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I waited until Grandma was safely inside, and then I headed over to Morelli’s neighborhood. I drove down his street and idled in front of his house. It was dark. I hadn’t called him, and he wasn’t expecting me. Not that it mattered. I had a key. I parked Big Blue at the curb, let myself in, and started to tiptoe up the stairs when Bob came bounding down and slammed into me. So much for my stealth entrance.
Morelli was at the head of the stairs. He was naked, and he had a gun.
“I wasn’t expecting you,” Morelli said.
“I see you’re armed and dangerous.”
He looked down at himself. “It’s going to get a lot more dangerous now that you’re here.”
TWENTY-TWO
I HEARD MORELLI calling me through the fog of sleep. His hand was on my bare shoulder. I think he kissed me on the forehead. Or maybe I was dreaming.
“Steph!”
I opened my eyes. “Again?”
“No,” Morelli said. “I have to go to work, but I need to show you something first.”
“What time is it?”
“Six o’clock.”
“In the morning?” I sat up and swung my legs over the side of the bed. “This better be good. I hope you’re not going to show me the same stuff you showed me last night.”
Morelli grinned. “You liked it last night.”
“Yes, but that was last night. I’m not a morning person.” I looked around for my clothes. “Should I get dressed?”
Morelli grabbed a robe from the closet, stuffed me into it, and tied the belt. “This will only take a minute,” he said. “And then you can go back to bed.”
I followed him down the stairs to the front door and stared at the words scratched into it: NEED BRAIN. Below it was the stick figure of a woman with curly hair. A half-empty take-out container and plastic fork had been left in the middle of Morelli’s sidewalk.
“What’s with the trash?” I asked.
“Zombie late-night snack,” Morelli said. “The deli label says ‘calf brains,’ and I’m not sure, but it looks like it was doused with hot sauce.”
He took a plastic evidence bag from his pocket and gingerly dropped the take-out container and fork into it.
“How could the zombie have known I was here?” I asked.
“Maybe it didn’t. Maybe this was random.”
“I don’t think it was random. When I went back to my apartment yesterday, ‘brains’ and ‘die’ had been scratched into my door. There was a smear of something that looked like blood. And the elevator smelled like carnations.”
“You didn’t tell me.”
“I didn’t want to ruin your day.”
“Nice of you, but misguided.”
“It would be good if you could figure this out and get rid of the zombies.”
“I should start to get the lab reports back today. Plus, I’m going back to Diggery’s woods with a search team. In the meantime, you need to be careful. Keep the doors locked. And I can’t believe I’m saying this, but put some bullets in your gun.”
“Did the zombie write anything on my car?”
“It looks like it tried but couldn’t scratch through the paint.”
