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Morelli wrapped his arms around me. “It’s not your fault.”
“That’s what Eddie said.”
“In the interest of mental health I’m suggesting you move on to something more positive…like sex or lasagna.”
“Lasagna!”
“I knew I shouldn’t have given you a choice.”
I went to the fridge, grabbed two bottles of beer, and gave one to Morelli. “Anything new on the Bogart Bar man?”
“The truck was stolen at nine o’clock Monday night. It’s unlikely the human resources man was on the truck at that time. And it’s unlikely that the crime was committed at the plant. Everything indicates the HR man was killed, frozen, and coated in chocolate off-site.”
“Could Virgil have been the killer?”
“Hard to believe. Probably Virgil happened on the truck and hijacked it. Thought it was his lucky day.”
“Someone went to a lot of trouble to make Arnold Zigler into a Bogart Bar.”
“Yeah. It showed motivation.”
Morelli pulled the lasagna out of the oven and brought it to the table. I poured dog kibble into a bowl for Bob, and brought over the bread and two more bottles of beer.
“Do you guys have any persons of interest?” I asked Morelli.
“No.” He looked across the table at me. “Do you?”
“No.”
Morelli served the lasagna, and we all dug in. Morelli’s mom was an amazing cook. My mom was good, but Morelli’s mom was a pro. Her lasagna noodles were always perfect. Her red sauce was a family secret. She used just the right amount of ricotta, mozzarella, and Italian sausage.
“This is fantastic,” I said to Morelli.
He smiled. “You always say that.”
“I wish I could cook like your mom.”
“You have other talents.”
I wasn’t going to pursue this. If I asked about my other talents we’d never finish dinner. We’d be in the bedroom. Don’t get me wrong. I like sex. I like it a lot. I just don’t like it as much as I like Morelli’s mom’s lasagna.
“Do you have any lab reports back?” I asked.
“It looks like the chocolate and nuts came from the Bogart plant. Time of death seems to be late Friday. DNA will take longer.”
“Prints?”
“Nothing on the body. The truck was covered with them, including yours. Lots of people come in contact with that truck during a normal business day.”
My phone buzzed with a text message from Ranger.
“I’m working the loading dock tomorrow,” I told Morelli. “I’m supposed to report to the foreman at eight o’clock. And I’m supposed to wear sensible shoes.”
“Walk me through the purpose for this job one more time,” Morelli said.
“Ranger’s been hired by Harry Bogart to improve his security. Bogart thinks someone is trying to sabotage his business. So Ranger hired me to go inside and look around.”
“And the Bogart Bar guy?”
