"That's not much. I bet I can put you in a really bad mood."

"Don't do me any favors."

"I think there's a good possibility your mom is hiding Uncle Sunny."

"Hiding?"

"In her house."

"Are you kidding me?"

"No. I'm serious. I think he's sitting there on a rubber donut, scarfing down blood sausage and pasta, watching Ghost Hunters episodes with Bella."

"That's ridiculous."

"Have you been there lately?"

"No. Not since I was shot."

"Maybe you should go over and check it out."

"No way. I don't want to know. This conversation never happened. If I found him at my mother's house I'd have to accuse her of harboring a fugitive."

"That would be awkward. Do you think I should go in and root him out?"

"No! I think you should go to the beach. Get some frozen custard."

"Do you want to come with me?"

"I can't. The cable company is supposed to come fix my television. If you're not here when they come they never come again."

"There's only a one percent chance that they'll show up anyway."

Morelli mumbled something about God and vengeance and the cable company, and hung up.

I couldn't see his mother's house from where I was parked, but I could see cars coming and going down the street. I was sitting there thinking the beach would be a terrific idea if I had a car that got more than three miles to a gallon when Ranger pulled up behind me in his 911 Turbo. He got out and walked over.

"Either you ran out of gas or else you're trying to execute a stakeout in this blue elephant," Ranger said.

"I think Sunny might be holed up with Joe's mom and Grandma Bella."

"That would be awkward."

"My exact words! Did you come to rescue me again?"

"Among other things. I kept waking up last night thinking about the giraffe. Why is there a giraffe running loose on Fifteenth Street?"

"I don't know. The first time Lula and I saw him there was a black SUV chasing him. They both turned the corner, there was gunfire, and when Lula and I went to investigate there was a guy lying in the road with a dart stuck in him. The guy died at the hospital."

"And the giraffe is still hanging out?"

"Yep."

"And there's been no mention in the media?"

"Nope."

"Nothing on the police scanners?"

"Nope."

"Have you told anyone about this?"

"A couple people."

"You don't seem to be very disturbed by it all."

"I have people trying to kill me. A giraffe is low on my list of disturbances."

"That's where we differ," Ranger said. "I'm used to people trying to kill me, but it's not every day I'm almost run over by a giraffe."

"So I'm guessing you want to go big game hunting?"

Ranger slowly drove his Porsche down Fifteenth Street as we looked for signs of Kevin. We'd been at it for about an hour, systematically following a grid that included alleys and cross streets. I'd done the drill with Lula and had turned up zip, but I didn't mind doing it again with Ranger. I loved the intimacy and the power of the Porsche, and in the confined space, Ranger smelled great. He smelled like the Bulgari shower gel his housekeeper bought for him. When I use his shower gel the scent disappears almost immediately, but Ranger carries it all day.

Plus there was the added benefit that we might run across Sunny. Instinct told me he was with Bella, but other parts of my brain knew he could just as easily be in one of the buildings on Fifteenth Street.

Ranger stopped at the corner of Fifteenth and Freeman. "No giraffe," he said.

"Yeah, it's a real bummer, isn't it? Whenever you go looking for him you can't find him, and then when you least expect it he gallops down the street."

"I can't believe I'm this hung up on a giraffe."

"That's just the way it is with some people."

Ranger looked at me. "Not you."

"Nope. Not me. But Lula is obsessed with him."

"That's not a comforting thought."

I burst out laughing, because it's not often I see the human side of Ranger. Most of the time Ranger is chill.

"We're done here, right?" I asked him.

"Right."

Ranger drove me back to my car, but my car wasn't there. A black Honda CR-V was parked at the curb.

"I replaced the Buick with one of my fleet cars," Ranger said. "You're too easily recognized in the Buick."

"Where's the Buick?"

"In your parents' driveway. Did you turn up anything interesting this morning on the murders?"

"The women shopped where they got the senior discount even though some store locations were inconvenient. Melvina, Bitsy, and Rose shopped on Saturday. Lois didn't completely fit that profile. I'm sure it's because Lois had her own car and wasn't relying on someone to chauffeur her around. I'm going to make some phone calls and try to find out who took the women shopping. Maybe you could have someone ask Ruppert for me."

The black Lincoln rolled past us and parked in front of the Morelli house. Moe got out of the front passenger seat and carried a duffel bag into the house. He left a little later without the bag, got into the Lincoln, and the car disappeared down the street.

"He's in there," I said to Ranger. "What on earth is wrong with Joe's mom that she'd allow Sunny to hide out in her house?"

"He's family," Ranger said.

"That's no excuse."

"It is in the SunucchiaMorelli family culture."

"How am I supposed to get him out of there? I can't just break down the door. We're talking about Joe's mom and crazy Grandma Bella."

"Do you want me to go in?"

"Would you do that for me?"

"We could make a deal."

"Oh boy."

"Think about it," Ranger said. "I'll catch up with you after the viewing."

I left Ranger and drove my loaner CR-V home to my apartment building. I'd watched Ranger's eyes go from brown to black when he suggested a deal. I knew what it meant when his pupils dilated like that. It meant Ranger was feeling friendly. And when Ranger was friendly it was hard not to want to be friendly back.

I pulled the files on the dead women out of my bag and took them to the dining room table. Besides former addresses and work histories, the files also listed relatives. Bitsy Muddle was survived by a younger brother who was living in Ewing. I called his phone, and he picked up on the second ring.

"I'm helping the police investigate your sister's death," I told him. "I have just a quick question."

"Sure, but I already told them all I knew."

"She usually ran her errands on Saturdays. Did you ever drive her around?"

"No. We would meet at the diner for lunch sometimes, but I didn't see a lot of her after she moved to that retirement place. She was always on the go. I figured she was being bused around by the retirement people."

I thanked him for his help and called the retirement community office.

"Most of our residents are very independent," the manager told me. "Some have cars, and others have friends and relatives who take them shopping. We have a wing for assisted living, but Miss Muddle wasn't housed there. She was living in what is simply an apartment complex for senior citizens."

"Would it be possible to speak to some of her neighbors?"

"Of course. We always try to cooperate with the police. Most of her neighbors have already been questioned. Some were questioned several times, so I can't guarantee a happy interview."

"Understood."

I wasn't in the mood to drive over to Golden Years Retirement Village and go door to door, grilling Bitsy's neighbors. I'd wait to see what Ranger got for me, and I could talk to Rose Walchek's relatives at the viewing.

Saturday was usually my designated clean-the-apartment day, so I squirted some toxic goop into the toilet and swished it around with the toilet brush. Then I took a bunch of toxic liquid-saturated wipes from the pop-up container and wiped down all the bathroom surfaces. I changed out the towels and made my bed with fresh linens. I ran over the kitchen and bathroom floors with the Swiffer contraption that uses the wet pads, and I considered the wall-to-wall carpet in the rest of the apartment. Usually I borrowed my mother's vacuum cleaner, but I'd forgotten to stop on my way home. Probably now that I had a slow cooker and was going to be Susie Homemaker I should get my own vacuum cleaner.

I wrote "Buy vacuum cleaner" on the notepad in the kitchen. I made myself a peanut butter and olive sandwich for dinner and gave a small chunk to Rex. He scurried out of his soup can, stuffed the chunk of bread into his cheek pouch, blinked his eyes at me, and scurried back into his can. I took the eye blink as a thank-you. Hamsters have limited communication skills.

I changed into skinny black slacks and a silky white blouse for the viewing. I still had my hair pulled up into a ponytail, and I slashed on some extra mascara since it was an evening affair.

I arrived a little after seven, which was a big mistake for the viewing of a high-profile murder victim. The lot was filled, and parking on the street was nonexistent. There was a huge crush of people on the front porch, and the crush spilled over onto the steps. It had to be total insanity inside. I drove around the block and pulled into the driveway to the funeral home garages. Unless they had to pull a hearse out to make an emergency dead guy pickup, I figured I'd go unnoticed.

I sneaked through the back door, walked past the small hostess kitchen and the funeral director's office, and came out into the packed lobby. The noise was a smidgeon below rock concert, the temperature had to be in the nineties, and the entire place smelled like carnations and deodorant failure.

I was standing by the table with the coffee and tea and cookies, and I had to somehow get to Rose. She was laid out in Slumber Room No. 1. This was the largest of the slumber rooms, the premier spot. It was reserved for murder victims and the grandmasters of various lodges and social clubs.

I pushed my way through the crowd to the room entrance and worked my way forward. Two men and a woman were standing at the head of the casket. Obviously relatives. They were my target. Grandma and Gordon had seats in the second row. I picked out Mama Giovichinni, my parents' neighbor Mrs. Ciak, a few women from Bingo, and a bunch of other people from the Burg. The line of mourners inching up to the casket ran the length of the room and out the door. If I tried to cut the line I'd be attacked and ejected. My only hope was to wait until the viewing was ending and everyone stampeded out to the lobby to get last-minute cookies.

Grandma turned and saw me and waved.

"Over here," she shouted. "We saved you a seat."

The seat was between Grandma and Randy Berger. I hadn't noticed it at first because Berger was occupying two seats. It wasn't that he was excessively fat, it was more that he was just so big. I made a no thanks gesture, but Grandma was having none of it. Berger managed to pull most of himself off the seat and I squished myself into it.

"I was hoping you'd be here," Berger said. "Have you thought about the job offer?"

"I'm sure it's a great job," I said, "but it's not for me. And I like being a bond enforcement agent."

"You could try butchering part-time."

"No."

"Okay, then how about dinner?"

"No."

"I'd bring a nice pork tenderloin."

"No."

"I heard that," Grandma said to me. "I bet it would be a pip of a pork tenderloin. Remember that boyfriend you had who could cook those pork chops? I never tasted a pork chop like that since."

"He was a killer!"

"Yeah, but he sure could cook pork chops."

"He probably brined them," Berger said. "You've got to brine pork to get it tender. I always brine my pork."

So now I had a dilemma. I wanted to run screaming out of the funeral home, but I needed to stay and talk to Rose's relatives.