"There's something else going on," I said. "What aren't you telling me?"

"Hey, nothing, dude. I swear."

Call me crazy, but I like Dougie. He might be a schnook and a schemer, but he was kind of an okay okay schnook and schemer. And now he was missing, and I was having a bad feeling in my stomach. schnook and schemer. And now he was missing, and I was having a bad feeling in my stomach.

"How about Dougie's family? Have you spoken to any of them?" I asked.

"No, dude, they're all in Arkansas someplace. The Dougster didn't talk about them a lot."

"Does Dougie have a phone book?"

"I've never seen one. I guess he could have one in his room."

"Stay here with Bob and make sure he doesn't eat anything. I'll check out Dougie's room."

There were three small upstairs bedrooms. I'd been in the house before, so I knew which room was Dougie's. And I knew what to expect of the interior design. Dougie didn't waste time with the petty details of housekeeping. The floor in Dougie's room was littered with clothes, the bed was unmade, the dresser was cluttered with sc.r.a.ps of paper, a model of the starship Enterprise Enterprise, girlie magazines, food-encrusted dishes and mugs.

There was a phone at bedside but no address book beside the phone. There was a piece of yellow notepaper on the floor by the bed. There were a lot of names and numbers scribbled in no special order on the paper, some obliterated by a coffee cup stain. I did a fast scan of the page and discovered several Krupers were listed in Arkansas. None in Jersey. I scrounged through the mess on his dresser and just for the h.e.l.l of it snooped in his closet.

No clues there.

I didn't have any good reason to look in the other bedrooms, but I'm nosey by nature. The second bedroom was a spa.r.s.ely furnished guest room. The bed was rumpled, and my guess was Mooner slept there from time to time. And the third bedroom was stacked floor-to-ceiling with hijacked merchandise. Boxes of toasters, telephones, alarm clocks, stacks of T-shirts, and G.o.d-knows-what-else. Dougie was at it again.

"Mooner!" I yelled. "Get up here! Now Now!"

"Whoa," Mooner said when he saw me standing at the doorway to the third bedroom. "Where'd all that stuff come from?"

"I thought Dougie gave up dealing?"

"He couldn't help himself, dude. I swear he tried, but it's in his blood, you know? Like, he was born to deal."

Now I had a better idea of the origin of Mooner's nervousness. Dougie was still involved with bad people. Bad people are just fine when everything's going good. They become a concern when your friend shows up missing.

"Do you know where these boxes came from? Do you know who Dougie was working with?"

"I'm like, clueless. He took a phone call and then next thing there's a truck in the driveway and we've got this inventory. I wasn't paying too much attention. Rocky and Bullwinkle were on, and you know how hard it is to tear yourself away from ol' Rocky."

"Did Dougie owe money? Was there something wrong with the deal?"

"Didn't seem like it. Seemed like he was real happy. He said the stuff he got was a quick sale. Except for the toasters. Hey, you want a toaster?"

"How much?"

"Ten bucks."

"Sold."

I MADE A quick stop at Giovichinni's for a few food-type essentials, and then Bob and I hustled home for lunch. I had my toaster under one arm and my grocery bag in another when I got out of the car.

Benny and Ziggy suddenly materialized from nowhere.

"Let me help you with that bag," Ziggy said. "A lady like you shouldn't be carrying her own bag."

"And what's this? A toaster," Benny said, relieving me of the toaster, looking at the box. "This is a good one, too. It's got those extra-wide slots so you can do English m.u.f.fins."

"I'm fine," I said, but they already had the bag and the toaster and were ahead of me, going through the door to my building.

"We just thought we'd stop by and see how things were going," Benny said, punching the elevator b.u.t.ton. "You have any luck with Eddie yet?"

"I saw him at Stiva's, but he got away."

"Yeah, we heard about that. That's a shame."

I opened my door and they handed me my bag and toaster and peeked inside my apartment.

"You don't got Eddie in here, do you?" Ziggy asked.

"No!"

Ziggy shrugged. "It was a long shot."

"Nothing ventured, nothing gained," Benny said.

And they left.

"You don't have to pa.s.s an intelligence test to get into the mob," I said to Bob.

I plugged my new toaster in and fed it two slices of bread. I made Bob a peanut b.u.t.ter sandwich with untoasted bread, I took the toasted peanut b.u.t.ter sandwich, and we ate, standing in the kitchen, enjoying the moment.

"I guess it's not so hard to be a housewife," I said to Bob, "as long as you have peanut b.u.t.ter and bread."

I called Norma at the DMV and got the license number for Dougie's 'Vette. Then I called Morelli to see if he'd heard anything about anything.

"The autopsy report on Loretta Ricci hasn't come back yet," Morelli said. "No one's nabbed DeChooch, and Kruper hasn't floated in with the tide. The ball's in your court, Cupcake."

Oh great.

"So I guess I'll see you tonight.," Morelli said. "I'll pick you and Bob up at five-thirty."

"Sure. Anything special?"

Phone silence. "I thought we were invited to your parents' house for dinner."

"Oh rats! d.a.m.n. s.h.i.t."

"Forgot, huh?"

"I was just there yesterday."

"Does this mean we don't have to go?"

"If only it was that easy."

"Pick you up at five-thirty," Morelli said, and he hung up.

I like my parents. I really do. It's just that they drive me nuts. First of all, there's my perfect sister, Valerie, with her two perfect children. Fortunately, they live in L.A., so their perfection is lessened by distance. And then there's my alarming marital status, which my mother feels compelled to fix. Not to mention my job, my clothes, my eating habits, my church attendance (or lack of).

"Okay, Bob," I said, "time to get back to work. Let's go cruising."

I thought I'd spend the afternoon looking for cars. I needed to find a white Cadillac and the Batmobile. Start with the Burg, I decided, and then enlarge the search area. And I had a mental list of restaurants and diners with earlybird specials that catered to seniors. I'd save the diners for last and see if the white Cadillac turned up.

I dropped a chunk of bread into Rex's cage and told him I'd be home by five. I had Bob's leash in my hand and was about to take off when there was a knock on my door. It was StateLine Florist.

"Happy Birthday," the kid said. He handed me a vase of flowers and left.

This was a little strange since my birthday's in October and it was now April. I set the flowers on the kitchen counter and read the card.

Roses are red. Violets are blue. I've got a hard-on and it's because of you.

It was signed Ronald DeChooch. Bad enough he creeped me out at the social club, now he was sending me flowers.

"YUCK. ICK. GROSS!" I grabbed the flowers and tried to throw them away, but I couldn't bring myself to do it. I had a hard enough time throwing dead dead flowers away, much less flowers that were all fresh and hopeful and pretty. I dropped the card on the floor and jumped up and down on it. Then I tore it into tiny pieces and pitched it into the garbage. The flowers were still on my counter, looking happy and colorful but giving me the creeps. I picked them up and carefully set them out in the hall. I jumped back into my apartment and closed the door. I stood there for a couple beats to see how it felt. flowers away, much less flowers that were all fresh and hopeful and pretty. I dropped the card on the floor and jumped up and down on it. Then I tore it into tiny pieces and pitched it into the garbage. The flowers were still on my counter, looking happy and colorful but giving me the creeps. I picked them up and carefully set them out in the hall. I jumped back into my apartment and closed the door. I stood there for a couple beats to see how it felt.

"Okay, I can live with this," I said to Bob.

Bob didn't look like he had much of an opinion.

I snagged a jacket off the hook in the foyer. Bob and I exited my apartment, hustled past the flowers in the hall, then calmly walked down the stairs and out to the car.

After half an hour of riding around the Burg I decided looking for the Cadillac was a dumb idea. I parked on Roebling and dialed Connie on my cell phone.

"What's new?" I asked. Connie was related to half the mob in Jersey.

"Dodie Carmine got a b.o.o.b job."

This was good stuff but not what I wanted. "Anything else?"

"You're not the only one looking for DeChooch. I got a call from my Uncle Bingo, wondering if we had a line out. After that I talked to my Aunt Flo and she said something went wrong in Richmond when DeChooch went down there for the cigarettes. She didn't know anything more."

"It says on the arrest sheet that DeChooch was alone when he was picked up. Hard to believe he didn't have a partner."

"From what I know he was on his own. He set the deal up, rented a truck, and drove to Richmond."

"Blind old dude drives to Richmond to heist some cigs."

"You got it."

I had Metallica wailing away. Bob was riding shotgun next to me, digging Lars on the drums. The Burg was conducting business behind closed doors. And I suddenly had a disturbing thought.

"DeChooch was arrested between here and New York?"

"Yeah, the rest stop in Edison."

"Do you think he could have dropped some cigarettes off in the Burg?"

There was a moment of silence. "You're thinking of Dougie Kruper," Connie said.

I snapped the phone closed, put the car in gear, and headed for Dougie's house. I didn't bother knocking when I got there. Bob and I barged right in.

"Hey," Mooner said, ambling out of the kitchen, spoon in one hand, opened can in the other, "I'm having lunch here. You want some orange and brown stuff in a can? I got extra. Shop & Bag was having a two-for-one sale on cans without labels."

I was halfway up the stairs. "No thanks. I want to take another look at Dougie's inventory. He get anything other than that one shipment?"

"Yeah, some old guy dropped a couple boxes off a couple days ago. Wasn't much to it, though. Just a couple boxes."

"Do you know what's in those boxes?"

"First-quality ciggies. You want some?"

I pushed my way through the merchandise in the third bedroom and found the cartons of cigarettes. d.a.m.n.

"This isn't good," I said to Mooner.

"I know. They'll kill you, dude. Better off with weed."

"Superheroes don't do weed," I said.

"No way!"

"It's true. You can't be a superhero if you do drugs."

"Next thing you'll be telling me they don't drink beer."

Hard call. "I don't actually know about beer."

"b.u.mmer."

I tried to imagine Mooner when he wasn't high, but I couldn't get a picture. Would he suddenly start wearing three-piece suits? Would he become a Republican?