“Maybe you should go in and say hello,” my mom said. “He might be happy to see you. You were school friends. You could get to talk to him.”
“We weren’t friends,” I said. “We knew each other. I’m afraid he would be polite in front of his parents and then leave and lead us on a wild goose chase. I want to see where he’s staying. There’s a chance that he’s with Duncan Dugan, and I need to bring him in.”
Grandma was awake and sitting up. “Dugan’s the man who robbed Plover’s,” she said. “He’s the one with all the broken bones.”
“Do you think Nutsy was in cahoots with Duncan on the robbery?” my mom asked.
“It’s possible,” I said. “They knew each other. There’s a connection.”
“You could get an almost-new car if you could grab Dugan and Nutsy,” Grandma said to me. “It would be a twofer. Dugan is a high-money bond and Plover would give you a big bag of money for Nutsy.”
“Dugan is a given,” I said. “I haven’t decided about handing Nutsy over to Plover.”
The Manleys’ front door opened and Nutsy, helmet already in place, walked out with a small insulated cooler. He strapped it onto his passenger seat, straddled the bike, and kick-started it.
“That was fast,” Grandma said. “He wasn’t even in there for ten minutes. He must have called ahead.”
He turned in the driveway, and we all ducked down out of sight. There was the sound of the bike moving away from us, and my mom popped up with her hands on the wheel and her foot on the gas pedal.
“I got him in my sights,” Grandma said. “Don’t get too close. We don’t want to spook him.”
I was leaning forward in the back seat to get a better view. Bob was sitting up next to me, feeling the excitement, not knowing where to put it.
“He’s heading across town,” Grandma said.
“Where’s Dugan live?”
“By the button factory,” I told her.
“He could be heading there.”
It was dark enough that my mom had to use her lights, making it easier for Nutsy to pick up a tail. He turned down a side street, turned again at the first corner, and picked up speed.
My mom dropped back, still keeping him in sight. He turned again, moving into a more urban area with office buildings and restaurants.
“He just cut down that alley,” Grandma said. “He’s going behind the big brick building.”
My mom killed her lights and turned into the alley at full speed. She was hunched over the wheel. Her grip was white knuckled.
“I’m on it,” she said, eyes narrowed.
“Maybe you should slow down,” I said. “This alley is single lane and there’s not good visibility.”
“No problem,” she said. “I can see him ahead of me.”
“Yes, but he’s on a skinny little bike and you’re in a Camry.”
I could see the end of the alley just ahead. There was a U-Haul box truck parked on one side of the alley and a brick wall on the other.
“You can’t fit,” I said to my mom. “It’s too narrow.”
“He’s turning right,” she said. “I can make it.”
“You can’t make it!” I yelled.
Bang! Clank! Both side mirrors got ripped off the Camry. Bob gave a single woof, but my mom never blinked. She wrenched the wheel around and made a sharp right turn.
“Do you see him?” she asked Grandma. “Is he still in front of us?”
“He’s two cars ahead,” Grandma said.
My mom switched her lights on. “Let me know if he turns.”
“I think that’s him taking a left at the next intersection,” Grandma said.
My mom turned but kept her distance. After a quarter mile the 400’s lights blinked off.
“What the heck?” Grandma said.
I lowered my window and stuck my head out. “I can hear him,” I said. “He’s off to the right. I think he cut across an empty lot just ahead and came out on the next street.”
My mom stopped at the empty lot. A small ranch house was on the other side of the block. Lights were on in the back windows. A dog was barking.
“He must have driven between houses,” she said.
She turned at the corner and drove past the houses. There was no sign of Nutsy. I thought I might have heard the 400 in the distance, but it was very faint.
“This is disappointing,” my mom said.
“I thought for sure you were going to jump the curb and cut through the field,” Grandma said. “You were really into it. You were kicking ass.”
“I think I might have gotten a little carried away,” my mom said.
“I liked the part where you barreled through the alley,” Grandma said.
My mom looked out her window at the spot where the side mirror used to be attached. “We should go back to get the mirrors and leave a note in case the U-Haul truck got damaged.”
“And then we’re going to go home, and we’ll all have a whiskeytini,” Grandma said. “A big one.”
* * *
I skipped the whiskeytini, and Bob and I motored home in the Buick. Bob loved the car with the spacious bench seat in the front. I was less enamored. It drove like a refrigerator on wheels and got about three miles to the gallon. Jay Leno might have been able to look sexy in it. When I got behind the wheel, I looked like the sort of woman who would wear cotton granny panties and a hairnet.
I was in my apartment for less than three minutes when Morelli called.
“This is crap,” he said. “The trial is going nowhere. I’m in a cheesy green hotel with water savers in everything that has water. There’s no room service. And I’m running out of clean clothes.” There was a beat of silence. “How’s Bob? How are you doing?”
“Bob is great. I’m in a slump. I can’t catch anyone. I find them. I chase them down. I lose them.”
“If you’re referring to Nutsy and Duncan Dugan, I heard someone blew up the Manleys’ car.”
“Do you know who did it?”
“No,” Morelli said. “Do you?”
“No. Nutsy dropped in on his parents earlier tonight. I think he picked up dinner. I tailed him across town but lost him on King Street. He cut across an open lot, and I wasn’t able to follow him.”
“He still riding the 400?”
“Yep.”
“He’s had that since high school.”
“He’s staying in the area, but he’s hiding. I’d like to know why.”
“Do you think he stole the tray of diamonds?”
“My brain says yes. My gut says no.”
“Not to say anything disparaging about your brain, but I’d go with your gut.”
“Bob is standing in the kitchen looking hungry. How often do you feed him?”
“Twice a day and he gets a treat at bedtime.”
“That’s all?”
“How often have you been feeding him?” Morelli asked.
“It varies. I guess he eats when I eat.”
“Including the doughnuts?”
“Yeah. And then sometimes he eats other people’s food if they aren’t careful.”