“I should have known,” Carl said, standing flat-footed, gravity pulling hard on his gun and utility belt. “I should have known when the call came in that it would be you.”
“I gotta go,” Lula said, easing past Carl, tiptoeing down the stairs. “I can see you two want to have a conversation. Wouldn't want to be an interference.”
“Lula,” I shouted, “don't you dare leave without me!”
Lula was already rounding the corner of the building. “I might even be coming down with a cold, and I wouldn't want to pass that on to you-all.”
“Well,” Carl said, “want to tell me about this?”
“You mean about Lula and me being in Uncle Mo's apartment?”
Carl grimaced. “You're going to make up some ridiculous story, aren't you?”
“Mo's FTA. I came here looking for him, and his door was wide open. Must have been the wind.”
“Uh-huh.”
“And then Lula and I got worried. What if Mo was injured? Like maybe he'd fallen in the bathroom and hit his head and was unconscious.”
Carl held his hands up. “Stop. I don't want to hear any more. Are you finished with your search?”
“Yes.”
“Did you find Mo unconscious on the bathroom floor?”
“No.”
“You're going home now, right?”
“Right.” Carl was a good guy, but I thought breaking into Mo's store while Carl was looking over my shoulder might be pressing my luck, so I closed Mo's door and made sure the lock clicked.
When I got out to the street, Lula and the Firebird were nowhere to be seen. I put my head down and walked to my parents' house, where I was pretty sure I could mooch a ride.
My parents lived deep in the burg in a narrow duplex that on a cold day like this would smell like chocolate pudding cooking on the stove. The effect was similar to Lorelei, singing to all those sailors, sucking them in so they'd crash on the rocks.
I walked three blocks down Ferris, and turned onto Green. The raw cold ate through my shoes and gloves and made my ears ache. I was wearing a Gore-Tex shell with a heavy fleece liner, a black turtleneck and a sweatshirt advertising my alma mater, Douglass College. I pulled the jacket hood over my head and tightened the drawstring. Very dorky, but at least my ears wouldn't crack off like icicles.
“What a nice surprise,” my mother said when she opened the door to me. “And we're having roast chicken for dinner. Lots of gravy. Just like you like it.”
“I can't stay. I have plans.”
“What plans? A date?”
“Not a date. These are work plans.”
Grandma Mazur peeked around the kitchen door. “Oh boy, you're on a case. Who is it this time?”
“No one you know,” I said. “It's something small. Really, I'm doing it as a favor to Vinnie.”
“I heard old Tom Gates got arrested for spitting in line at Social Security. Is it Tom Gates you're after?” Grandma asked.
“No. It's not Tom Gates.”
“How about that guy they were talking about in the paper today? The one who pulled that motorist through his car window by his necktie.”
“That was just a misunderstanding,” I said. “They were in dispute over a parking space.”
“Well, who then?” Grandma wanted to know.