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“Everybody knows there’s a period of time to be observed,” Lula said. “It’s common courtesy. How do you know about this?”
“He had to work late, so I offered to walk Bob.”
“Now that was real nice of you. No reason Bob should suffer because you and Morelli aren’t getting along.”
“Anyway, I let myself in and I immediately knew something was going on because the house was clean.”
“Like how clean?”
“Really clean.”
“Maybe his mama came and cleaned up.”
“That was my first thought, but when I went into the kitchen and looked in the fridge there was no Mama Morelli food there. No lasagna. No vodka rigatoni. No ricotta cake. And here’s the clincher.” I paused for effect. “He had Chardonnay chilling in his fridge.”
“What? Are you shitting me? Chardonnay? Morelli isn’t no Chardonnay drinker.”
“I think it must have been in there for his girlfriend.”
“The bitch. I bet she’s a blonde, too.”
“Yes! And thin.”
“Chardonnay drinkers are always skinny blondes,” Lula said. “With fake boobs. Not that I would want to talk bad about someone wanting to enhance their body. Just sayin’.”
“You drink Chardonnay.”
“Yeah, but I don’t like it. I just like the way it sounds… I’ll have a Chardonnay. Someday I might get a dog. It would be one of those Chihuahua dogs and I’d name her Chardonnay.”
Here it is. You think you know someone and then next thing they tell you is that they want a Chihuahua named Chardonnay.
“Wait a minute,” Lula said. “This isn’t the way to Trotter’s house.”
“I’m taking the scenic route,” I said.
“This isn’t the scenic route,” Lula said. “There’s nothing scenic about Trenton. You’re heading for the Mole Hole. I thought we weren’t treasure hunting this morning.”
“I can’t help myself. I’m just going to do a drive-by. See if the gray Range Rover is parked in the lot.”
I drove past the train station and turned onto the Mole Hole street. No gray Range Rover in the lot, but there was a black Mercedes sports car there.
“Gabriela,” I said.
“Maybe she got a job on the pole,” Lula said. “Pick up some spare change.”
“Maybe she’s down in the tunnel,” I said.
“No way are you getting me back in that tunnel. Don’t even think about it.”
“No problem,” I said, cruising past the Mole Hole. “I don’t want to go back into it, either. At least not from the Mole Hole side. I want to take a look at the Margo.”
“I saw it on the news this morning and there isn’t much left.”
The street was open to traffic but the sidewalk in front of the hotel was cordoned off with crime scene tape. A squad car and two sedans were angled against the curb. One of the sedans was an unmarked Trenton PD car. The other sedan had the fire marshal sticker on it. I didn’t see anyone by the cars, so I assumed they were prowling through the rubble. I thought there was also a good chance that Gabriela was on the scene, following the tunnel from the Mole Hole to the Margo. She was pursuing something that was clearly important to her. I didn’t know why or what.
I cruised past the Margo, turned at the corner, and drove to Stiller Street. I did a silent groan when I got there. Trotter’s van was parked at the curb. While I really wanted to be all jazz hands and high-fives about breaking balls, the thought of a drunk Trotter and his elephant syringe was making it hard to get fully motivated.
“I say we need to fortify ourselves before we knock on Trotter’s door,” Lula said. “I guess I’m up for doing some shit, but if we want it to be epic I need a breakfast sandwich. Something with cheese and sausage. Or maybe egg and bacon. Or maybe I could get one of each and combine them and make a super sandwich.”
