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“No. I thought of that all by myself.”
Morelli unlocked his SUV. “We’ll pick the Buick up tomorrow morning. Who thought about ripping my clothes off, you or Tiki?”
“It might have been me. And you still haven’t let me look at your underwear.”
Morelli held the door for me. “As soon as we get in the car.”
“Do I get to touch things?”
“Oh yeah. Touching is encouraged.”
ELEVEN
IT WAS SUNDAY morning, and Morelli and I were at his little kitchen table enjoying a leisurely breakfast of coffee and leftover Chinese takeout. Morelli isn’t opposed to sleeping over in my apartment, but truth is, it works better for us to be in his house. My hamster, Rex, is self-sufficient with his water bottle and cache of food. Bob, not so much. Morelli has a yard for Bob plus a twenty-five-pound bag of dog kibble. Morelli also has a toaster and food in his refrigerator.
Morelli was always the bad boy wild child, and I was always the mostly good girl. Not to say I didn’t have my moments in high school. And I for sure was never as good as my sister, Valerie. Still, an odd reversal took place when I wasn’t looking, and I now find myself on the short end of maturity and financial stability.
I heard Morelli’s front door open and close, and then footsteps coming our way. Bob jumped out of his dog bed, ran to the back door, and whined to get out.
“I’ve never seen him do that,” I said to Morelli. “He always rushes to see who came in.”
Morelli stood and let Bob out. “It’s probably Grandma Bella. He’s terrified of her.”
Bob wasn’t the only one terrified of Bella. Everyone was terrified of Bella, including me. She was whacko, making with the evil eye and putting spells on people. Okay, so it was a stretch to think she could make someone break out in boils just by looking at them cockeyed, but there were enough bizarre coincidences to make you want to err on the side of caution and not piss her off.
Bella marched into the kitchen. As always, she was wearing a black dress, black stockings, black low-heeled shoes. Very old school Sicily. Her white hair was pulled back into a bun, she wore no makeup, and her eyebrows were thick and black, forming a unibrow. She could have been an extra in a Godfather movie, speaking broken English and using offensive Italian hand gestures. It was as if the longer she lived in the country, the more Sicilian she became.
She plunked a casserole down onto the table. “It’s Sunday. Why you not at church?” she said to Morelli. “And what this woman doing here?”
“Having breakfast,” he said. “You remember Stephanie.”
Bella narrowed her eyes at me. “Slut. You keeping my grandson from church.”
“Last time I was in church it was Christmas mass,” Morelli said.
Bella made the sign of the cross. “Holy Mother, help him. He good boy but he weak.” She shook her head. “All the Morelli men weak.”
“Thank you for the casserole,” I said.
“I not give it to you,” Bella said. “I make that for my grandson. You eat his casserole and bad thing happen to you. Warts.” She spotted Tiki sitting on the countertop. “What’s this?”
“It’s a Hawaiian wood carving,” Morelli said.
“You don’t have statue of the Virgin in your house but you have this silly thing,” Bella said. “You know nothing. I give it the eye. I fix it good.”
We heard a horn honk from the street.
“Did my mother drive you here?” Morelli asked Bella.
“No. That’s Mrs. Giovi. We’re going to second mass.”
Morelli put his arm around Bella and guided her back through the house to the front door. “Say hello to Mrs. Giovi for me.”
I heard him throw the bolt after Bella left.
“Too late to lock the door now,” I said when he came back to the kitchen. “You’ve got a casserole that’ll give me warts, and she put the eye on Tiki.”
“Too bad about the warts,” Morelli said. “The casserole looks pretty good.”
