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“He’s off to a good start in Trenton,” I said.
“Fortunately, there was only one death. It looks like McCready is going to be okay. And I should be back in my building sometime tomorrow.”
TWENTY-TWO
RANGER DROPPED BRIGGS off at my apartment.
“Thanks,” I said to Briggs. “You were great.”
“What? I need a mate?”
“No! You were great!” I yelled. “Thank you!”
“Yeah, anytime,” Briggs said. “I could use some wine when you get back this way. Mine went when the car blew up.”
“Okay,” I said. “I’ll make sure you get wine.”
“I could have someone pick him up and drop him off in North Carolina,” Ranger said.
I declined the offer, and parted company with Ranger at the bail bonds office.
“Hey, look who’s back,” Lula said. “Is everything secure in Rangerland?”
“Pretty much. I think he’ll be able to go back into his building tomorrow.”
“I have a new skip for you,” Connie said. “Forest Kottel. He’s a low-level bond, and there’s no rush on it. Gives his address as a cardboard box on Geneva Street, off Stark. Wanted for shoplifting in a grocery store on Stark.”
“That’s just sad,” Lula said. “A man finds a nice box to live in, you’d think he could put it someplace better than that corner.”
“Vinnie bonded out a homeless person?” I asked Connie. “How did this guy secure his bond?”
“A relative in Cleveland wired the money.”
I took the file and shoved it into my bag. “I’m going to mooch lunch from my mom,” I said. “I’ll probably stop back later this afternoon.”
“I got a better idea,” Lula said. “How about if I go with you, and then after you mooch lunch we can look for Forest? His box is a block away from the pizza place in Buster’s building. If we get there in the middle of the afternoon, I bet there’s no line, and we can waltz right in and get pizza.”
“Sounds like a plan.”
My mother was ironing when Lula and I walked into the kitchen.
“Hey, Mrs. P.,” Lula said. “How’s it going?”
“She’s ironing,” Grandma said. “That’s how it’s going. She’s been ir
oning for four hours.”
“I guess you’re needing some mental health time, eh?” Lula said to my mom. “I know how that is. And ironing is real calming. Although you might want to think about how you’re scorching that shirt you’re working on.”
“She’s been ironing the same shirt for forty-five minutes,” Grandma said. “She’s run out of clothes.”
“Maybe you want to switch her over to alcohol before she starts to smoke,” Lula said.
“It’s Bella,” Grandma said. “Even though she has no good proof that I was the one who pied her, she’s going all over telling everyone I did it.”
“Well, were you the one?” Lula asked Grandma.
“I don’t want to admit to anything, but I might have done it.”
