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“I’d put you on the line to start. Most of the line workers are women, so you would blend in. All you’d have to do is keep your ears open and look around. I’m told everyone gets to take a pint of ice cream home with them at the end of the shift in Mo Morris’s plant.”
“Hard to pass that up.”
Ranger stopped in front of my apartment building’s back door. I made a move to get out of the car, and he pulled me to him and kissed me. The kiss was light and lingering, sending a clear message of checked passion. He released me and relaxed back into his seat.
“I’ll make the arrangements for you to start work at Bogart’s plant first and be back in touch,” Ranger said.
It took me a couple beats to get myself together. “Okay then,” I said. “Be careful driving home.”
“Babe,” Ranger said.
• • •
Morelli was on my couch watching television when I walked in. His big mostly golden retriever, Bob, was on the couch with him. There was a takeout pizza box on the coffee table.
Morelli looked up at me and grinned. “Have a good night?”
“Eddie Gazarra called you, didn’t he?”
“Cupcake, everyone called me, including your mother and the Trenton Times.”
“News travels fast.”
“Not every day someone gets dipped in chocolate and sprinkled with nuts. Usually people in Trenton just get stabbed and shot.”
I squeezed between Morelli and Bob, flipped the lid up on the pizza box, and took a slice. “I thought you might have gotten the call on this one.”
“I just came off a double shift, so I was low in the rotation. Butch Zajak pulled it.”
“I can’t stop thinking about the dead man.”
“Yeah, me too. Eddie said he was dressed up like a Bogart Bar. I don’t suppose you have any.”
“No, but the freezer truck was filled with cartons of them. It was like the man in the truck was part of the Bogart Bar run.”
“All this talk about Bogart Bars is making me feel romantic,” Morelli said.
Here’s the deal with Morelli. Everything makes him feel romantic.
He wrapped an arm around me and nibbled at my neck. “I’m thinking after the pizza what I need is dessert. Like a Bogart Bar.”
“I don’t have good feelings about Bogart Bars right now.”
“Okay, how about a hot fudge sundae?”
“I guess that would be okay.”
“Do you have ice cream? Chocolate sauce?” Morelli asked.
“No.”
“Some of that whipped cream in a can?”
“No.”
“No problem. I can use my imagination.”
I was warming to the idea.
