baby-sitting." His kids were cute, but last time I stayed with them I fell asleep and they cut two inches off my hair.

He did another tsch. "Hey, Roseanne," he yelled. "You want a ride?"

Roseanne got up and looked at him. Deciding.

"If you get into the car, Stephanie'll give you ten bucks," Gazarra said.

"No I won't," I yelled. "I already gave her twenty."

"Did you get a diddle for it?" Gazarra asked.

"No!"

He made another tsch.

"Well," Roseanne said, "what's it gonna be?"

I pushed the hair out of my face. "It's going to be a kick in the kidney if you don't get your butt in that cop car." When up against it . . . try an empty threat.

I PARKED IN my lot and slogged up to my apartment, leaving puddles in my wake. Benny and Ziggy were waiting in the hall.

"We brought you some strawberry preserves," Benny said. "It's the good kind, too. It's Smucker's."

I took the jam and opened my door. "What's up?"

"We heard you caught Chooch having a snort with Father Carolli."

They were smiling, enjoying the moment.

"That Choochy, he's a pip," Ziggy said. "Did he really shoot Jesus?"

I smiled with them. Choochy was indeed a pip. "News travels fast," I said.

"We're what you call plugged in," Ziggy said. "Anyhow, we just want to get it straight from you. How did Choochy look? Was he okay? Was he, you know, crazy?"

"He took a couple shots at Mooner, but he missed. Carolli said Chooch has been excitable ever since his stroke."

"He don't hear so good, either," Benny said.

They exchanged glances on that one. No smiles.

Water was dripping from my Levi's, forming a pool on the kitchen floor. Ziggy and Benny were standing clear of it.

"Where's the little geeky guy?" Benny asked. "Isn't he hanging out with you anymore?"

"He had things to do."

I PEELED MY clothes off the minute Benny and Ziggy left. Rex was running on his wheel, occasionally pausing to watch me, not understanding the concept of rain. Sometimes he sat under his water bottle and it dripped on his head, but mostly his experience with weather was limited.

I slipped into a new T-shirt and clean Levi's and blasted my hair with the hair dryer. When I was done I had a lot of volume but not much shape, so I created a distraction by applying bright blue eyeliner.

I was pulling my boots on when the phone rang.

"Your sister's on her way over," my mother said. "She needs someone to talk to."

Valerie must really be desperate to choose me to talk to. We like each other okay, but we've never been close. Too many basic personality differences. And when she moved to California we drifted even further apart.

Funny how things turn out. We all thought Valerie had the perfect marriage.

The phone rang again and it was Morelli.

"He's humming," Morelli said. "When are you going to come get him?"

"Humming?"

"Bob and I are trying to watch the game and this yodel won't stop humming."

"Maybe he's nervous."

"Fuckin' A. He should be nervous. If he doesn't stop humming I'm going to strangle him."

"Try feeding him."

And I hung up.

"I wish I knew what everyone is looking for," I said to Rex. "I know it's tied to Dougie's disappearance."

There was a rap on the door and my sister bounced in, looking Doris Day-Meg Ryan perky. Probably perfect for California, but we don't do perky in Jersey.

"You're awfully perky," I said. "I don't remember you as being this perky."

"I'm not perky . . . I'm cheerful. I am absolutely not crying anymore, ever again. No one likes a Gloomy Gus. I'm going to get on with my life and I'm going to be happy. I'm going to be so goddamn happy Mary Sunshine's going to look like a loser."

Yikes.

"And do you know why I can be happy? I can be happy because I'm well adjusted."

Good thing Valerie moved back to Jersey. We'd fix that.

"So this is your apartment," she said, looking around. "I've never been here."

I looked, too, and I wasn't impressed by what I saw. I have lots of good ideas for my apartment, but somehow I never get around to buying the glass candle holders at Illuminations or the brass fruit bowl at Pottery Barn. My windows have utilitarian shades and drapes. My furniture is relatively new but uninspired. I live in a cookie-cutter, inexpensive seventies apartment that looks exactly like a cookie-cutter, inexpensive seventies apartment. Martha Stewart would have a cow over my apartment.

"Jeez," I said, "I'm really sorry about Steve. I didn't know you two were having problems."

Valerie flopped onto the couch. "I didn't know, either. He broadsided me. I came home from the gym one day and realized Steve's clothes were gone. Then I found a note on the kitchen counter about how he felt trapped and had to get away. And the next day I got a foreclosure notice on the house."

"Wow."

"I'm thinking this could be a good thing. I mean, this could open up all sorts of new experiences for me. For instance, I have to get a job."

"Any ideas?"

"I want to be a bounty hunter."

I was speechless. Valerie. A bounty hunter.

"Did you tell Mom?"

"No. Do you think I should?"

"No!"

"The thing about being a bounty hunter is that you make your own hours, right? So I could be home when the girls get out of school. And bounty hunters are kind of tough, and that's what I want the new Valerie to be . . . cheerful but tough."

Valerie was wearing a red cardigan sweater from Talbots, designer jeans that had been ironed, and snakeskin loafers.

Tough seemed like a stretch.

"I'm not sure you're the bounty hunter type," I told Valerie.

"Of course I'm the bounty hunter type," she said enthusiastically. "I just have to get into the right mind-set." She sat up straighter on my couch and started singing the rubber tree ant song.

" He's got hiiiigh hopes . . . hiiiigh hopes!"

Good thing my gun was in the kitchen, because I had an urge to shoot Valerie. This was taking the cheerful thing way beyond where I wanted to go.

"Grandma said you were working on a big case and I thought maybe I could help," Valerie said.

"I don't know . . . this guy is a killer."

"But he's old, right?"

"Yeah. He's an old killer."

"That sounds like a good place to start," Valerie said, bouncing up off the couch. "Let's go get him."

"I don't exactly know where to find him," I said.

"He's probably feeding ducks at the lake. That's what old men do. At night they watch television and during the day they feed the ducks."

"It's raining. I don't think he'd feed the ducks in the rain."

Valerie glanced over at the window. "Good point."

There was a sharp rap at the door and then the sound of someone testing the door to see if it was locked. Then there was another rap.

Morelli, I thought. Returning Mooner.

I opened the door and Eddie DeChooch stepped into my foyer. He had his gun in his hand, and he looked serious.

"Where is he?" DeChooch asked. "I know he's living with you. Where is the rat bastard?"

"Are you talking about Mooner?"

"I'm talking about the worthless little piece of shit who's screwing around with me. He's got something that belongs to me and I want it back."

"How do you know Mooner has it?"

DeChooch pushed past me and went into my bedroom and bathroom. "His friend don't have it. And I don't have it. The only one left is this Mooner moron." DeChooch opened closet doors and slammed them shut. "Where is he? I know you've got him locked away some place."

I shrugged. "He said he had errands to run and that's the last I've seen of him."

He put his gun to Valerie's head. "Who's Miss Cutesy here?"

"That's my sister Valerie."

"Maybe I should shoot her."

Valerie looked sideways at the gun. "Is that a real gun?"

DeChooch moved the gun six inches to the right and squeezed off a shot. The bullet missed my television by a millimeter and lodged in my wall.

Valerie went white and made a squeaky sound.

"Cripes, she sounds like a mouse," DeChooch said.

"What am I supposed to do about that wall?" I asked him. "You made a big bullet hole in it."

"You can show the bullet hole to your friend. You can tell him his head's gonna look like that wall if he doesn't shape up."

"Maybe I could help you get this thing back if you'd tell me what it is."

DeChooch eased out my front door with the gun pointed at Valerie and me. "Don't follow me," he said, "or I'll shoot you."

Valerie's knees wobbled and she sat down hard on the floor.

I waited a couple beats before going to the door and looking out, down the hall. I believed DeChooch about the shooting part. When I finally checked the hall DeChooch was nowhere to be seen. I closed and locked my door and ran to the window. My apartment is at the back of the building, and my windows overlook the parking lot. Not especially scenic, but handy for checking out fleeing crazy old men.

I watched DeChooch leave the building and take off in the white Cadillac. The police were looking for him and I was looking for him and he was riding around in the white Cadillac. Not exactly the stealth felon. So why weren't we able to catch him? I knew the answer on my side. I was inept.

Valerie was still on the floor, still looking pale.

"You might want to rethink the bounty hunter thing," I suggested to Valerie. Maybe I should rethink it, too.

VALERIE RETURNED TO my parents' house to locate her Valium, and I called Ranger back.

"I'm going to bail on this case," I said to Ranger. "I'm going to hand it off to you."

"You don't usually bail," Ranger said. "What's the deal here?"

"DeChooch is making me look like an idiot."

"And?"

"Dougie Kruper is missing and I think his disappearance is somehow tied to DeChooch. I'm worried that I'm endangering Dougie because I keep screwing up with DeChooch."

"Dougie Kruper was probably abducted by aliens."

"Do you want to take the case, or what?"

"I don't want it."

"Fine. The hell with you." I hung up and stuck my tongue out at the phone. I grabbed my bag and my rain jacket and stomped out of my apartment and down the stairs.

Mrs. DeGuzman was in the lobby. Mrs. DeGuzman is from the Philippines and doesn't speak a word of English.

"Humiliating," I said to Mrs. DeGuzman.

Mrs. DeGuzman smiled and bobbed her head like one of those dogs people put in their car rear window.

I got into the CR-V and sat there for a moment thinking things like, Prepare to die, DeChooch . And, No more Ms. Nice Guy , this is war . But then I couldn't figure out how to find DeChooch, so I did a quick run to the bakery.

It was close to five when I got back to my apartment. I opened my door and stifled a shriek. There was a man in my living room. I took another look and realized it was Ranger. He was sitting in a chair, looking relaxed, thoughtfully watching me.

"You hung up on me," he said. "Don't ever hang up on me."

His voice was quiet, but as always the authority was unmistakable. He was wearing black dress slacks, a long-sleeved lightweight black sweater pushed up on his forearms, and expensive black loafers. His hair was cut very short. I was used to seeing him in SWAT dress with long hair, and I hadn't immediately recognized him. I guess that was the point.

"Are you in disguise?" I asked.

He watched me without answering. "What's in the bag?"

"An emergency cinnamon bun. What are you doing here?"

"I thought we might make a deal. How bad do you want DeChooch?"

Oh boy. "What did you have in mind?"

"You find DeChooch. If you need help bringing him in you call me. If I succeed in the capture, you spend a night with me."

My heart stopped beating. Ranger and I had been playing this game for a while now, but it had never been articulated in quite this way.

"I'm sort of engaged to Morelli," I said.

Ranger smiled.

Shit.

There was the sound of a key being inserted in my front door lock and the door swung open. Morelli strode in and he and Ranger nodded to each other.

"Game over?" I asked Morelli.

Morelli gave me a death look. "The game's over and the baby-sitting is over. And I don't ever want to see this guy again."

"Where is he?"

Morelli turned and looked. No Mooner. "Christ," Morelli said. He went back to the hall and yanked Mooner into the room by Mooner's jacket collar, the Trenton PD equivalent to a mother cat dragging a demented offspring by the scruff of his neck.

"Dude," Mooner said.

Ranger stood and passed me a card with a name and address written on it. "The owner of the white Cadillac," he said. He slipped into a black leather jacket and left. Mr. Sociable.

Morelli deposited Mooner in a chair in front of the television, pointed his finger at him, and told him to stay.

I raised my eyebrows at Morelli.

"It works with Bob," Morelli said. He put the television on and motioned me into the bedroom. "We need to talk."

There was a time when the idea of being in a bedroom with Morelli scared the hell out of me. Now mostly it makes my nipples get hard.

"What's up?" I said, closing the door.

"Mooner tells me you picked out a wedding gown today."

I closed my eyes and flopped back onto the bed. "I did! I let myself get sucked into it." I groaned. "My mother and grandmother showed up and next thing I was trying on gowns at Tina's."

"You'd tell me if we were getting married, wouldn't you? I mean, you wouldn't just appear on my doorstep in the gown one day and say we were due at the church in an hour."

I sat up and narrowed my eyes at him. "No need to get snippy about it."

"Men don't get snippy," Morelli said. "Men get pissed. Women get snippy."

I jumped up from the bed. "That's so typical of you to make a sexist remark!"

"Lighten up," Morelli said. "I'm Italian. I'm supposed to make sexist remarks."

"This is not going to work."

"Cupcake, you'd better figure this out before your mother gets her Visa bill for that dress."

"Well, what do you want to do? Do you want to get married?"

"Sure. Let's get married now." He reached behind him and locked the bedroom door. "Take your clothes off."

" What?"

Morelli pushed me down and leaned over me. "Marriage is a state of mind."

"Not in my family."

He picked up my shirt and looked under it.

"Hold it! Wait a minute!" I said. "I can't do this with Mooner in the next room!"

"Mooner's watching television."

His hand cupped my pubic bone, he did something magical with his index finger, my eyes glazed over, and some drool trickled out of the corner of my mouth. "The door's locked, right?"

"Right," Morelli said. He had my pants down to my knees.

"Maybe you should check."

"Check on what?"

"On Mooner. Make sure he's not listening at the door."

"I don't care if he's listening at the door."

"I care."

Morelli sighed and rolled off me. "I should have fallen in love with Joyce Barnhardt. She would have invited Mooner in to watch." He opened the door a crack and looked out. He opened it wider. "Oh shit," he said.

I was on my feet with my pants up. "What? What ?"

Morelli was out of the room, moving through the house, opening and closing doors. "Mooner's gone."

"How could he be gone?"

Morelli stopped and faced me. "Do we care?"

"Yes!"

Another sigh. "We were only in the bedroom for a couple minutes. He can't have gone far. I'll go look for him."

I crossed the room to the window and looked down into the parking lot. A car was leaving. It was hard to see the car in the rain, but it looked like Ziggy and Benny. Dark, American-made midsize. I grabbed my bag, locked my door, and ran the length of the hall. I caught up with Morelli in the lobby. We pushed through the doors to the lot and stopped. No Mooner in sight. The dark sedan no longer in view.

"I think it's possible he's with Ziggy and Benny," I said. "I think we should try their social club." I couldn't imagine where else they'd take Mooner. I didn't think they'd take him home with them.

"Ziggy and Benny and Chooch belong to Domino on Mulberry Street," Morelli said, both of us climbing into his truck. "Why do you think Mooner's with Benny and Ziggy?"

"I thought I saw their car pull out of the lot. And I have a feeling Dougie and DeChooch and Benny and Ziggy are all mixed up in something that started with the cigarette deal."

We wound our way through the Burg to Mulberry and sure enough, Benny's dark blue sedan was parked in front of the Domino Social Club. I got out and felt the hood. Warm.

"How do you want to play this?" Morelli asked. "Do you want me to wait in the truck? Or do you want me to muscle you in?"

"Just because I'm a liberated woman doesn't mean I'm a moron. Muscle me in."

Morelli knocked on the door, and an old man opened the door with the security chain attached.

"I'd like to talk to Benny," Morelli said.

"Benny's busy."

"Tell him it's Joe Morelli."

"He's still gonna be busy."

"Tell him if he doesn't come to the door right now I'm going to set his car on fire."

The old guy disappeared and returned in less than a minute. "Benny says if you set his car on fire he's gonna hafta kill you. And he'll tell your grandmother on you, too."

"Tell Benny he better not have Walter Dunphy in there because Dunphy is under my grandmother's protection. Anything happens to Dunphy and Benny gets the eye ."

Two minutes later the door opened for a third time and Mooner got pitched out.

"Dang," I said to Morelli. "I'm impressed."

"Dude," Morelli said.

We put Mooner in the truck and drove him back to my apartment. He got the giggles halfway there, and Morelli and I knew what kind of bait Benny had used on Mooner.

"How lucky was that," Mooner said, smiling and awestruck. "I stepped out for a minute to find some shit, and the two dudes were right there in the lot. And now they like me."

FOR AS LONG as I can remember my mother and grandmother have gone to church on Sunday morning. And on the way home from church, my mother and grandmother stop at the bakery and buy a bag of jelly doughnuts for my father, the sinner. If Mooner and I timed it right we'd arrive a minute or two behind the doughnuts. My mother would be happy because I'd come to visit. Mooner would be happy because he'd get a doughnut. And I'd be happy because my grandmother would have gotten the very latest gossip relating to everybody and everything, including Eddie DeChooch.

"I've got big news," Grandma said when she came to the door. "Stiva got hold of Loretta Ricci yesterday and the first viewing's going to be tonight at seven. It'll be one of those closed-casket ones, but it should be worth something, anyway. Maybe Eddie will even show up. I'm going to wear my new red dress. There'll be a packed house tonight. Everybody'll be there."

Angie and Mary Alice were in the living room in front of the television with the sound turned up so loud the windows were vibrating. My father was in the living room, too, staked out in his favorite chair, reading the paper, his knuckles white with the effort.

"Your sister's in bed with a migraine," Grandma said. "Guess the cheerful thing was too much of a strain. And your mother's making cabbage rolls. We've got doughnuts in the kitchen and if that don't do it for you, I've got a bottle in my bedroom. This place is bedlam."

Mooner took a doughnut and drifted into the living room to watch television with the kids. I helped myself to coffee and sat at the kitchen table with my doughnut.

Grandma sat across from me. "What are you up to today?"

"I have a lead on Eddie DeChooch. He's been driving around in a white Cadillac, and I just got the owner's name. Mary Maggie Mason." I took the card frorn my pocket and looked at it. "Why does that name sound so familiar?"

"Everybody knows Mary Maggie Mason," Grandma said. "She's a star."

"I never heard of her," my mother said.

"That's because you never go anywhere," Grandma said. "Mary Maggie's one of them mud wrestlers at The Snake Pit. She's the best."

My mother looked up from her pot of beef and rice and tomatoes. "How do you know all this?"

"Elaine Barkolowski and me go to The Snake Pit sometimes after bingo. On Thursdays they got men wrestling and they only wear little Baggies on their privates. They're not as good as The Rock, but they're pretty good all the same."

"That's disgusting," my mother said.

"Yeah," Grandma said. "It costs five dollars to get in but it's worth it."

"I have to go to work," I said to my mother. "Is it okay if I leave Mooner here for a while?"

"He doesn't do drugs anymore, does he?"

"Nope. He's clean." For a whole twelve hours. "You might want to lock up the glue and cough syrup, though . . . just in case."

The address Ranger had given me for Mary Maggie Mason was an upscale high-rise condo building that looked out at the river. I rode through the underground parking, checking out cars. No white Cadillac, but there was a silver Porsche with MMM-YUM on the license plate.

I parked in a slot reserved for guests and rode the elevator to the seventh floor. I was wearing jeans and boots and a black leather jacket over a black knit shirt, and I didn't feel dressed right for the building. The building called for gray silk and heels and skin that had been lasered and buffed to perfection.

Mary Maggie Mason answered on the second knock. She was wearing sweats, and her brown hair was pulled back into a ponytail. "Yes?" she asked, peering at me from behind tortoiseshell glasses, a Nora Roberts book in her hand. Mary Maggie, the mud wrestler, reads romance. In fact, from what I could see beyond her door, Mary Maggie read everything. There were books everywhere.

I gave her my card and introduced myself. "I'm looking for Eddie DeChooch," I said. "It's been brought to my attention that he's driving your car around town."

"The white Cadillac? Yeah. Eddie needed a car, and I never drive the Caddy. I inherited it when my Uncle Ted died. I should probably sell it, but it's nostalgic."

"How do you know Eddie?"

"He's one of the owners of The Snake Pit. Eddie and Pinwheel Soba and Dave Vincent. Why are you looking for Eddie? You're not going to arrest him, are you? He's really a sweet old guy."

"He missed his court date and he needs to reschedule. Do you know where I can find him?"

"Sorry. He stopped by one day last week. I don't remember which day. He wanted to borrow the car. His car is a real lemon. Always something wrong with it. So I loan him the Cadillac a lot. He likes to drive it because it's big and white and he can find it at night in a parking lot. Eddie doesn't see all that well."

It's none of my business, but I wouldn't be loaning my car to a blind guy. "Looks like you do a lot of reading."

"I'm a book junkie. When I retire from wrestling I'm going to open a mystery bookstore."

"Can you make a living selling mysteries?"

"No. Nobody makes a living selling mysteries. The stores are all fronts for numbers operations."

We were standing in the foyer and I was looking around as best I could for evidence that DeChooch might be hiding out with Mary Maggie.

"This is a great building," I said. "I didn't realize there was this much money in mud wrestling."

"Mud wrestling doesn't pay anything. I stay alive with the endorsements. And I've got a couple corporate sponsors." Mary Maggie glanced at her watch. "Yikes, look at the time. I have to go. I'm supposed to be at the gym in a half hour."

I pulled out of the underground garage and parked on a side street so I could make a few calls. First call was to Ranger's cell phone.

"Yo," Ranger said.

"Do you know DeChooch owns a third of The Snake Pit?"

"Yeah, he won it in a crap game two years ago. I thought you knew."

"I didn't know!"

Silence.

"So what else do you know that I don't know?" I asked.

"How much time do we have?"

I hung up on Ranger and called Grandma.

"I want you to look up a couple names in the phone book," I said to Grandma. "I need to know where Pinwheel Soba and Dave Vincent live."

I listened to Grandma thumbing through pages, and finally she came back on the line. "Neither of them's listed."

Rats. Morelli would be able to get me the addresses, but Morelli wouldn't want me messing around with Snake Pit owners. Morelli would give me a big lecture about being careful, we'd get into a shouting match, and then I'd have to eat a lot of cake to calm down.

I took a deep breath and redialed Ranger.

"I need addresses," I told Ranger.

"Let me guess," Ranger said. "Pinwheel Soba and Dave Vincent. Pinwheel's in Miami. He moved last year. Opened a club in South Beach. Vincent lives in Princeton. There's supposed to be bad feelings between DeChooch and Vincent." He gave me Vincent's address and disconnected.

A flash of silver caught my eye and I looked up to see Mary Maggie zip around the corner in her Porsche. I pulled out after her. Not exactly following her, but keeping her in view. We were both going in the same direction. North. I stayed with her and it seemed to me she was going pretty far afield to get to a gym. I bypassed my turnoff and stayed with her through center city to north Trenton. If she'd been on guard she would have spotted me. It's hard for a single car to do a decent tail. Fortunately, Mary Maggie wasn't looking for a tail.

I dropped back when she turned onto Cherry Street. I parked around the corner from Ronald DeChooch's house and watched Mary Maggie get out of her car, walk to the door, and ring the doorbell. The door opened and Mary Maggie stepped inside. Ten minutes later, the front door opened again and Mary Maggie Mason came out. She stood on the front porch for a minute or two talking to Ronald. Then she got into her car and drove away. This time she went to a gym. I watched her park and go into the building and then I left.

I took Route 1 to Princeton, hauled out a map, and located Vincent's house. Princeton isn't actually part of New Jersey. It's a small island of wealth and intellectual eccentricity floating in the Sea of Central Megalopolis. It's an honest-to-god town awash in the land of the strip mall. Hair is smaller, heels are shorter, asses are tighter in Princeton.

Vincent owned a large yellow-and-white colonial set onto a half-acre lot on the edge of town. There was a detached two-car garage. No cars in the driveway. No flag proclaiming that Eddie DeChooch was in residence. I parked one house down on the opposite side of the street and watched the house. Very boring. Nothing happening. No cars cruising by. No children playing on the sidewalk. No metal blaring out of a second-story boom box. A bastion of respectability and decorum. And a little intimidating. Knowing it was bought with Snake Pit profits did nothing to alter the feeling of old-money snootiness. I didn't think Dave Vincent would appreciate having his peaceful Sunday disturbed by a bounty hunter looking for Eddie DeChooch. And I could be going out on a limb here, but I suspected Mrs. Vincent wouldn't take a chance on tarnishing her social standing by harboring the likes of Choochy.

After I'd done an hour of worthless surveillance a cop car crept down the street and pulled up behind me. Great. I was about to get rousted out of the neighborhood. If someone caught me sitting in front of their house in the Burg, they'd send their dog out to take a leak on my car wheel. Backup action would be a string of profanities yelled at me to get the hell out of there. In Princeton they send a perfectly pressed, perfectly polite officer of the law to make an inquiry. Is this class, or what?

There didn't seem to be anything gained by stressing Officer Perfect so I got out of my car and walked back to him while he was checking my plate. I passed him my card and the bond contract stating my right to apprehend Eddie DeChooch. And I gave him the standard explanation of routine surveillance.

Then he explained to me that the good people in this neighborhood aren't used to being under surveillance, and probably it'd be best if I conducted my surveillance in a more discreet manner.

"Sure," I said. And then I left. If a cop is your friend he's the best friend you'll ever have. On the other hand, if you're not on intimate terms with a cop it's smart not to annoy him.

Watching the Vincent house wasn't going to do me any good, anyway. If I wanted to talk to Dave Vincent better to see him at work. Besides, it wouldn't hurt to take a look at The Snake Pit. Not only would I get to talk to Vincent, I'd also get another shot at Mary Maggie Mason. She'd seemed like a nice enough person, but clearly there was more to the story.

I took Route 1 south and on a whim decided to take another look around at Mary Maggie's garage.

I CRUISED INTO the garage and rode around looking for the Cadillac. I went up and down every aisle, but I didn't have any luck. Good thing, too, because I didn't know what I'd do if I found Choochy. I didn't feel capable of bringing him in on my own. And the thought of agreeing to Ranger's deal gave me an orgasm on the spot, followed by a panic attack.

I mean, what if I spent the night with Ranger? What then? Suppose he was so amazing I got ruined for all other men. Suppose he was better in the sack than Joe. Not that Joe was a slouch in bed. It was just that Joe was mortal, and I wasn't sure about Ranger.

And what about my future? Was I going to marry Ranger? No. Ranger wasn't marriage material. Hell, Joe was barely marriage material.

And then there was the other side of it. Suppose I didn't measure up. I involuntarily squinched my eyes closed. Argh! It would be awful. Beyond embarrassing.

Suppose he didn't measure up! The fantasy would be ruined. What would I think about when it was just me and the shower massage?

I shook my head to clear my brain. I didn't want to contemplate a night with Ranger. It was too complicated.

IT WAS DINNERTIME when I got back to my parents'. Valerie was out of bed and at the table, wearing dark glasses. Angie and Mooner were eating peanut butter sandwiches in front of the television. Mary Alice was galloping around the house, pawing at the carpet and snorting. Grandma was dressed for the viewing. My father had his head down over his meat loaf. And my mother was at the head of the table, having a full-blown hot flash. Her face was flushed, her hair was damp on her forehead, and her eves darted feverishly around the room, daring anyone to imply she was in the throes of the change.

Grandma ignored my mother and passed me the applesauce. "I was hoping you'd show up for dinner. I could use a ride to the viewing."

"Sure," I said. "I was going, anyway."

My mother gave me a pained expression.

"What?" I asked.

"Nothing."

" What?"

"It's your clothes. You go to the Ricci viewing dressed like that, and I'll be getting phone calls for a week. What will I say to people? They'll think you can't afford decent clothes."

I looked down at my jeans and boots. They looked decent to me, but I wasn't about to argue with a menopausal woman.

"I have clothes you can wear," Valerie said. "In fact, I'll go with you and Grandma. It'll be fun! Does Stiva still serve cookies?"

There must have been a mix-up at the hospital. Surely I don't have a sister who thinks funeral parlors are fun.

Valerie popped up out of her chair and pulled me upstairs by the hand. "I know just the outfit for you!"

There's nothing worse than wearing someone else's clothes. Well, maybe world famine or a typhoid epidemic, but aside from that, borrowed clothes never feel right. Valerie is an inch shorter than me and five pounds lighter. Our shoe sizes are identical, and our taste in clothes couldn't be more different. Wearing Valerie's clothes to the Ricci viewing equates to Halloween in hell.

Valerie whisked a skirt out of her closet. " Ta-dah!" she sang. "Isn't this wonderful? It's perfect. And I have the perfect top for it, too. And I have the perfect shoes. They're all coordinated."

Valerie has always been coordinated. Her shoes and her handbags always match. Her skirts and shirts match, too. And Valerie can actually wear a scarf without looking like an idiot.

Five minutes later, Valerie had me completely outfitted. The skirt was mauve and lime green, patterned with pink and yellow lilies. The material was diaphanous and the hemline hit midcalf. Probably looked great on my sister in L. A., but I felt like a seventies shower curtain. The top was a stretchy little white cotton shirt with cap sleeves and lace around the neck. The shoes were pink strappy sandals with three-inch heels.

Never in my life had I ever considered wearing pink shoes.

I looked at myself in the full-length mirror and tried not to grimace.

"LOOK AT THIS," Grandma said when we got to Stiva's. "It's a packed house. We should have gotten here sooner. All the good seats up front by the casket are going to be gone."

We were in the foyer, barely able to push our way through the mourners who were spilling in and out of the viewing rooms. It was precisely seven o'clock, and if we'd gotten to Stiva's any sooner we would have had to line up outside like fans at a rock concert.

"I can't breathe," Valerie said. "I'm going to be squashed like a bug. My girls will be orphans."

"You have to step on people's feet and kick them in the back of the leg," Grandma said, "then they move away from you."

Benny and Ziggy were standing just inside the door to room one. If Eddie came through the door they had him. Tom Bell, the primary on the Ricci case, was also here. Plus half the population of the Burg.

I felt a hand cup my ass and I whirled around to catch Ronald DeChooch leering down at me. "Hey, chicky," he said, "I like the flimsy skirt. I bet you're not wearing any panties."

"Listen, you dickless sack of shit," I said to Ronald DeChooch, "you touch my ass again and I'll get someone to shoot you."

"Spunky," Ronald said. "I like that."

Meanwhile, Valerie had disappeared, swept away with the crowd surging forward. And Grandma was worming her way up to the casket ahead of me. A closed casket is a dangerous situation, since lids have been known to mysteriously spring open in Grandma's presence. Best to stay close to Grandma and keep watch that she doesn't get her nail file out to work at the latch.

Constantine Stiva, the Burg's favorite undertaker, spotted Grandma and rushed to stand guard, beating Grandma to the deceased.

"Edna," he said, nodding and smiling his understanding undertaker smile, "so nice to see you again."

Once a week Grandma caused chaos at Stiva's, but Stiva wasn't about to alienate a future customer who was no spring chicken and had her eye on a top-of-the-line mahogany, hand-carved eternal resting box.

"I thought it only right that I pay my respects," Grandma said. "Loretta was in my seniors group."

Stiva had himself wedged between Grandma and Loretta. "Of course," he said. "Very kind of you."

"I see it's another one of them closed-coffin things," Grandma said.

"The family's preference," Stiva said, his voice as smooth as custard, his expression benign.

"I guess it's best, being that she was shot and then all carved up in the autopsy."

Stiva showed a flicker of nervousness.

"Shame they had to do the autopsy," Grandma said. "Loretta was shot in the chest and she could have had an open casket except I guess when they do the autopsy they take your brain out and I suppose that makes it hard to get a good hairdo."

Three people who had been standing nearby sucked in air and speed-walked to the door.

"So what did she look like?" Grandma asked Stiva. "Would you have been able to do anything with her if it wasn't for the brain thing?"

Stiva had Grandma by the elbow. "Why don't we go into the lobby where it's not so crowded and we can have some cookies."

"That's a good idea," Grandma said. "I could use a cookie. Nothing interesting to see here, anyway."

I followed them out and on the way stopped to talk to Ziggy and Benny.

"He's not going to show up here," I said. "He's not that crazy."

Ziggy and Benny shrugged in unison.

"Just in case," Ziggy said.

"What was the deal with Mooner yesterday?"

"He wanted to see the club," Ziggy said. "He came out of your apartment building to get some air and we got to talking and one thing led to another."

"Yeah, we didn't mean to kidnap the little guy," Benny said. "And we don't want old lady Morelli putting the eye on us. We don't believe in any of that Old World stuff, but why take a chance."

"We heard she put the eye on Carmine Scallari, and he couldn't, uh, perform after that," Ziggy said.

"The story goes he even tried that new medicine but nothing helped," Benny said.

Benny and Ziggy both gave an involuntary shiver. They didn't want to be in the same predicament as Carmine Scallari.

I looked past Benny and Ziggy into the lobby and spotted Morelli. He was standing to one side, against the wall, surveying the crowd. He was wearing jeans and black crosstrainers and a black T-shirt under a tweed sportcoat. He looked lean and predatory. Men approached him to talk sports and then move on. Women watched from a distance, wondering if Morelli was as dangerous as he looked, if he was as bad as his reputation.

He caught my eye from across the room and crooked his finger at me, doing the universal come here gesture. He draped a proprietary arm around me when I reached him and kissed me on my neck, just below my ear. "Where's Mooner?"

"Watching television with Valerie's kids. Are you here because you're hoping to catch Eddie?"

"No. I'm here hoping to catch you. I think you should let Mooner overnight with your parents, and you should come home with me."

"Tempting, but I'm with Grandma and Valerie."

"I just got here," Morelli said. "Did Grandma manage to get the lid up?"

"Stiva intercepted her."

Morelli ran his finger along the lace edging on the shirt. "I like the lace."

"What about the skirt?"

"The skirt looks like a shower curtain. Sort of erotic. Makes me wonder if you're wearing underwear."

Omigod! "That's the same thing Ronald DeChooch said to me."

Morelli looked around. "I didn't see him when I came in. I didn't know Ronald and Loretta Ricci moved in the same circles."

"Maybe Ronald is here for the same reason Ziggy and Benny and Tom Bell are here."

Mrs. Dugan came over to us, all smiles. "Congratulations," she said. "I heard about the wedding. I'm so thrilled for you. And you are so lucky to have gotten the PNA Hall for your reception. Your grandmother must have pulled some strings on that one."

PNA Hall? I looked up at Morelli and rolled my eyes and Morelli gave me the silent head-shake.

"Excuse me," I said to Mrs. Dugan, "I have to find Grandma Mazur."

I put my head down and plowed through the crowd to Grandma. "Mrs. Dugan just told me we have the PNA Hall rented for my reception," I stage-whispered to her. "Is that true?"

"Lucille Stiller had it reserved for her parents' fiftieth wedding anniversary and her mother died just last night. As soon as we heard we snapped the hall right up. Things like this don't happen every day!"

"I don't want a reception in the PNA Hall."

"Everyone wants a reception in the PNA," Grandma said. "It's the best place in the Burg."

"I don't want a big reception. I want to have the reception in the backyard." Or not at all. I'm not even sure if I'm having a wedding !

"What if it rains? Where will we put all the people?"

"I don't want a lot of people."

"There's gotta be a hundred people in Joe's family alone," Grandma said.

Joe was standing behind me. "I'm having a panic attack," I said to him. "I can't breathe. My tongue is swelling. I'm going to choke."

"Choking might be the best thing," Joe said.

I looked at my watch. The viewing wasn't over for an hour and a half. My luck, I'd leave and Eddie would waltz in. "I need some air," I said. "I'm going outside for a couple minutes."

"There's people I haven't talked to yet," Grandma said. "I'll meet up with you later."

Joe followed me out and we stood on the porch, breathing in street air, happy to get away from the carnations, enjoying the car fumes. Lights were on and there was a steady stream of traffic on the street. The funeral home sounded festive behind us. No rock music, but plenty of talking and laughing. We sat on a step and watched the traffic in companionable silence. We were sitting there relaxing when the white Cadillac rolled by.

"Was that Eddie DeChooch?" I asked Joe.

"Looked like him to me," Joe said.

Neither of us moved. Not much we could do about DeChooch driving by. Our cars were parked two blocks away.

"We should do something to apprehend him," I said to Joe.

"What do you have in mind?"

"Well, it's too late now, but you should have shot out a tire."

"I'll have to remember that for next time."

Five minutes later we were still sitting there, and DeChooch rolled by again.

"Jesus," Joe said. "What's with this guy?"

"Maybe he's looking for a parking place."

Morelli was on his feet. "I'm getting my truck. You go inside and tell Tom Bell."

Morelli took off and I went to get Bell. I passed Myron Birnbaum on the stairs. Hold on. Myron Birnbaum was leaving. He was giving up his parking place and DeChooch was looking for a parking place. And knowing Myron Birnbaum, I was betting he'd parked close by. All I had to do was keep Birnbaum's space open until DeChooch came along. DeChooch would park and I'd have him trapped. Goddamn, I was so clever .

I followed Birnbaum, and just as I'd expected he was parked at the corner, three cars down from Stiva's, nicely sandwiched between a Toyota and a Ford SUV. I waited for him to pull out, and then I jumped into the empty space and started waving people away. Eddie DeChooch could barely see past the front bumper of his car, so I didn't have to worry about him spotting me from a distance. My plan was to save the space for him and then hide behind the SUV when the Cadillac came into view.

I heard heels clacking on the sidewalk and turned to see Valerie clippity-clopping over to me.

"What's going on?" Valerie said. "Are you holding a parking place for someone? Do you want me to help?"

An old lady in a ten-year-old Oldsmobile stopped short of the parking space and put her right turn signal on.

"Sorry," I said, motioning for her to move on. "This spot is taken."

The old lady responded by gesturing for me to get out of the way.

I shook my head no. "Try the parking lot."

Valerie was standing to my side, waving her arms, pointing to the lot, looking like one of those guys who direct planes onto the runway. She was dressed almost exactly like me with the exception of a slightly different color scheme. Valerie's shoes were lavender.

The old lady beeped her horn at me and started creeping forward into the space. Valerie jumped back but I put my hands on my hips and glared at the woman and refused to budge.

There was another old lady in the passenger seat. She rolled her window down and stuck her head out. "This is our parking place."

"This is a police operation," I said. "You're going to have to park someplace else."

"Are you a police officer?"

"I'm bail enforcement."

"That's right," Valerie said. "This is my sister and she's a bail bonds enforcement person."

"Bail bonds is different from police," the woman said.

"The police are on their way," I told her.

"I think you're a big fibber. I think you're saving this spot for your boyfriend. Nobody in police work would dress like you."

The Oldsmobile was about a third into the parking space with the rear of the car blocking off half of Hamilton. From the corner of my eye I caught a flash of white and before I had a chance to react, DeChooch smashed into the Oldsmobile. The Oldsmobile bounced forward and smashed into the back of the SUV, missing me by half an inch. The Cadillac careened off the left rear quarter panel of the Oldsmobile, and I could see DeChooch struggling to get control. He turned and looked directly at me, for a moment we all seemed suspended in time, and then he took off.

Damn!

The two old ladies wrenched open the doors to the Oldsmobile and struggled out.

"Look at my car!" the driver said. "It's a wreck!" She whirled around at me. "It's all your fault. You did this. I hate you." And she hit me in the shoulder with her purse.

"Yow," I said, "that hurts."

She was a couple inches shorter than me but had me by a few pounds. Her hair was cut short and was newly permed. She looked to be in her sixties. She was wearing bright red lipstick, had crayoned dark brown eyebrows onto herself, and her cheeks were decorated with spots of rose-toned rouge. Definitely not from the Burg. Probably Hamilton Township.

"I should have run you over when I had the chance," she said.

She hit me with the purse again, and this time I grabbed it by the strap and yanked it out of her hand.

Behind me I could hear Valerie give a little yelp of surprise.

"My purse," the woman shrieked. "Thief! Help. She took my purse!"

A crowd had started to form around us. Motorists and mourners. The old lady grabbed one of the men on the fringe. "She's stealing my purse. She caused the accident and now she's stealing my purse. Get the police."

Grandma jumped out of the crowd. "What's going on? I just got here. What's the ruckus about?"

"She stole my purse," the woman said.

"Did not," I said back.

"Did so."

"Did not!"

"Yes you did," the woman said, and she shoved me back with a hand to my shoulder.

"Keep your hands off my granddaughter," Grandma said.

"Yes. And she's my sister," Valerie chimed in.

"Mind your own business," the woman yelled at Grandma and Valerie.

The woman shoved Grandma and Grandma shoved back and next thing they were slapping at each other and Valerie was standing to the side, shrieking.

I stepped forward to stop them and in the confusion of flailing arms and shrill threats someone smacked me in the nose. Little twinkle lights spread across my field of vision and I went down on one knee. Grandma and the old lady stopped slapping at each other and offered me tissues and advice on bow to stop the blood that was dripping from my nose.

"Someone get a paramedic," Valerie shouted. "Call nine-one-one. Get a doctor. Get the undertaker."

Morelli arrived and hauled me to my feet. "I think we can cross boxing off the list of possible alternative professions."

"The old lady started it."

"From the way your nose looks I'd say she also finished it."

"Lucky punch."

"DeChooch passed me going about seventy in the opposite direction," Morelli said. "I couldn't turn in time to go after him."

"That is the story of my life."

WHEN MY NOSE stopped bleeding Morelli loaded Grandma and Valerie and me into my CR-V and followed us to my parents' house. He waved good-bye at that point, not wanting to be around when my mother saw us. I had bloodstains on Valerie's skirt and knit shirt. The skirt had a small tear in it. My knee was skinned and bleeding. And I had the beginning of a black eye. Grandma was in about the same condition but without the black eye and torn skirt. And something had happened to Grandma's hair so that it was standing straight up, making her look like Don King.

Because news travels at the speed of light in the Burg, by the time we got home, my mother had already taken six phone calls on the subject and knew every detail of our brawl. She clamped her mouth shut tight when we walked in and ran to get ice for my eye.

"It wasn't so bad," Valerie said to my mother. "The police got it all straightened out. And the EMT people said they didn't think Stephanie's nose was broken. And they don't do much for a broken nose, anyway, do they, Stephanie? Maybe put a Band-Aid on it." She took the ice pack from my mother and put it on her own head. "Do we have any liquor in the house?"

Mooner ambled over from the television. "Dude," he said. "What's up?"

"Had a little dispute over a parking place."

He nodded his head. "It's all about standing in line, isn't it?" And he went back to the television.

"You're not leaving him here, are you?" my mother asked. "He's not living with me, too, is he?"

"Do you think that would work?" I asked hopefully.

" No!"

"Then I guess I'm not leaving him."

Angie looked around from the television. "Is it true you got hit by an old lady?"

"It was an accident," I told her.

"When a person gets hit in the head the blow makes their brain swell. It kills brain cells and they don't regenerate."

"Isn't it late for you to be watching television?"

"I don't have to go to bed because I don't have to go to school tomorrow," Angie said. "We haven't registered in this new school system. And besides, we're used to staying up late. My father frequently had business dinners, and we were allowed to stay up until he got home."

"Only now he's gone," Mary Alice said. "He left us so he could sleep with the baby-sitter. I saw them kissing once and Daddy had a fork in his pants and it was sticking straight out."

"Forks do that sometimes," Grandma said.

I collected my clothes and Mooner and headed for home. If I was in better shape I would have driven over to The Snake Pit, but that was going to have to wait for another day.

"So tell me again why everyone is looking for this Eddie DeChooch guy," Mooner said.

"I'm looking for him because he failed to appear for a court date. And the police are looking for him because they think he might be involved in a murder."

"And he thinks I've got something that's his."

"Yeah." I watched Mooner as I drove, wondering if something was shaking loose in his head, wondering if a piece of important information would float to the surface.

"So what do you think?" Mooner said. "Do you think Samantha can do all that magic stuff if she doesn't twitch her nose?"

"No," I said. "I think she has to twitch her nose."

Mooner gave this serious consideration. "That's what I think, too."

IT WAS MONDAY morning, and I felt like I'd been run over by a truck. A scab had formed on my knee and my nose ached. I dragged myself out of bed and limped into the bathroom. Eck! I had two black eyes. One was considerably blacker than the other. I got into the shower and stood there for what might have been a couple hours. When I staggered out my nose felt better, but my eyes looked worse.

Mental note. Two hours in a hot shower not good in early stages of black eye.

I blasted my hair with the dryer and pulled it back into a ponytail. I dressed in my usual uniform of jeans and stretchy T-shirt and went out to the kitchen in search of breakfast. Ever since Valerie showed up, my mother had been too distracted to send me home with the traditional food bag, so there was no pineapple upside-down cake in my refrigerator. I poured a glass of orange juice and dropped a slice of bread in the toaster. It was quiet in my apartment. Peaceful. Nice. Too nice. Too peaceful. I stepped out of the kitchen and looked around. Everything seemed to be in order. Except for the rumpled quilt and pillow on the couch.

Oh shit! There was no Mooner. Damn, damn, damn.

I ran to the door. It was closed and locked. The security chain was hanging loose, not securing the door. I opened the door and looked out. No one in the hall. I looked out the living room window, down at the parking lot. No Mooner. No suspicious characters or cars. I called Mooner's house. No answer. I scribbled a note to Mooner that I'd be back and he should wait for me. He could wait in the hall or he could break into my apartment. Hell, everybody breaks into my apartment. I taped the note to my front door and took off.

First stop was Mooner's house. Two roommates. No Mooner. Second stop, Dougie's house. No luck there. I cruised by the social club, Eddie's house, and Ziggy's house. I went back to my apartment. No sign of Mooner.

I called Morelli. "He's gone," I said. "He was gone when I got up this morning."

"Is that bad?"

"Yes, it's bad."

"I'll keep my eyes open."

"There haven't been any, uh . . ."

"Bodies washed up on the shore? Bodies found in Dumpsters? Dismembered limbs stuffed into the overnight drop at the video store? No. It's been slow. None of those."

I hung up and called Ranger. "Help," I said.

"Heard you got trashed by some old lady last night," Ranger said. "We've got to get you some self-defense lessons, babe. Not good for the image to get trashed by an old lady."

"I have bigger problems than that. I was baby-sitting Mooner and he disappeared."

"Maybe he just split."

"Maybe he didn't."

"He driving a car?"

"His car's still in my lot."

Ranger let the silence lie there for a beat. "I'll ask around and get back to you."

I called my mother. "You haven't seen Mooner, have you?" I asked.

"What?" she yelled. "What did you say?"

I could hear Angie and Mary Alice running around in the background. They were screaming at each other and it sounded like they were banging on pots.

"What's going on?" I shouted into the phone.

"Your sister's gone off on a job interview, and the girls are having a parade."

"It sounds more like they're having World War Three. Has Mooner been around this morning?"

"No. I haven't seen him since last night. He's a little strange, isn't he? Are you sure he's not on drugs?"

I LEFT THE note to Mooner taped to my front door, and I drove down to the office. Connie and Lula were sitting at Connie's desk, watching the door to Vinnie's private lair.

Connie made a gesture for me to be quiet. "Joyce is in there with Vinnie," she whispered. "They've been at it for ten minutes now."

"You should have been here in the beginning when Vinnie was making sounds like a cow. Think Joyce must have been milking him," Lula said.

Some low-key grunting and moaning was going on beyond the closed door. The grunting stopped and Lula and Connie leaned forward expectantly.

"This is my favorite part," Lula said. "This is where they get to the spanking and Joyce barks like a dog."

I leaned forward with them, listening for the spanking, wanting Joyce to bark like a dog, feeling embarrassed but not able to walk away.

I was firmly pulled back by my ponytail. Ranger had come in behind me and had me by the hair. "Glad to see you're hard at work looking for Mooner."

"Shhh. I want to hear Joyce bark like a dog."

Ranger had me flat against him, and I could feel the heat from his body seeping into mine. "Not sure that's worth waiting for, babe."

There was some slapping and some squealing and then there was silence.

"Well, that was fun," Lula said, "but there's gonna be a price for the entertainment. Joyce only goes in there when she wants something. And there's only one high-bond case pending right now."

I looked at Connie. "Eddie DeChooch? Vinnie wouldn't give Eddie over to Joyce, would he?"

"Usually he only sinks that low when there are horses involved," Connie said.

"Yeah, equine sex is the dollar ticket," Lula said.

The door opened and Joyce flounced out. "I'll need the paperwork on DeChooch," she said.

I lunged at her, but Ranger still had hold of my lair, so I didn't get very far. "Vinnie," I yelled, "get out here!"

The door to Vinnie's inner office crashed closed and there was the sound of the lock clicking into place.

Lula and Connie glared at Joyce.

"It's going to take a while to get the paperwork together," Connie said. "Maybe days."

"No problem," Joyce said. "I'll be back." She glanced over at me. "Nice eye. Very attractive."

I was going to have to do another Bob on her lawn. Maybe I could sneak into her house somehow and do a Bob on her bed.

Ranger released my ponytail but kept a hand on my neck. I tried to act calm, but his touch was humming through me all the way to my toes and points in between.

"None of my contacts have seen anyone meeting Mooner's description," Ranger said. "I thought we might discuss the subject with Dave Vincent."

Lula and Connie looked my way. "What's happened to Mooner?"

"Disappeared," I said. "Just like Dougie."

RANGER WAS DRIVING a black Mercedes that looked fresh off the showroom floor. Ranger's cars were always black and always new and always of questionable ownership. He had a pager and a cell phone clipped to his visor and a police scanner under the dash. And I knew from past experience that there'd be a sawed-off shotgun and an assault weapon hidden somewhere in the car and a semi-automatic clipped to his belt. Ranger is one of the few civilians in Trenton with a permit to carry concealed. He owns office buildings in Boston, has a daughter in Florida by a failed marriage, has worked worldwide as a mercenary, and has a moral code that isn't entirely in sync with our legal system. I have no idea who the heck he is . . . but I like him.

The Snake Pit wasn't open for business, but there were cars parked in the small lot adjacent to the building and the front door was ajar. Ranger parked next to a black BMW, and we went inside. A cleaning crew worked at polishing the bar and washing the floor. Three muscle-bound guys stood to one side, drinking coffee and talking. I assumed they were wrestlers going over the game plan. And I could see why Grandma left bingo early to come to The Snake Pit. The possibility that one or more of the coffee drinkers could have his underwear ripped off in the mud held some appeal. Truth is, I think naked men are kind of strange looking what with their doodles and ding-dong hanging loose like they do. Nevertheless, there's the curiosity thing. I guess it's another one of those car crash experiences, where you feel compelled to look even if you know you'll be horrified.

Two men were sitting at a table reviewing what looked like a spreadsheet. They were in their fifties with health club bodies, dressed in slacks and lightweight sweaters. They looked up when we entered. One of them acknowledged Ranger.

"Dave Vincent and his accountant," Ranger said to me. "Vincent is the one in the tan sweater. The one who nodded hello."

Perfect for the house in Princeton.

Vincent stood and came over to us. He smiled when he saw my eye up close. "You must be Stephanie Plum."

"I could have taken her out," I said. "She caught me by surprise. It was an accident."

"We're looking for Eddie DeChooch," Ranger said to Vincent.

"Everyone is looking for DeChooch," Vincent said. "The guy's nutty."

"We thought he might be keeping in touch with his business partners."

Dave Vincent shrugged. "I haven't seen him."

"He's driving Mary Maggie's car."

Vincent showed some annoyance. "I don't get involved with my employees' private lives. If Mary Maggie wants to loan Chooch a car that's her business."

"If she's hiding him it becomes my business," Ranger said.

And we turned and left.

"So," I said when we got to the car. "That seemed to go well."

Ranger grinned at me. "We'll see."

"Now what?"

"Benny and Ziggy. They'll be at the club."

"OH JEEZ," BENNY said when he came to the door. "Now what?"

Ziggy was a step behind him. "We didn't do it."

"Do what?" I asked.

"Anything," Ziggy said. "We didn't do anything."

Ranger and I exchanged glances.

"Where is he?" I asked Ziggy.

"Where's who?"

"Mooner."

"Is this a trick question?"

"No," I said. "It's a real question. Mooner is missing."

"Are you sure?"

Ranger and I gave them the silent stare-down.

"Crap," Ziggy finally said.

WE LEFT BENNY and Ziggy with as much information as we had when we arrived. Which meant we had nothing. Not to mention that I felt as if I'd just participated in an Abbott and Costello routine.

"So that seemed to go almost as well as the interview with Vincent," I said to Ranger.

This got me another smile. "Get in the car. We're visiting Mary Maggie next."

I gave him a salute and got into the car. I wasn't sure we were accomplishing anything but it was a nice day to be riding around with Ranger. Riding with Ranger absolved me of responsibility. I was clearly the underling. And I was protected. No one would dare shoot at me when I was with Ranger. Or if they did shoot at me, I was pretty certain I wouldn't die.

We drove in silence to Mary Maggie's condo building, parked one row over from her Porsche, and took the elevator to the seventh floor.

Mary Maggie answered on the second knock. Her breath caught when she saw us and she took a step backward. Ordinarily this reaction might be construed as a sign of fear or guilt. In this case it was the normal reaction women have when confronted with Ranger. To Mary Maggie's credit it wasn't followed by flushing and stammering. Her attention traveled from Ranger to me. "You again," she said.

I gave her a finger wave.

"What happened to your eye?"

"Parking dispute."

"Looks like you lost."

"Looks can be deceiving," I said. Not necessarily in this case . . . but sometimes.

"DeChooch was riding around town last night," Ranger said. "We thought you might have seen him."

"Nope."

"He was driving your car, and he was involved in an accident. Hit-and-run."

It was clear from the expression on Mary Maggie's face that this was the first she'd heard of the accident.

"It's his eyes. He shouldn't be driving at night," she said.

No shit. Not to mention his mind, which should be keeping him off the road all together. The man was a lunatic.

"Was anyone hurt?" Mary Maggie asked.

Ranger shook his head.

"You'll call us if you see him, right?" I said.

"Sure," Mary Maggie said.

"She's not going to call us," I said to Ranger when we were in the elevator.

Ranger just looked at me.

"What?" I asked.

"Patience."

The elevator doors opened to the underground garage and I jumped out. "Patience? Mooner and Dougie are missing, and I've got Joyce Barnhardt breathing down my neck. We ride around and talk to people, but we don't learn anything and nothing happens and no one even seems to be worried."

"We're leaving messages. Applying pressure. You apply pressure in the right spot and things start to break down."

"Hmm," I said, still not feeling like we'd accomplished a lot.

Ranger unlocked his car with the remote. "Don't like the sound of that hmm ."

"The pressure stuff sounds a little . . . obscure."

We were alone in the dimly lit garage. Just Ranger and me and two levels of cars and concrete. It was the perfect setting for a gangland murder or an attack by a deranged rapist.

"Obscure," Ranger repeated.

He grabbed me by my jacket lapels, pulled me to him, and kissed me. His tongue touched mine and I got a rush that was just a millimeter below climax. His hands slid inside my jacket and circled my waist. He was hard against me. And suddenly nothing mattered but a Ranger-induced orgasm. I wanted one. Now. The hell with Eddie DeChooch. One of these days he'd drive himself into a bridge abutment and that'd be the end of that.

" Yes, but what about the wedding?" a small voice murmured from deep in my brain.

Shut up, I told the voice. I'll worry about it later .

" And what about your legs?" the voice asked. " Did you shave your legs this morning?"

Cripes, I was barely able to breathe with needing this goddamn orgasm and now I was supposed to worry about the hair on my legs! Where's the justice in this world? Why me? Why am I the one worrying about the hair on my legs? Why is it always the woman worrying about the freaking hair?

"Earth to Steph," Ranger said.

"If we do it now does it count as a credit toward capturing DeChooch?"

"We aren't doing it now."

"Why not?"

"We're in a parking garage. And by the time I get you out of the garage you'll have changed your mind."

I narrowed my eyes at him. "So what's the point here?"

"The point is that you can break down a person's defense system if you apply the right pressure."

"Are you telling me this was just a demonstration? You got me into this . . . this state to prove a point?"

His hands were still at my waist, holding me against him. "How serious is this state ?" he asked.

If it was any more serious I'd spontaneously combust. "It's not that serious," I told him.

"Liar."

"How serious is your state ?"

"Frighteningly serious."

"You're complicating my life."

He opened the car door for me. "Get in. Ronald DeChooch is next on the list."

The front room to the paving company offices was empty when Ranger and I walked in. A young guy poked his head around a corner and asked what we wanted. We said we wanted to talk to Ronald. Thirty seconds later Ronald strolled in from somewhere in the back of the building.

"I heard an old lady popped you in the eye, but I didn't realize she did such a good job," Ronald said to me. "That's a first-class shiner."

"Have you seen your uncle lately?" Ranger asked Ronald.

"No, but I heard he was involved in the accident outside the funeral parlor. He shouldn't be driving at night."

"The car he was driving belongs to Mary Maggie Mason," I said. "Do you know her?"

"I've seen her around." He looked at Ranger. "Are you working this case, too?"

Ranger gave a barely perceptible nod.

"Good to know," Ronald said.

"What was that?" I asked Ranger when we got outside. "Was that what I think it was? Was that hemorrhoid saying it made a difference with you on board? Like, now he was going to take the search seriously?"

"Let's take a look at Dougie's house," Ranger said.

Dougie's house hadn't changed since the last time I was there. No evidence of a new search. No evidence that Dougie or Mooner had passed through. Ranger and I went room by room. I filled Ranger in on the previous searches and the missing pot roast.

"Do you think it's significant that they took a pot roast?" I asked Ranger.

"One of life's mysteries," Ranger said.

We walked around back and snooped in Dougie's garage.

The little yappy dog that lives next door to Dougie left his post on the Belskis' back porch and skipped around us, yipping and snapping at our pants legs.

"Think anyone would notice if I shot him?" Ranger asked.

"I think Mrs. Belski would come after you with a meat cleaver."

"Have you talked to Mrs. Belski about the people searching the house?"

I smacked myself in the forehead with the heel of my hand. Why hadn't I thought to talk to Mrs. Belski? "No."

The Belskis have lived in their row house forever. They're in their sixties now. Hard-working, sturdy Polish stock. Mr. Belski is retired from Stucky Tool and Die Company. Mrs. Belski raised seven children. And now they have Dougie for a neighbor. Lesser people would have been at war with Dougie, but the Belskis have accepted their fate as God's will and coexist.

The Belskis' back door opened, and Mrs. Belski stuck her head out. "Is Spotty bothering you?"

"Nope," I said. "Spotty is fine."

"He gets excited when he sees strangers," Mrs. Belski said, coming across the yard to get Spotty.

"I understand there've been some strangers going through Dougie's house."

"There are always strangers in Dougie's house. Were you there when he held his Star Trek party?" She shook her head. "Such goings-on."

"How about lately? In the last couple days."

Mrs. Belski scooped Spotty up in her arms and held him close. "Nothing like the Star Trek party."

I explained to Mrs. Belski that someone had broken into Dougie's house.

"No!" she said. "How terrible." She gave a worried glance at Dougie's back door. "Dougie and his friend Walter get a little wild sometimes, but they're really nice young people at heart. They're always nice to Spotty."

"Have you seen anyone suspicious hanging around the house?"

"There were two women," Mrs. Belski said. "One was my age. Maybe a little older. In her sixties. The other was a couple years younger. I was coming back from walking Spotty and these women parked their car and let themselves into Dougie's house. They had a key. I assumed they were relatives. Do you suppose they were thieves?"

"Do you remember the car?"

"Not really. All cars look alike to me."

"Was it a white Cadillac? Was it a sports car?"

"No. It wasn't either of those. I would have remembered a white Cadillac or a fancy sports car."

"Anyone else?"

"An older man has been stopping by. Thin. In his seventies. Now that I think about it, he might have been driving a white Cadillac. Dougie gets lots of visitors. I don't always pay attention. I haven't noticed anyone looking suspicious, except for the women who had a key. I remember them because the older one looked at me and there was something about her eyes. Her eyes were scary. Angry and crazy."

I thanked Mrs. Belski and gave her my card.

When I was alone in the car with Ranger I got to thinking about the face Mooner saw in the window the night he got shot. It had seemed so improbable we hadn't given it a lot of attention. He hadn't been able to identify the face or even give it much detail . . . with the exception of the scary eyes. And now here was Mrs. Belski telling me about a sixty-something woman with scary eyes. There was also the woman who'd called Mooner and accused him of having something that belonged to her. Maybe this was the woman with the key. And how did she get a key? From Dougie, maybe.

"Now what?" I said to Ranger.

"Now we wait."

"I've never been very good at waiting. I have another idea. How about if we use me as bait? How about if I call Mary Maggie and tell her I have the thing and I'm willing to trade it for Mooner. And then I ask her to pass it on to Eddie DeChooch."

"You think Mary Maggie's the contact?"

"It's a shot in the dark."

MORELLI CALLED A half hour after Ranger dropped me off. "You're what?" Morelli yelled.

"Bait."

"Jesus."

"It's a good idea," I said. "We're going to let people think I have whatever it is that they're after . . ."

"We?"

"Ranger and me."

"Ranger."

I had a mental picture of Morelli clenching his teeth.

"I don't want you working with Ranger."

"It's my job. We're bounty hunters."

"I don't want you doing that job, either."

"Well, guess what? I'm not crazy about you being a cop."

"At least my job is legitimate," Morelli said.

"My job is just as legitimate as yours."

"Not when you work with Ranger," Morelli said. "He's a nut case. And I don't like the way he looks at you."

"How does he look at me?"

"The same way I do."

I could feel myself hyperventilating. Breathe slow, I told myself. Don't panic.

I got rid of Morelli, made myself a peanut butter and olive sandwich, and called my sister.

"I'm worried about this marriage thing," I said. "If you couldn't stay married, what are my chances?"

"Men don't think right," Valerie said. "I did everything I was supposed to do and it was wrong. How can that be?"

"Do you still love him?"

"I don't think so. Mostly I'd like to punch him in the face."

"Okay," I said. "I have to go now." And I hung up.

Next, I paged through the phone book, but there was no Mary Maggie Mason listed. No surprise there. I called Connie and asked her to get me the number. Connie had sources for unlisted phones.

"While you're on the line, I've got a quickie for you," Connie said. "Melvin Baylor. He didn't show up for court this morning."

Melvin Baylor lives two blocks from my parents. He's a perfectly nice forty-year-old guy who got taken to the cleaners in a divorce settlement that stripped him of everything but his underwear. To add insult to injury, two weeks after the settlement his ex-wife Lois announced her engagement to their unemployed next-door neighbor.

Last week the ex and the neighbor got married. The neighbor is still unemployed but now driving a new BMW and watching his game shows on a big-screen TV. Melvin, meanwhile, lives in a one-room apartment over Virgil Selig's garage and drives a ten-year-old brown Nova. On the night of his ex's wedding Melvin gulped down his usual dinner of cold cereal and skim milk and in profound depression drove his sputtering Nova to Casey's Bar. Not being any kind of a drinker, Melvin got properly snockered after two martinis. He then got into his wreck of a car, and for the first time in his life showed some backbone by crashing his ex-wife's wedding reception and relieving himself on the cake in front of two hundred people. He was roundly applauded by every man in the room.

Lois's mother, having paid eighty-five dollars for the three-tiered extravaganza, had Melvin arrested for indecent exposure, lewd conduct, trespass on a private party, and destruction of private property.

"I'll be right there," I said. "Have the paperwork ready for me. And I'll get Mason's number when I come in."

I grabbed my bag and yelled to Rex that I wouldn't be gone long. I ran down the hall, down the stairs, and slammed into Joyce in the lobby.

"I heard from people that you've been going all over this morning asking about DeChooch," Joyce said. "DeChooch is mine now. So back off."

"Sure."

"And I want the file."

"I lost it."

"Bitch," Joyce said.

"Snot."

"Fat ass."

"Douche bag."

Joyce whirled around and stormed out of the building. Next time my mother had chicken I was going to wish on the wishbone that Joyce got herpes.

The office was quiet when I got there. Vinnie's door was closed. Lula was asleep on the couch. Connie had Mary Maggie's phone number and Melvin's permission-to-capture paper ready.

"There's no answer at his house," Connie said. "And he called in sick from work. He's probably at home hiding under the bed, hoping it's all a bad dream."

I tucked the permission-to-capture into my bag and used Connie's phone to call Mary Maggie.

"I've decided I want to make a deal with Eddie," I said to Mason when she answered. "Trouble is, I don't know how to get in touch with him. I thought since he's using your car he might call you or something . . . let you know the car's okay."

"What's the deal?"

"I have something Eddie's looking for and I want to trade Mooner for it."

"Mooner?"

"Eddie will understand."

"Okay," Mason said. "If he calls in I'll pass it on, but there's no guarantee I'll be talking to him."

"Sure," I said. "Just in case."

Lula opened one eye. "Uh-oh, are you telling fibs again?"

"I'm bait," I said.

"No kidding."

"What is this thing Chooch is looking for?" Connie wanted to know.

"I don't know," I said. "That's part of the problem."

USUALLY PEOPLE MOVE out of the Burg when they get divorced. Melvin was one of the exceptions. I think at the time of his divorce he was simply too exhausted and down-trodden to conduct any kind of a search for a place to stay.

I parked in front of Selig's house and walked around back to the garage. It was a ramshackle two-car garage with a second-story, one-man, one-room ramshackle apartment. I climbed the stairs to the apartment and knocked. I listened at the door. Nothing. I banged on the door some more, put my ear to the scarred wood, and listened again. Someone was moving around in there.

"Hey Melvin," I yelled. "Open up."

"Go away," Melvin said through the door. "I'm not feeling well. Go away."

"It's Stephanie Plum," I said. "I need to talk to you."

The door opened and Melvin looked out. His hair was uncombed and his eyes were bloodshot.

"You were supposed to appear in court this morning," I said.

"I couldn't go. I feel sick."

"You should have called Vinnie."

"Oops. I didn't think of that."

I sniffed at his breath. "Have you been drinking?"

He rocked back on his heels and a loopy grin spread across his face. "Nope."

"You smell like cough medicine."

"Cherry schnapps. Someone gave it to me for Christmas." Oh boy. I couldn't take him in like this. "Melvin, we have to sober you up."

"I'm okay. Except I can't feel my feet." He looked down. "I could feel them a minute ago."

I steered him out of the apartment, locked the door behind us, and went down the rickety stairs in front of him to prevent him from breaking his neck. I poured him into my CR-V and buckled him in. He hung there suspended by the shoulder harness, mouth open, eyes glazed. I drove him to my parents' house and half dragged him inside.

"Company, how nice," Grandma Mazur said, helping me haul Melvin into the kitchen.

My mother was ironing and tunelessly singing.

"I've never heard her sing like that," I said to Grandma.

"She's been doing it all day," Grandma said. "I'm starting to get worried. And she's been ironing that same shirt for an hour."

I sat Melvin at the table and gave him some black coffee and made him a ham sandwich.

"Mom?" I said. "Are you okay?"

"Yes, of course. I'm just ironing, dear."

Melvin rolled his eyes in Grandma's direction. "Do you know what I did? I urrrrrinated on the cake at my ex-wife's wedding. Pissssssed all over the icing. In front of everyone."

"It could have been worse," Grandma said. "You could have pooped on the dance floor."