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“Are we talking about a catnap or a full-on afternoon nap?” I asked Lula.
“It might be a major nap. And then I got a date tonight with a guy who could be Mr. Good Enough. So I’m gonna need some time to make wardrobe decisions.”
“In other words, I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“Yeah. I’ll be here at eight sharp, and we could get an early start.”
“You’re never here that early.”
“Well, I’m gonna be motivated to be a excellent bounty hunter assistant. I can feel it coming on. And I’ll be ready to go first thing in the morning after a satisfying night of doing … you know. Cross my heart and hope to die.”
THREE
LULA DROPPED ME at my car, and I took a fast assessment of the surroundings. Work was continuing on the new office. The bus wasn’t in flames. DeAngelo’s Mercedes was gone, and Vinnie’s Caddy was still parked. All good things.
I thought about checking in with Connie, but decided against it. I hadn’t made any captures, and a conversation with Vinnie might include a lot of unpleasant nagging about catching Joyce Barnhardt. I’d get her eventually, but I wasn’t up to it right now, so I jumped into my RAV and took off for my parents’ house.
An hour later, I was in my apartment building, lugging my basket of clean clothes, plus my hamster cage, down the hall. I unlocked my door, pushed it open with a hip, and staggered into the kitchen, arms full. I set the laundry basket on the floor, and the hamster cage on my kitchen counter.
“Here you are, back home,” I said to Rex. “Did you have fun with Grandmom?”
Rex was out of his soup can, looking like he wanted a treat, so I got the box of crackers from the cupboard and shared one with him.
Someone rapped on my front door, and I opened the door a crack, leaving the security chain attached. Two men dressed in bureaucrat-level gray suits peeked in at me. Their dress shirts were long past crisp. Their striped ties were loosened at the neck. Their hair was receding. They looked to be late forties. One was around five foot ten. The other was in the five-foot-seven range. I suspected they liked their double bacon cheeseburgers.
“FBI,” the big guy said, flashing me an ID, then returning it to his pocket. “Can we come in?”
“No,” I told him.
“But we’re the FBI.”
“Maybe,” I said to the big guy. “Maybe not. I didn’t catch your name.”
“Lance Lancer.” He gestured at his partner. “This is agent Sly Slasher.”
“Lance Lancer and Sly Slasher? Are you kidding me? Those can’t be real names.”
“It’s right here on our badges,” Lancer said. “We’re looking for an envelope you might have inadvertently picked up.”
“What kind of envelope?”
“A large yellow envelope. It contained a photograph of a man we’re looking for in conjunction with a murder.”
“Wouldn’t that be a job for the local police?”
“It was an international murder. And there was a kidnapping involved. Do you have the envelope?”
“No.” And that was the truth. I suspected they were looking for the envelope I’d thrown away at my parents’ house.
“I think you’re fibbing,” Lancer said. “We have it on good authority you were given the envelope.”
“If I find it, I’ll give it to the FBI,” I said.
I closed and locked my door, and put my eye to the peephole. Lancer and Slasher were standing, hands on hips, looking mildly pissed, not sure what to do next.
I went to the kitchen and dialed Morelli’s cell phone. “Where are you?” I asked him.
“I’m home. I just got in.”
