Until that moment I didn’t know that I liked wind. It just popped out of my head in a burst of desperation to have a passion.
Twenty minutes later I pulled into the parking lot to my apartment building and parked next to Morelli’s green SUV. Here was another thing that I liked. It was nice to come home to Morelli and Bob. Maybe not every day, but sometimes.
Morelli was in the kitchen, unpacking a large to-go bag, when I walked into my apartment.
“I felt like having Chinese,” he said. “I hope that’s okay.”
“That great. What did you get?”
“I got everything.”
We took all the boxes of food into the living room and turned the television on.
“What do you want to watch?” I asked.
“Anything but news.”
I surfed around and settled on a golf tournament. It wasn’t anything either of us was interested in, so it wouldn’t interfere with eating.
“Have you ever played golf?” I asked Morelli.
He mixed fried rice with ginger chicken. “I played a few times with Marty Stackhouse. I liked it okay, but it takes all day, and I don’t have that kind of time.”
“So, it’s not your passion?”
“No.”
“What is your passion?”
He stopped eating and grinned at me.
“Besides that,” I said.
“I guess it’s sports. Hockey, football, baseball. I like to play pool and poker. Is this about my birthday present? It’s not for a couple months.”
“Diesel asked me what my passion was, and I said wind.”
“Cupcake, you’re always saying how you hate wind because it messes up your hair.”
“I know. I panicked! I didn’t have an answer. I haven’t got any hobbies. I don’t play sports. I can’t cook or knit or tap-dance. I’m passionless.”
“You like superheroes,” Morelli said. “You’re an Avengers junkie.”
“That’s true!”
I cracked open a beer and felt much better about myself. I wasn’t boring. I just didn’t have a lot of space in my life right now for my passion. Always living on the edge of financial disaster tended to put the Avengers low on the list of priorities. Catching lawbreaking morons was high on the list. Although it probably wouldn’t hurt to channel Thor when I was trying to get cuffs on an angry 250-pound bad guy.
“Did you have any luck with Oswald today?” Morelli asked.
“I got a glimpse of him twice, but he got away both times.”
“Do you have an address for him?”
“No, but he drives a black 911 Porsche Turbo with New York plates.”
Morelli finished the Kung Pao Chicken and moved on to the fortune cookies. “How’s Melvin doing?”
“I had him stashed with Lula, but she kicked him out, so he’s camping in the park with the duck roaster.”
“Do I want to know any of these details?” Morelli asked. “For instance, who is the duck roaster?”
“Homeless guy who got arrested for barbecuing the ducks in the park. It turned out that he has a nice tent and he agreed to let Melvin stay there with him.” I looked at my watch. “I should check in with Melvin to make sure everything is okay.”
I called Melvin and there was no answer.
“Maybe his phone is dead,” Morelli said.
“He was supposed to keep his phone charged. The duck roaster had a hookup in the public restroom.”
I waited a couple of minutes and tried again. Still no answer.
“I don’t like this,” I said. “We need to go to the park.”
“My fortune cookie told me I was going to get lucky tonight. It’s bad luck to mess with a fortune cookie.”
“We can deal with the fortune cookie after we check on Melvin.”
“Sounds like a plan,” Morelli said. “Bob likes the park.”
CHAPTER NINE
The sun had set but the sky was still light when Morelli parked his car in the lot by the path to the duck pond. A fire truck and an EMT truck were also parked in the lot. My stomach went hollow at the sight of the trucks, and I had my hand on the door handle before Morelli killed the engine. I ran down the path and followed it to the camp chair by the water’s edge. I could hear voices and activity back by the tent site. I hurried along the short trail to the tent and was relieved to see Melvin standing off to one side. He was holding his computer and looking dazed. Andy was on the ground with first responders clustered around him.
“What happened?” I asked Melvin.