My father perked up at this. “A hacker!” he said. “No kidding?”
“He’s the one who replaced the TV news with a porno movie,” Grandma said.
“Way to go, kid,” my dad said. “That caused a stir at the lodge. We thought Marty Bloomfeld was going to have to get another stint after he watched that clip. Good thing it didn’t last any longer or Marty might have thrown a clot.”
“The station cut it off before it got to the end,” Melvin said.
“It didn’t bother Marty,” my dad said. “He’s used to not getting to the end. He’s getting on in years. He’s happy if he can have a couple minutes in the beginning.”
“We’re ready to eat,” my mom said, slightly slurring her words.
My dad went to the dining room and took his seat at the head of the table. He helped himself to a wing and a drumstick and a mound of mashed potatoes and drowned it all in gravy.
“So, what have you hacked lately?” he asked Melvin. “Have you ever blacked out a grid or taken down a bank or a slaughterhouse?”
The rest of us were gobsmacked because my father never talked at the table. He always concentrated on eating and ignoring Grandma.
“Right now, I’m helping Stephanie break into a private network,” Melvin said.
“It’s the Oswald Wednesday case,” Grandma said. “I’m helping with it.”
“Oswald has a network?” my father said. “Go figure.”
I turned to my father with my fork midway to my mouth. “Do you know Oswald Wednesday?”
“Yeah, sort of short, roly-poly guy with a black ponytail, right?”
“Right,” Diesel and I said in unison.
My father chewed a chunk of meat off the drumstick and some gravy dripped onto his shirt. “I picked him up with the cab a couple times and took him to the train station.” He dabbed at his shirt with his napkin. “He seems like a nice guy. Always gives me a good tip.”
“Where do you pick him up?” Diesel asked.
“Different places,” my father said. “Always downtown by the capital buildings. I figure he lives in one of the high-rises. What’s he done?”
“For starters, he broke into an apartment that was being rented to a cop.”
“It was probably a mistake,” my father said. “He doesn’t look like he needs to rob apartments. He dresses nice and he said he has a Porsche, but he doesn’t like to leave it at the train station. Afraid it won’t be there when he comes home.”
“If you pick him up again, call me,” I said. “His recovery fee will pay my rent for next month.”
“Sure,” my father said. “I don’t have any stuffing. I missed the stuffing.”
Grandma passed him the stuffing and poured herself a glass of wine. “Isn’t this nice,” she said. “I like when the table’s filled with people.”
There was a knock on the front door and Morelli walked in. “I thought I’d find you here,” he said to me. “I called but you didn’t answer.”
“My phone is in my messenger bag,” I said. “I didn’t hear it.”
“This gets better and better,” Grandma said, getting to her feet. “Pull up a chair and I’ll get you a plate.”
Diesel was sitting on one side of me and Morelli took the chair on the other side. Grandma gave Morelli a place setting and a glass of wine.
“I guess you just came from the murder scene,” she said to him. “Stephanie said she didn’t get to see the tongue. Did you at least get to see the dog that ate it?”
Morelli filled his plate. “I did. He belongs to a neighbor.”
“What kind of dog was it?” Grandma asked.
“Black Lab,” Morelli said. “Very friendly. We decided not to charge him with evidence destruction.” Morelli cut his eyes to me. “Usually when people and animals tamper with evidence there are repercussions.”
“But not always?” I asked.
“Sometimes there are extenuating circumstances,” Morelli said.
“Like when a fortune cookie is involved?” I asked.
“Yeah,” Morelli said. “A fortune cookie could make a difference.”
Two people to a side at my mom’s table was comfortable. Three to a side was a tight fit. I was squashed between Diesel and Morelli and the best I could say about my position was that it kept them from challenging each other to arm wrestling.
Diesel excused himself after the apple pie. Morelli waited until I’d helped clear the table before he pulled me aside.