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“How bad is it?” she asked.
“It's just a nick. And the guy's in jail now, so everything's fine.”
Except I felt a little nauseated, my heart was skipping a beat once in a while, and I didn't want to go back to my apartment. Otherwise, everything was fine.
I put the cookie jar on the table and gave my mother a cup of tea. I sat opposite her and helped myself to a cookie. Chocolate chip. Very healthy, since she'd put some chopped walnuts in, and walnuts are filled with protein, right?
The front door banged open and closed, and Grandma stormed into the kitchen. “I did it! I passed my driver's test!”
My mother made the sign of the cross and put the wet towel back on her head.
“How come your arm's all puffy under your shirt?” Grandma asked me.
“I'm wearing a bandage. I got shot today.”
Grandma's eyes opened wide. “Cool!” She pulled a chair out and joined us at the table. “How did it happen? Who shot you?”
Before I could answer, the phone rang. It was Marge Dembowski reporting that her daughter Debbie, who's a nurse at the hospital, called to say I was shot. Then Julia Kruselli called to say her son, Richard, who's a cop, just gave her the scoop on Homer Ramos.
I moved from the kitchen to the living room and fell asleep in front of the television. Morelli was there when I woke up, the house reeked of stuffed cabbage cooking on the stovetop, and my arm ached.
Morelli had a new jacket for me, one without a bullet hole in it. “Time to go home,” he said, gingerly slipping my arm into the jacket.
“I am home.”
“I mean my home.”
Morelli's home. That would be nice. Rex and Bob would be there. Even better, Morelli would be there.
My mother put a big bag on the coffee table in front of us. “There's some stuffed cabbage and a fresh loaf of bread and some cookies.”
Morelli took the bag. “I love stuffed cabbage,” he said.
My mother looked pleased.
“Do you really like stuffed cabbage?” I asked him when we were in the car.
“I like anything I don't have to cook myself.”
“How'd it go with Homer Ramos?”
“Better than our wildest dreams. The man is a worm. He ratted on everyone. Alexander Ramos should have killed him at birth. And as a bonus, we picked up Habib and Mitchell and told them they were being charged with kidnapping, and they gave us Arturo Stolle.”
“You've had a busy afternoon.”
“I've had a very good day. Except for you getting shot.”
“Who killed Macaroni?”
“Homer. Stolle sent Macaroni over to get the Porsche. Guess he figured it'd pay off part of the debt. Homer caught him in the car and shot him. Then Homer panicked and ran out of the house.”
“Forgetting to put the alarm on?”
Morelli grinned. “Yeah. Homer had gotten into the habit of sampling the wares he carried for Stolle, and he wasn't too with the program. He'd get stoned and go out for munchies and forget to set the alarm. Ranger was able to break in. Macaroni broke in. You broke in. I don't think Hannibal realized the extent of the problem. He thought Homer was sitting tight in the town house.”
“But Homer was a wreck.”
“Yep. Homer was truly a wreck. After he shot Macaroni, he really freaked. In his drugged-out, deranged state I guess he thought he could hide himself better than Hannibal could, so he went back to the house to get his stash. Only his stash wasn't there.”
