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One corner of Morelli's mouth hitched up a fraction of an inch. “You'd lie to the pope.”
I caught myself halfway through the sign of the cross. “I almost never lie.” Only when it's absolutely necessary. And on those occasions when the truth doesn't seem appropriate.
I watched Morelli drive away, and then I headed over to Vinnie's office to get some addresses.
Stephanie Plum 2 - Two For The Dough
10
Connie and Lula were yelling at each other when I walked into the office.
“Dominick Russo makes his own sauce,” Connie shouted. “With plum tomatoes. Fresh basil. Fresh garlic.”
“I don't know about any of that plum tomato shit. All I know is the best pizza in Trenton comes from Tiny's on First Street,” Lula shouted back. “Ain't nobody makes pizza like Tiny. That man makes soul pizza.”
“Soul pizza? What the hell is soul pizza?” Connie wanted to know.
They both turned and glared at me.
“You settle it,” Connie said. “Tell know-it-all here about Dominic's pizza.”
“Dom makes good pizza,” I said. “But I like the pizza at Pino's.”
“Pino's!” Connie curled her upper lip. “They use marinara sauce that comes in five-gallon cans.”
“Yeah,” I said. “I love that canned marinara sauce.” I dropped my pocketbook on Connie's desk. “Glad to see you two getting along so well.”
“Hunh,” Lula said.
I plopped onto the couch. “I need some addresses. I want to do some snooping.”
Connie got a directory from the bookcase behind her. “Who you need?”
“Spiro Stiva and Louie Moon.”
“Wouldn't want to look under the cushions in Spiro's house,” Connie said. “Wouldn't look in his refrigerator, either.”
Lula grimaced. “He the undertaker guy? Shoot, you aren't gonna do breaking and entering on an undertaker, are you?”
Connie wrote an address on a piece of paper and searched for the second name.
I looked at the address she'd gotten for Spiro. “You know where this is?”
“Century Court Apartments. You take Klockner to Demby.” Connie gave me the second address. “I haven't a clue on this one. Somewhere in Hamilton Township.”
“What are you looking for?” Lula asked.
I stuffed the addresses into my pocket. “I don't know. A key, maybe.” Or a couple crates of guns in the living room.
“Maybe I should come with you,” Lula said. “Skinny ass like you shouldn't be sneaking around all by yourself.”
“I appreciate your offer,” I told her, “but riding shotgun isn't part of your job description.”
“Don't think I got much of a job description,” Lula said. “Seems to me I do whatever got to be done, and right now I've done it all unless I want to sweep the floor and scrub the toilet.”
“She's a filing maniac,” Connie said. “She was born to file.”
“You haven't seen anything yet,” Lula said. “Wait'll you see me be an assistant bounty hunter.”
