“I’m not sure,” Melvin said. “I think he might have food poisoning. He started throwing up around six o’clock. It was like The Exorcist. Vomit was exploding out of him. He stopped for a short time and then it started again, and it looked bloody. I didn’t know what to do, so I called 911.”
“You did the right thing,” I said. “Are you feeling okay?”
“Yeah. I didn’t eat the chicken. I ate the cookies.”
Morelli and Bob ambled over. “I talked to one of the EMTs,” Morelli said. “They have him stable and they’re going to take him to the medical center.”
“Who’s this?” Melvin asked.
“Joe Morelli, Trenton PD,” I said. “And the dog is Bob.”
“You brought the police?”
“He was at my house when I tried to call you. He’s my boyfriend.”
It always felt uncomfortable when I referred to Morelli as my boyfriend. I had boyfriends when I was a teenager and the term felt childish now. The problem is that there are no good words to describe an adult relationship. Lover was limiting. Partner was too vague. He was much more than a friend or a date. So, for lack of a better word, he was a boyfriend.
I walked over to Andy. He was on a stretcher, and he looked very pale.
“I’m sorry,” I said. “I hope you feel better.”
They rolled him down the trail to the path, and I went back to Morelli and Melvin.
“Get your backpack,” I said to Melvin. “You can’t stay here.”
“Where am I going to stay?” he asked.
“You can stay with me tonight,” I said. “I’ll figure it out in the morning.”
My hope was that he’d crack Oswald’s code and start pulling information that would lead me to Oswald. If I could catch Oswald, I could get rid of Melvin, I could pay my rent for next month, I could avoid Clark’s viewing, and Morelli might be able to solve his case. The reasons for catching Oswald were adding up. I suspected Diesel had reasons for wanting Oswald that were a lot more serious, but that was his problem and I had mine.
We waited for Melvin to gather his things and we returned to Morelli’s car. The fire truck had already rumbled away and the EMTs were getting ready to leave.
“I have Andy’s Hemingway library in my backpack,” Melvin said. “I figure the parks department will come in and clean out his campsite. I didn’t want him to lose his books.”
“I’ll make sure he gets them,” I said.
We put Melvin in the backseat with Bob, and we left the park.
“Are you getting any closer to tapping into Oswald’s network?” I asked Melvin.
“I’m making progress but it’s slow.”
“Have you been able to contact the other five hackers in Baked Potatoes?”
“No. I haven’t been able to get past the block. I’ve been looking on IRCs we originally met on, too.”
“I don’t suppose we could just take you home to your parents’ house,” Morelli said to Melvin.
“They sort of kicked me out,” Melvin said. “And they converted my room into a home gym.”
“Sisters or brothers or cousins?” Morelli asked.
“None in the area,” Melvin said. “We’re a small dysfunctional family.”
Morelli parked in my building’s lot, walked Bob around a little so he could lift his leg, and we all trooped up to my apartment.
“Have you had anything to eat today besides cookies?” I asked Melvin.
“I don’t think so,” he said. “Not that I can remember.”
“We have leftover Chinese, Froot Loops cereal, and peanut butter. Does any of that interest you?”
“The peanut butter.”
“Good choice,” I said. “You can’t go wrong with peanut butter.”
I put the bread, a jar of peanut butter, a jar of strawberry jam, pickles, olives, and potato chips on the kitchen counter. I looked for Melvin and found him at my dining room table, setting up his computer. No problem, I thought. I can’t cook but I’m a master at making peanut butter sandwiches. I made peanut butter and jelly, peanut butter and olives, peanut butter and pickles and potato chips, and peanut butter and banana sandwiches. I set them next to Melvin with a can of soda and left him to eat and work. Morelli, Bob, and I settled on the couch and found a ball game to watch.
At ten o’clock the sandwiches were all eaten, and Melvin was pacing and mumbling. The ball game was over, Bob had gone out for his last leg lift of the night, and Morelli handed me the slim strip of paper from his fortune cookie that told him he was going to get lucky. I put an extra blanket and pillow on the couch for Melvin, but I suspected it wouldn’t get used.