12
ONLY ONE FIRE truck was left on the scene, and the remaining firemen were directing the cleanup. A crane had been brought in to move the RGC truck. When they got the truck up and off the Porsche, I'd be able to put the Porsche in my pocket. Connie had picked Lula up and taken her back to work, and most of the returning truck drivers had lost interest and dispersed.
Morelli had arrived seconds after the first fire truck and was now standing threateningly close to me, fist on hip, eyes narrowed, giving me the third degree.
“Tell me again,” Morelli said, “why Ranger gave you a Porsche.”
“It's a company car. Everyone who works with Ranger drives a black car, and since my car is blue—”
“He gave you a Porsche.”
I narrowed my eyes back at him. “Just what is the problem here?”
“I want to know what's going on with you and Ranger is the problem.”
“I told you. I'm working with him.” And I supposed I was flirting with him, but I didn't think it was necessary to report flirting. Anyway, talk about the pot calling the kettle black.
Morelli didn't look satisfied, and he definitely didn't look happy. “I don't suppose you bothered to check the registration number on your Porsche.”
“Don't suppose I did.” And it was unlikely anyone was going to check it now, being that the Porsche was blown up, and its remnants were only three inches thick.
“You weren't worried that you might be driving a hot car?”
“Ranger wouldn't give me a hot car.”
“Ranger would give his mother a hot car,” Morelli said. “Where do you think he gets all those cars he gives away? You think he gets them from the car fairy?”
“I'm sure there's an explanation.”
“Such as?”
“Such as, I don't know. And anyway there are other things that are more important to me right now. Like why did my car explode?”
“Good question. I think it's unlikely the garbage truck side-?swiping you caused the explosion. If you were a normal person I'd be hard-?pressed to find an explanation. Since you're who you are . . . my guess is someone planted a bomb.”
“Why did it take so long? Why didn't it go off when I started the car?”
“I asked Murphy. He's the demo expert. He thinks it might have been set on a timer, so it would go off when you were on the street, not in the lot.”
“So maybe the bomber is someone from the garbage company, and he didn't want the explosion so close to home.”
“We looked for Stemper, but he's nowhere.”
“Did you check for his car?”
“It's still here.”
“Are you kidding me? He's just disappeared?”
Morelli shrugged. “Doesn't mean much. He could have gone out for a drink with a friend. Or he could have gotten fed up with waiting for the lot to get cleared enough to get the cars out and found some other way to go home.”
“But you guys are going to look for him, r
ight?”
“Right.”
“And he isn't home yet?”