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“The three hundred block of Ramsey Street. It was right in front of the Sunshine Hotel.”
The Sunshine Hotel is a roach farm that rents rooms by the hour. No one coming or going from the Sunshine Hotel would ever report anything to anyone.
“I seen lots of stuff,” Lula said, “but this was disgustin’. Blood shot out like one of them oil gushers. And when the head hit the ground, I swear the eyes were lookin’ at me. I guess I need to tell the police, but I only want Morelli.” Lula fixed on me. “You gotta call Morelli.”
“No way. I’m not talking to him. You can call him.”
“I don’t know him like you know him.”
“I don’t know him that way anymore. I’m done with him. He’s a jerk.”
“All men are jerks,” Lula said. “That don’t mean they aren’t good for some things. And Morelli’s a hot jerk. He could be a movie star or a underwear model if he wasn’t a cop. He got all that wavy black hair and dreamy brown bedroom eyes. He’s kind of puny compared to some men I know, but he’s hot all the same.”
Morelli was actually six foot tall and solid muscle, but Lula used to be engaged to a guy who was a cross between an Army tank and Sasquatch, so I suppose by comparison Morelli might measure up short.
“I’ll call Morelli,” Connie said. “He’s a cop, for crying out loud. You don’t need a complicated relationship to call a cop.”
I was halfway to the door. “I’m leaving. Things to do. And I don’t want to see Morelli.”
“Oh no,” Lula said. “You get your boney ass back here. We’re in this together. Through thick and through thin.”
“Since when?”
“Since now. And before that, too. Remember when I rescued you from that big snake in the mobile home? And what about when we were lost in the Pine Barrens?”
“You ran screaming like a little girl when you thought you saw the snake. And Ranger found us in the Pine Barrens.”
“Yeah, but if he hadn’t found us, I would have got us out.”
“You were up to your armpits in a cranberry bog.”
“I don’t never want to see another cranberry, neither,” Lula said.
Twenty minutes later, Morelli sauntered in to the bonds office. He was dressed in jeans and running shoes, a blue button-down shirt that was open at the neck, and a navy blazer. He looked entirely edible and a little wary.
“What’s up?” Morelli asked, eyes on me.
Okay, so I was no longer interested in Morelli. At least I was pretty sure I wasn’t interested. Still, I was wish
ing I’d spent more time on my hair and makeup this morning, so he’d feel really rotten about what he was missing. I have naturally curly shoulder-length brown hair that was currently pulled back into a ponytail. I have blue eyes that look a lot better when they have a swipe of liner and mascara, an okay mouth that so far hasn’t needed artificial plumping, and a little nose that I consider my best feature. Morelli always thought my best feature was located considerably lower on my body.
“It was horrible! It was terrible!” Lula said. “I almost fainted.”
Morelli shifted his attention to Lula. He didn’t say anything, but he looked over at her and raised his eyebrows a little.
“I never saw nothin’ like it,” Lula told him. “One minute, I was having a day like any other, and then whack and this guy didn’t have no head. And blood came out of him like he was a fountain. And when his head hit the ground, his eyes were lookin’ at me. And I think the head might have smiled at me, too, but I’m not sure of that.”
Morelli was back on his heels, thumbs hooked into his jeans pockets. “Is this for real?”
“Hell yeah,” Lula said. “Who makes up shit like that? Don’t I look traumatized? I’m practically turned white. I think my hand might even be shaking. Look at my hand. Is it shaking?”
Morelli’s eyes cut back to me. “Were you with her?”
“Nope.”
“Did anyone call 911?”
“Nope.”
