I swiveled in my seat and faced Joe and he froze with his fork halfway to his mouth. There'd been rumors about Joe and Terry Gilman all through high school. Not that a rumor linking Morelli to a woman was unusual. But Gilman was different. She was a cool blonde with ties to the Mob and an ongoing relationship with Morelli. Morelli swore the relationship was professional and I believed him. That isn't to say that I liked it. It bore a disturbing parallel to my relationship with Ranger. And I knew that as hard as I tried to ignore the chemistry between Ranger and me, it still simmered below the surface.
I narrowed my eyes just a tiny bit and leaned forward, invading Morelli's space. “You jumped out of Terry Gilman's window?”
“I told you.”
“You didn't tell me. I would have remembered.”
“It was the day you wanted to go out for pizza and I said I had to work.”
“And?”
“And that was it. I told you I had to work. Can we discuss this later?”
“I wouldn't put up with that,” Valerie said, working the lasagna around in her mouth, grabbing a meat-?and-?cheese roll-?up from the antipasto tray. “I ever get married again, I want full disclosure. I don't want any of this 'I have to work, honey' baloney. I want all the answers up front, in detail. You don't keep your eyes open and next thing your husband s in the coat closet with the baby-?sitter.”
Unfortunately, Valerie was speaking from firsthand experience.
“I've never jumped out of a window,” Kloughn said. “I thought people just did that in the movies. You're the first person I've ever met who jumped out of a window,” he said to Morelli. “And a bedroom window, too. Did you have your clothes on?”
“Yeah,” Morelli said. “I had my clothes on.”
“How about your shoes? Did you have your shoes on?”
“Yes. I had my shoes on.”
I almost felt sorry for Morelli. He was making a major effort not to lose his temper. A younger Morelli would have broken a chair over Kloughn's head.
“I heard Terry didn't hardly have anything on,” Grandma said. “Loretta's sister lives right across from Terry Gilman and she said she saw the whole thing and Terry was wearing a flimsy little nightie. Loretta's sister said even from across the street you could see right through the nightie and she thinks Terry got a boob job because Terry's boobs were perfect. Loretta's sister said there was a big to-?do with the police showing up on account of all the shooting.”
I tried to contr
ol my eyebrows from jumping halfway up my forehead. “Nightie? Shooting?”
“Loretta's sister was the one who called the police,” Joe said. “And there wasn't a lot of shooting. A gun accidentally discharged.”
“And the nightie?”
The anger disappeared and Morelli tried unsuccessfully to stifle a smile. “It wasn't exactly a nightie. She was wearing one of those camisole tops and a thong.”
“No kidding!” Kloughn said. “And you could see through it, right? I bet you could see through it.”
“That does it,” I said, standing at my seat, throwing my napkin onto the table. “I'm out of here.” I stomped out of the dining room into the foyer and stopped with my hand on the door. “What did you make for dessert?” I yelled to my mother.
“Chocolate cake.”
I wheeled around and flounced off to the kitchen. I cut a good-?size wedge from the cake, wrapped it in aluminum foil, and swept out of the house. Okay, so I was acting like an idiot. At least I was an idiot with cake.
I took to the road and drove off, spewing indignation and self-?righteous fury. I was still fuming when I reached Joe's house. I sat there for a couple beats, considering my predicament. My clothes and my hamster were in the house. Not to mention my safety and great sex. Problem was, there was all this . . . emotion. I know emotion covers a lot of ground, but I couldn't hang a better name on my feelings. Wounded might be in the ballpark. I was stung that Morelli couldn't keep from smiling when he thought back to Gilman in her thong and camisole. Gilman and her perfect boobs. Unh. Mental head slap.
I opened the aluminum foil and ate the chocolate cake with my fingers. When in doubt, eat some cake. Halfway through the cake I started to feel better. Okay, I said to myself, now that we have some calm, let's take a look at what happened here.
To begin with, I was a big fat hypocrite. I was all bent out of shape over Morelli and Gilman when I had the exact same situation going on between Ranger and me. These are working relationships, I told myself. Get over it. Grow up. Have some trust here.
Okay, so now I've yelled at myself. Anything else going on? Jealousy? Jealousy didn't feel like a fit. Insecurity? Bingo. Insecurity was a match. I didn't have a lot of insecurity. Just enough insecurity to surface at times of mental health breakdown. And I was definitely having a mental health breakdown. The denial thing wasn't working for me.
I put the car in gear and drove to my apartment building. I wouldn't stay long, I decided. I'd just go in and retrieve a few things . . . like my dignity, maybe.
I parked in the lot, shoved the door open, and swung from behind the wheel. I beeped the car locked with the remote and headed for the back door to my building. I was halfway across the lot when I heard a sound behind me. Phunf. I felt something sting my right shoulder blade and heat swept through my upper body. The world went gray, then black. I put my hand out to steady myself and felt myself slide away.