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“Sure,” I said. “I'm on my way.”
The bail bonds office sits with its back to downtown Trenton and its front to a small ethnic neighborhood known as the Burg. I was born and raised in the Burg, and while I now live outside Burg limits, I'm still tethered to it by family and history. Once a Burgerbit, always a Burgerbit. Giovichinni’s s is a small family-owned deli a short distance down on Hamilton, and it's the Burg deli of choice. It's also a hotbed of gossip, and I was certain news of my rampage was circulating through every corner of the Burg, including Giovichinni's.
I was currently driving a burgundy Crown Vic that used to be a cop car. I'd needed a car fast, and this was the only car I could afford at Crazy Iggy s Used Car Emporium. I promised myself the Vic was temporary, put it in gear, and motored to Giovichinni's.
I hurried through the store, head down, all business, hoping no one would mention Dickie. I walked away from the butcher unscathed, rushed past Mrs. Landau and Mrs. Ruiz without saying hello, and I stood in line at the checkout behind Mrs. Martinelli. Thank goodness, she didn't speak English. I looked past Mrs. Martinelli and knew my luck had run out. Lucy Giovichinni was at the register.
“I hear you trashed your ex's office this morning,” Lucy said, checking my groceries. “Is it true you threatened to kill him?”
“No! I was there with Lula and Connie. We had some legal issues we wanted to run by him. Honestly, I don't know how these rumors get started.”
And this was only the beginning. I could see it coming. This was going to turn into a disaster of biblical proportions.
I carried my bags to the Vic, loaded them into the trunk along with Aunt Tootsies desk clock, and got behind the wheel. By the time I reached my parent's house, sleet was s
lanting onto the windshield. I parked in the driveway and dragged the bags to the front door, where my Grandma Mazur was waiting.
Grandma Mazur came to live with my parents when my Grandpa Mazur bypassed the FDA and took his trans-fat needs to a higher authority.
“Did you get the coffee cake?” Grandma asked.
“Yep. I got the coffee cake.” I slid past her and carried everything to the kitchen, where my mother was ironing.
“How long has she been ironing?” I asked Grandma.
“She's been at it for about twenty minutes. Ever since the call came in about you sending Dickie to the hospital and then eluding the police.”
My mother ironed when she was stressed. Sometimes she ironed the same shirt for hours.
“I didn't send Dickie to the hospital. And there were no police involved.” At least none that I ran across. “Lula and Connie and I went to Dickie for some legal advice and somehow these rumors got started.”
My mother stopped ironing and set the iron on end. “I never hear rumors about Miriam Zowickis daughter, or Esther Marchese s daughter, or Elaine Rosenbach s daughter. Why are there always rumors about my daughter?”
I cut myself a slice of coffee cake, wolfed it down, and crammed my hands into my jeans pockets to keep from eating the whole cake.
Grandma was stowing the food in the fridge. “Stephanie and me are just colorful people, so we get talked about a lot. Look at all the crazy things they say about me. I swear, people will say anything.”
My mother and I exchanged glances because almost everything crazy that was said about Grandma Mazur was true. If a mortuary viewing was closed casket, she pried the lid open to take a peek. She sneaked out to Chippendales performances when the road show hit town. She drove like a maniac until she finally lost her license. And she punched Morelli s Grandma Bella in the nose last year when Bella threatened to put the curse on me.
'Would you like a sandwich?“ my mother asked. ”Can you stay for dinner?"
“Nope. Gotta go. I have phone work to do.”
Joe Morelli is my off -again, on-again boyfriend. Patience has never been his strong suit, but he's settled into a waiting game while we both struggle with commitment issues. He's six feet of hard muscle and Italian libido. His hair is currently longer than he would prefer, more out of laziness than fashion choice. He's a plainclothes Trenton cop who tolerates my job and my association with Ranger, but would prefer I go a safer route… like working as a human cannonball. Morelli owns a little fixer-upper house not far from my parents, but he sleeps over when all the planets are lined up correctly. For almost two weeks now, the planets have been misaligned, but it looked like today was about to improve because Morelli's SUV was parked in the lot next to my apartment building.
I pulled up next to Morelli's car and cut the Vic's engine. I looked up at my windows and saw that lights were on. I live on the second floor of a no-frills three-story brick building on the edge of Trenton. My unit overlooks the parking lot, and that's fine by me. I can amuse myself watching the seniors smash into each other trying to park.
I grabbed my shoulder bag with my failure to appear files, and hurried into the building. I took the elevator, swung my ass down the second-floor hall, opened the door to my apartment, and stood looking at Morelli. He'd left his boots in my small foyer, and he was at the stove, stirring a pot of spaghetti sauce. He was head-to-toe gorgeous male in thick gray socks and a faded Blue Claws T-shirt that hung loose over his jeans. He had a large spoon in one hand and a glass of red wine in the other. His big, goofy, orange dog, Bob, was at his feet. Morelli smiled and put the spoon and the glass down when he saw me.
“You're home early,” he said. “I thought I'd surprise you with dinner. This feels like a spaghetti night.”
Who would have thought Joe Morelli, the scourge of the Burg, the bad boy every girl wanted and every mother feared, would grow up and get domesticated.
I went to his side and looked into the pot. “Smells wonderful. Do I see hot sausages in there?”
“Yep. From Giovichinni's. And fresh basil and green peppers and oregano. Only a little garlic since I have big plans for tonight.”
My hamster, Rex, lives in an aquarium on the kitchen counter. Rex likes to snooze in his soup can during the day, but Morelli had fed Rex some green pepper, and he was out of his can, busy stuffing the pepper pieces into his cheeks.
