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“You were here.”
“I left at ten to take the murders in the Berringer Building.”
Uh oh. “Do you think I killed Dickie?” I asked Morelli.
“No. You were naked and satisfied when I left. I can't see you leaving that mellow state and going off to Dickie's house.”
“Let me analyze this a little,” I said to Morelli. “Your expertise in bed is my alibi.”
“Pretty much.”
“Do you think that will hold up in a court of law?”
“No, but it'll look good for me in the tabloids.”
“And if it wasn't for all that good sex and spaghetti, you'd think I was capable of killing Dickie?”
“Cupcake, I think you're capable of most anything.”
Morelli was grinning, and I knew he was playing with me, but there was some truth in what he was saying as well.
“I have limits,” I told him.
He slipped an arm around my waist and kissed my neck. “Fortunately, not too many.”
Okay, so probably I should tell Morelli about Ranger and the bugging, but things were going so well I hated to put a fly in the ointment. If I tell Morelli about the bugging, he'll do his Italian thing, yelling at me and waving his arms and forbidding me to work with Ranger. Then, since I'm of Hungarian descent on my mother’s side, I'll have to do my Hungarian thing and glare at him, hands on hips, and tell him I'll work with whoever I damn well want. Then he'll stomp out of my apartment, and I won't see him for a week, during which time we'll both be upset.
“Are you staying for a while?” I asked Morelli.
“No. I need to talk to someone in Hamilton Township about the Berringer murders. I was passing by and thought you'd want to know about Dickie.” Morelli looked over my shoulder at the open file. “Diggery again? What's he done this time?”
“Got drunk and trashed a bar on Ninth Street with his shovel. Smashed about two thousand dollars' worth of booze and glassware, and chased the bartender down the street.”
“You aren't spending the night in the cemetery, are you?”
“Wasn't planning on it. The ground is frozen. Diggery will wait until someone new is planted and the digging is easier. I checked the obits. No one was buried yesterday, and there aren't any funerals today. Is there a specific reason you're interested, or are you just making conversation?”
“I was thinking about the leftover spaghetti.”
“Bob and I ate it for breakfast.”
“In that case, I'll bring dinner,” Morelli said. “Do you have a preference? Chinese? Pizza? Fried chicken?”
“Surprise me.”
Morelli set his cup on the dining room table and kissed the top of my head. “Gotta go. I'll take Bob with me.”
And Morelli and Bob were gone.
I dialed Lula. “I'm not having any luck getting information out of Diggery s relatives. I'm going to take a ride over there and look around for myself. Do you want to ride along?”
“Hell no. Last time we were in his shit-hole trailer, you opened a closet door and a twentyfoot snake fell out.”
“You can stay in the car. That way, if the snake gets me, and you don't see me after an hour's gone by, you can call to have someone haul my cold dead body out of the house.”
“As long as I don't have to get out of the car.”
“I'll pick you up in a half hour.”
