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We went back to our cars. Carol went home. And I went to the office.
“Oh boy,” Lula said when she saw me. “Think we got a good story walking in the door, here. What's with the handcuff?”
“I thought it would look good with the cheese balls in my hair. You know, dress up the outfit.”
“I hope it was Morelli,” Connie said. “I wouldn't mind being cuffed by Morelli.”
“Close,” I said. “It was Ranger.”
“Uh-oh,” Lula said. “Think I just wet my pants.”
“It wasn't anything sexual,” I said. “It was . . . an accident. And then we lost the key.”
Connie fanned herself with a manila folder. “I'm having a hot flash.”
I gave Connie the body receipt for Elwood Steiger. All things considered, it had been easy money. No one shot at me or set me on fire.
The front door crashed open and Joyce Barnhardt burst in. “You're gonna pay for that,” she said to me. “You're gonna be sorry you messed with me!”
Lula and Connie swiveled their heads to me and gave me the “What?” look.
“Carol Zabo and some friends helped me out by leaving Joyce tied to a tree . . . naked.”
“I don't want any shooting in here,” Connie said to Joyce.
“Shooting's too easy,” Joyce said. “I want something better. I want Ranger.” She narrowed her eyes at me. “I know you're cozy with him. Well, you better use that as leverage and deliver him to me. Because if you don't deliver him to me in twenty-four hours I'm pressing kidnapping charges against Carol Zabo.” Joyce wheeled around on her highheeled boots and swished out the door.
“Sheee-it,” Lula said. “There's that sulfur smell again.”
Connie handed me my check for Elwood. “This is a dilemma.”
I took the check and dropped it into my bag. “I have so many dilemmas I can't even remember them all.”
OLD MRS. BESTLER was in the elevator, playing elevator operator. “Going up,” she said. “Ladies' handbags, lingerie . . .” She leaned on her walker and looked at me. “Oh dear,” she said, “the beauty salon's on the second floor.”
“Good,” I told her. “That's just where I'm going.”
My apartment was quiet when I let myself in. The extra blankets were neatly stacked on the couch. A note had been placed on one of the pillows. Only one word had been written on the paper. “Later.”
I dragged myself into the bathroom, stripped, and washed my hair, several times. I got dressed in clean clothes, then blasted my hair with the dryer, and pulled it into a ponytail. I called Morelli to see how Bob was doing, and he said Bob was fine and his neighbor was dog-sitting. Then I went down to the basement and got Dillan to hacksaw through the chain on the cuffs, so I didn't have the second bracelet swinging in the breeze.
Then I didn't have anything to do. I didn't have any FTAs to retrieve. I didn't have a dog to walk. I had no one to watch, no houses to break into. I could have gone to a locksmith to have the cuff opened, but I had hopes of getting the key from Ranger. I was going to turn him over to Joyce tonight. Better to deliver Ranger to Joyce than have to talk Carol off the bridge again. Rescuing Carol from a watery grave was getting old. And it'd be easy to deliver Ranger. All I had to do was arrange a meeting. Tell him I wanted the cuff off, and he'd come to me. Then I'd knock him out with the stun gun and pack him off to Joyce. Of course, after I handed him over I'd have to do something sneaky and rescue him. I certainly wasn't going to have Ranger hauled off to jail.
Since it would appear I didn't have anything on the agenda until tonight, I thought I should clean the hamster cage. And after the hamster cage, maybe I'd do the refrigerator. Hell, I might even get totally carried away and scour the bathroom . . . no, that wasn't likely. I dumped Rex out of his soup can and put him in my big spaghetti pot on the kitchen counter. He sat there, blinking in the sudden light, unhappy to have his sleep interrupted.
“Sorry, little guy,” I said. “Gotta clean the ol' hacienda.”
Ten minutes later, Rex was back in his cage, frantic because all his buried treasures were now in a big black plastic garbage bag. I gave him a cracked walnut and a raisin. He took the raisin into his new soup can, and that was the last I saw of him.
I looked out my living room window, down into the wet parking lot. Still no sign of Habib and Mitchell. All the cars belonged to tenants. Good deal. It was safe to get rid of my garbage. I shrugged into my jacket, grabbed the bag of hamster bedding, and hustled down the hall.
Mrs. Bestler was still in the elevator. “Oh, you look much better now, dear,” she said. “Nothing like spending a relaxing hour at the beauty parlor.” The elevator doors opened to the lobby, and I hopped out. “Going up,” Mrs. Bestler sang out. “Menswear, third floor.” And the doors slid shut.
I crossed the lobby to the rear entrance and paused for a moment to pull my hood up. The rain was steady. Water pooled on the glistening blacktop and beaded on the old folks' freshly waxed cars. I stepped outside, put my head down, and hurried across the lot to the Dumpster.
I pitched the bag inside the bin, turned, and found myself face to face with Habib and Mitchell. They were soaking wet, and they didn't look friendly.
“Where'd you come from?” I asked. “I don't see your car.”
