“I thought it was some punk thing,” Sally said. “It'd be rad if it was purple. Maybe spiked out.”
* * * * *
AFTER BREAKFAST, Sally and I took another walk over to Morelli's house. We stood in the alley behind the house, and I dialed Morelli on my cell phone.
“I'm in your yard,” I told him. “I didn't want to walk through your back door and get blown away.”
“No problem.”
Morelli was at the sink, rinsing out his coffee mug. “I was just getting ready to take off,” he said. “They found Kuntz's car parked in the farmers' market lot by the tracks.”
“And?”
“That's it.”
“Blood? Bullet holes?”
“Nope,” Morelli said. “A-?one condition. At first glance doesn't look like anything was stolen. No vandalism. No sign of struggle.”
“Was it locked?”
“Yep. My guess is it was left there sometime early this morning. Any sooner than that and it would have been stripped clean.”
“Anything happen here last night?”
“Nothing. Very quiet. What are you up to today?”
I picked at my hair. “Beauty parlor.”
A grin tugged at the corners of Morelli's mouth. “Going to ruin my handiwork?”
> “You didn't take any more hair off than you absolutely had to, right?”
“Right,” Morelli said, the grin still in place.
Usually, I got my hair done by Mr. Alexander at the mall. Unfortunately, Mr. Alexander couldn't work me into his busy schedule today, so I opted for Grandma's salon, the Clip and Curl on Hamilton. I had a nine-?thirty appointment. Not that it mattered. My gossip rating was so high I could walk into Clip and Curl any time of the day or night, no waiting necessary.
We left through the front door, and I noticed the van parked across the street.
“Grossman,” Morelli said.
“He have a Duc in that van?”
“No. He's got a two-?way radio, a crossword puzzle book, and a jelly jar.”
I had my eye on the Porsche and the butter-?soft leather seats. And I knew I'd look very cool in the Porsche.
“Forget it,” Morelli said. “Take the Buick. If you get into trouble the Buick is built like a tank.”
“I'm going to the beauty parlor,” I said. “I'm not going to get into trouble.”
“Cupcake, your middle name is trouble.”
Sally was standing between the Porsche and the Buick. “So, like, what's it gonna be?” he asked.
“The Porsche,” I said. “Definitely the Porsche.”
Sally buckled himself in. “This car does zero to a hundred in a fucking second.” He cranked the engine over and catapulted us off the curb.