“I’ve tried. The Baked Potatoes communicate through a super secure messenger app. Turns out it wasn’t secure enough to keep out O.W. He’s blocked my account. I’m sure I can break through the block, but I need a place to work.”
My cell phone buzzed, and I saw that it was Lula.
“Hey, girlfriend,” she said. “I’ve been out and about, and I got to talk to some of the Whip Bitches. So far, I haven’t found anyone who had a business relationship with Oswald. How’s it going on your end?”
“It’s complicated on my end,” I said. “Do you remember Melvin Schwartz?”
“No.”
“He’s a local hacker who was bonded out a couple times by Vinnie. It turns out he’s remotely connected to Oswald. And it turns out that Melvin has a friend who was also remotely connected to Oswald, and this friend just got dead, not in a good way.”
“There’s almost never a good way to get dead,” Lula said.
“True,” I said, “but this was really not good. Anyway, Melvin is here in my apartment because he’s afraid he might be next on the to get dead list.”
“I’m obviously missing some key elements to this situation,” Lula said. “There’s more to the story, right?”
“Right. Bottom line is that he can’t go back to his loft and he’s looking for a safe place to stay.”
“And?”
“And do you want him?”
“What does he look like?” Lula asked. “Does he look like a good time?”
“He looks like the Pillsbury Doughboy.”
“Okay, what the heck. Throw in a bottle of wine.”
I got off the phone, grabbed a bottle of red wine from my cupboard, wrote Lula’s address on a scrap of paper, and handed it to Diesel. “Drop Melvin and the wine off at Lula’s place. She’s going to take him.”
“Who’s Lula?” Melvin asked.
“She works at the bail bonds office with me,” I said. “You’ll be safe with her… more or less.”
Diesel and Melvin left and twenty minutes later Morelli arrived with Bob and the chocolate cake.
Bob snuffled me and bounded around the apartment, making sure nothing had changed and there were no cats in residence. Morelli gave me a quick kiss and took the cake into the kitchen.
“Anything new to report?” I asked Morelli. “Was the cause of death determined?”
“His throat was cut. No weapon was found.”
“Horrible.”
“Yeah.” He got a bottle of beer from the fridge and chugged half of it. “Do you want cake?”
“Of course, I want cake.”
I took the cake out of the cooler and set it on the counter. We each took a fork and dug in.
“Did you talk to Melvin Schwartz?” Morelli asked.
“Yes. He’s rattled. He’s worried that he’s next.”
“He thinks Oswald killed Clark Stupin?”
“Yes.”
“What do you think?”
“I think it’s possible. I get the impression from Diesel that Oswald is a bad guy.”
Morelli stepped back from the counter. “We did some serious damage to this cake.” He pulled me to him and kissed me. “I think we should move on to other activities.”
“Television?” I asked.
“Not what I had in mind.”
“I thought you might be out of the mood after dinner interruptus. That was a gruesome crime scene.”
“It was and I don’t want to fall asleep thinking about it. I want to fall asleep thinking about you.”
I wrapped my arms around him. “So, I serve a purpose.”
“You serve many purposes. Almost all of them are good. If you could learn to bake a chocolate cake, I might consider marriage.”
“Seriously?”
“It crosses my mind from time to time.”
“And it all hinges on chocolate cake?”
“Pretty much. You already excel at everything else that matters to me.”
“Housekeeping?” I asked.
“No,” Morelli said.
“Cooking in general?”
“No.”
“Brilliant conversation?”
“No. Although you can hold your own when it comes to Rangers hockey and Giants football.” His hand moved under my shirt and found my breast.
“I think I know where this is going,” I said.
Some women might find it offensive to be reduced to chocolate cake and sex. I wasn’t one of those women. Besides, I knew Morelli was being playful. It would take more than chocolate cake to get him to the altar. He ate in front of the television or in his kitchen because he had a billiard table in his dining room. This was not an indicator of a man ready for marriage.