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LULA AND I left the bonds office, and Lula looked up and down the street. “I thought for sure there’d be a new black car delivered by now,” Lula said. “You don’t suppose Ranger ran out of cars, do you?”
“Maybe I’ve reached my monthly quota.”
A green SUV pulled in behind Lula’s Firebird, and Morelli got out.
“I’ll be with you in a minute,” I told Lula, and I went to meet Morelli.
Morelli stepped close to me, hands at my waist, and he nuzzled my neck.
“Is this a social visit?” I asked him.
“Not entirely. I wanted to see if you smelled like cow.”
I stepped away and looked at him. “Well?”
“Nope.”
“Is it against the law to smell like cow?”
“It is if you let a herd of them loose in the city.”
“How did you know?”
“Several of the workers who were interviewed remembered seeing a black woman with red hair and big boobs and a pretty girl with a brown ponytail.”
“They thought I was pretty?”
“Everyone thinks you’re pretty,” Morelli said.
“How about you?”
“Especially me,” he said. “What the hell were you doing at the packing plant?”
“I was after Butch Goodey. And it was all an accident.”
“You accidentally started a stampede?”
“Not me, exactly. Butch was working the holding pen, and he panicked when he saw me. And he bolted. And the cows bolted with him.”
Morelli put his hand to his chest. “Heartburn,” he said. “You have any Rolaids?”
“Too much stress,” I said. “It’s your job.”
“It’s not my job. It’s you. You’re a magnet for disaster.”
“So find a new girlfriend. Some nice, boring woman who remembers to buy bread.”
“Maybe I will,” Morelli said.
“Fine!”
“Fine, yourself.”
“Hmmph,” I said, and I turned on my heel, marched back to Lula’s Firebird, and got in.
“That looked like it went well,” Lula said.
“Just drive.”
