“I've been busy,” I said.
“So I hear.”
I gave him a raised eyebrow.
“Two suspicious conduct complaints in one day, plus breaking and entering. You must be going for some sort of personal record,” Morelli said.
“Costanza has a big mouth.”
“You were lucky it was Costanza. If it had been Gaspick you'd be calling Vinnie for bail right now.”
We were caught in a gust of wind, and we hunkered down into our jackets.
“Can I talk to you off the record?” I asked Morelli.
“Shit,” Morelli said. “I hate when you start a conversation like this.”
“There's something strange about Uncle Mo.”
“Oh boy.”
“I'm serious!”
“Okay,” Morelli said. “So what have you got?”
“A feeling.”
“If anyone else said that to me I'd walk away.”
“Mo's gone FTA on a carrying charge. It would have gotten him a fine and a slap on the hand. It doesn't make sense.”
“Life never makes sense.”
“I've been out looking for him. He's nowhere. His car is gone, but his garage door was left open. There are dry goods in the garage. Things he wouldn't want stolen. It doesn't feel right. His
store has been closed up for two days. No one knows where he is. His sister doesn't know. His neighbors don't know.”
“What did you find in his apartment?”
“Clothes in the closet. Food in the fridge.”
“Any sign of struggle?”
“None.”
“Maybe he needed to go off to think,” Morelli said. “Did he have an attorney?”
“Waived an attorney.”
“I think you're jumping to conclusions.”
I shrugged. “Maybe, but it still feels strange.”
“Out of character for Mo.”
“Yeah.”
Mrs. Turkevich came out of Fiorello's Deli carrying a grocery bag.