Mrs. Karwatt pitched her bag into the Dumpster and headed back to the building. I sort of wanted to go with her, but my knees were shaky, and my feet weren't moving.
I wrenched the door open on the Buick and collapsed onto the seat, hands clutching the wheel. Okay, I said to myself. Get a grip. These were two freak incidents. The first shooting was mistaken identity. And the second shooting was . . . what? A death threat.
SHIT.
I pulled the cell phone out of my shoulder bag and dialed up Morelli.
“Someone just shot at me!” I yelled into the phone at him. “I was getting into my car in my parking lot, and this guy in a ski mask drove up and told me to lay off looking for Mo. And then he shot at me. Warning shots, he said. And then he drove away.”
“Are you hurt?”
“No.”
“Are you in immediate danger?”
“No.”
“Did you make a mess in your pants?”
“Came damn close.”
We were silent for a couple beats while we digested all this.
“Did you get his plate number?” Morelli asked. “Can you give me a description of the guy?”
“I was too rattled to think to get the plate. The guy was average build. White. That's all I've got.”
“Are you going to be okay?”
“Yeah.” I nodded my head in the car. “I feel better now. I just . . . I had to tell somebody.”
“While I have you on the phone . . .” Morelli said.
Damn! I forgot I was avoiding Morelli! I snapped the cell phone closed. No sweat, I told myself. No harm done. But probably it's not a good idea to hang out in the lot. That left me with two choices. I could go with my plan to visit my parents, or I could return to my apartment and hide in my coat closet. The coat closet held a lot of appeal short-term, but at some point I'd have to venture out, and by that time I'd most likely have missed dinner.
Go with dinner, I thought. Do the coat closet later.
My mother wasn't smiling when she opened the door.
“Now what?” she said.
“I didn't do it.”
“You used to say that when you were a little girl, and it was always a fib.”
“Cross my heart,” I said. “I didn't shoot anybody. I accidentally got knocked out, and when I came to I was sharing a hallway with a dead guy.”
“You got knocked out!” My mother smacked the heel of her hand against her forehead. “I have to have a daughter who goes around getting herself knocked out.”
Grandma Mazur was in line behind my mother.
“Are you sure you didn't pop him one? I could keep a secret, you know.”
“I didn't pop him!”
“Well that's a big disappointment,” she said. “I had a good story all ready to tell the girls at the beauty parlor.”
My father was in the living room, hiding in front of the TV. “Unh,” he said, never moving a muscle.