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Mitchell's eyes were bugged out of his head and his face was purple. “I'm gonna fucking kill that dog. I'm gonna fucking kill him. You know what he did? He did number two in my car. And then he threw up. What are you feeding him? Don't you know nothing about dogs? What kind of a dog watcher are you?”
“He ate Grandma's prunes,” I said.
Mitchell had his hands to his head. “No fucking kidding.”
I loaded Bob into Big Blue, locked the doors, and drove over the lawn to the street to avoid Habib and Mitchell.
My mother and grandmother were waiting for me, looking through the glass storm door, when I docked the Buick in front of their house.
“We always know when you're coming to visit,” Grandma said. “We can hear this car a mile away.”
No fucking kidding.
“Where's your jacket?” my mother wanted to know. “Aren't you cold?”
“I didn't have time to take a jacket,” I said. “It's a long story. Probably you don't want to hear it.”
“I want to hear it,” Grandma said. “I bet it's a pip.”
“I need to make a phone call first.”
“You can do that while I put the food on the table,” my mother said. “Everything's done.”
I used the kitchen phone to call Morelli. “I have a favor to ask,” I said when he answered.
“Good. I love when you're indebted to me.”
“I'd like you to take care of Bob for a while.”
“You aren't pulling a Simon, are you?”
“No!”
“So what's this about?”
“You know how you have police business that you can't explain to me?”
“Yeah.”
“Well, I can't explain this to you. At least not in my mother's kitchen.”
Grandma bustled into the kitchen. “Is that Joseph on the phone? Tell him we have plenty of fried chicken, but he'll have to get a move on if he wants some.”
“He doesn't like fried chicken.”
“I love fried chicken,” Joe said. “I'll be right over.”
“No!”
Too late. He'd already disconnected. “Set an extra plate,” I said.
Grandma was at the table and looked confused. “Is this extra plate for Bob or Joe?”
“Joe. Bob's stomach is on the blink.”
“No wonder,” Grandma said. “What with all those prunes. And then he ate a box of Frosted Flakes and a bag of marshmallows. I was cleaning your cupboards while I waited for Louise to come over, and I went to use the bathroom, and when I got back there was nothing on the counter.”
I stroked Bob's head. He was such a dopey dog. Not nearly as smart as Rex. Not even smart enough to pass on the prunes. Still, he had his moments. He had wonderful big brown eyes. And I was a sucker for brown eyes. And he was good company. He never tried to change my radio station, and he never once mentioned my pimple. All right, so I was sort of attached to Bob. In fact, maybe I'd been ready to rip Mitchell's heart out with my bare hands when he dognapped the big guy. I gave Bob a hug. He was good to hug, too. “You're going home with Joe tonight,” I told him. “You'll be safe there.”
