"I'm ready to go," I told him, handing over the cuffs and shackles and guns. "My partner is driving back. She has the rest of the hardware."

Another small nod. Fine by him.

Connie was packed, but she was in the middle of the room with the photo in her hand and she was looking conflicted. "I need to get this straightened out," she said. "I'm going to stay and catch a later flight."

"I can stay with you," I said.

She shook her head. "Not necessary. You'll be safer in Trenton with Morelli."

And Connie would be safer in Vegas without me. I gave her a hug and my room key. Miguel shouldered my bag, stepped aside, and followed me wordlessly to the elevator.

This is the thing about men who never talk. It's easier to assume that they're strong and that they have the sort of wily cunning a woman wants in a bodyguard. I try not to be judgmental, but in all honesty, I'd feel less secure if Miguel had rambled on about how difficult it was to find a decent silk shirt. So no conversation was okay by me because I needed some help being brave. I wanted to think this guy could leap tall buildings in a single bound.

I left the hotel and slipped into the air-conditioned security of a new black Mercedes. "Your car?" I asked Miguel.

"More or less."

He walked me to the security check, waited watchfully while I went through. No hassle this time. And then I was on my own. In theory this was a safe zone. Still, I found a seat with my back to the wall and I boarded last, looking for familiar or suspicious faces.

I was in the last row with three empty seats next to me. Lula's seat, Connie's seat, and a seat reserved for Singh. If Singh had been with me, we would have boarded first and if at all possible through a side door. Walking a guy in chains down the aisle in front of the paying customers doesn't set the tone for a stress-free flight.

I was happy to once again have my back to the wall, but I felt naked without hardware. It was a creepy thought that the killer might be on the plane. He could be the preppy-looking guy across the aisle or the hairy guy three rows up. They'd watched me take my seat. Hard to tell if they wanted to kill me or if they just didn't have anything better to do than to stare.

By the time I deplaned in Newark I was too tired to be afraid. God bless those lucky souls who can sleep while flying. I've never been one of them.

I'd arranged to meet Morelli at baggage claim. I didn't have any baggage to claim, but it was the easiest pickup point. It was seven in the morning, Jersey time. My teeth felt furry and my eyes ached.

I searched the crowd for Morelli and felt my heart skip a beat when I found him. Morelli never blended. He was movie star handsome and looked like a man you'd avoid in a fight. Women always looked twice at Morelli, but seldom approached. With the possible exception of Terry Gilman.

Morelli's face softened when he saw me. He reached out and drew me to him, wrapping his arms around me. He kissed my neck and held me close for a moment. "You look beat," he said. He stepped back, took my bag, and smiled at me. "But pretty."

I gave him a sideways glance. "You want something."

"The computer for starters."

"Always a cop."

"Not always. It's Sunday. How tired are you?"

I was dog tired until I saw Morelli. Now that I was next to him I was having some non-sleeping thoughts. The non-sleeping thoughts lasted about thirty seconds into the ride home.

I opened my eyes and stared up at Morelli. He was out of the truck, trying to get me awake enough to get me into the house. He had my seat belt off and my bag slung over his shoulder.

"Jeez, Steph," he said, "didn't you sleep on the plane?"

"I never sleep on a plane. I have to be ready in case it crashes." I heaved myself off the seat and shuffled up the sidewalk. Morelli opened the door and I braced myself for the Bob attack. We heard him thundering through the house, coming from the kitchen. He reached the small foyer and Morelli held up a giant dog biscuit. Bob's eyes got wide, Morelli threw the biscuit over Bob's head down the hallway, and Bob turned in mid-gallop and followed the biscuit.

"Pretty smart," I said.

"I should take him to obedience training, but I never seem to get to it."

What Morelli meant was that he should try obedience training again. Bob had flunked out twice before.

Morelli set the bag on the floor at the foot of the stairs and removed the computer. "I'm not going to open this. I'm going to turn it over to the experts first thing tomorrow."

That had been my thought, too. I hadn't fooled with the computer.

"Have you told Vinnie about Singh?" Morelli asked.

"I left that for Connie. She stayed behind to clean some things up."

"Vinnie'll put a good spin on it. You found Singh. That's the important part. The system worked."

"I need more sleep," I said. "Wake me up when it's time for dessert."

"Bad news," Morelli said. "Dessert will be too late. We're expected for dinner at my mom's house. We accepted this invitation two weeks ago," Morelli said. "It's Mary Elizabeth s birthday."

I'd totally forgotten. Mary Elizabeth is Joe's great-aunt. She's a chain-smoking booze hound and she's a retired nun. And no party for Mary Elizabeth would be complete without Grandma Bella because Mary Elizabeth is Bella's younger sister. I got a sharp pain in my right temple and my blood ran cold. I was having dinner with Grandma Bella.

"Are you okay?" Morelli asked. "You look sort of white."

"I'm having dinner with Grandma Bella. My life is passing in front of my eyes. I'm as good as dead. I should just stand outside and let the carnation killer shoot me."

"You have to have the right attitude about Grandma Bella."

"And that would be what?"

Joe shrugged. "She's crazy."

I slept until late afternoon. When I woke I was in Joe's bed, still dressed in my travel clothes, partially tangled in a lightweight summer patchwork quilt. The sheets were rumpled under me and the pillowcase was damp with sweat and humidity. Aunt Rose's gauzy curtains hung limp against the open window. The air was heavy, but the light was soft. The room felt like Joe and good sex. There were mental imprints of time spent here that didn't get smoothed away with new sheets. If I closed my eyes in this room, even if I was alone, I could feel Morelli's hands on me.

And today the room smelled like popcorn.

The popcorn aroma was drifting up from the living room where Joe and Bob were watching a ball game. I shuffled downstairs and looked in the popcorn bowl. Empty. I checked out the game. Not interesting.

Joe looked over at me. "I could call and cancel."

"You can't do that. It's a birthday!"

"I'd come up with something good. I'd say you broke your leg. Or you had an appendix attack. Or you insisted we stay home and have a lot of sloppy sex."

"Thanks. I appreciate the thought, but I don't think any of those would work."

"The sex would work."

I smiled at him and took the empty popcorn bowl back to the kitchen. "Nice try."

I toasted a bagel, smeared it with too much butter, and ate it with the butter dripping down my arm. Do I know how to eat a bagel, or what? I went back upstairs, took a shower, and got dressed for dinner.

I was halfway through makeup when Morelli appeared in the bathroom doorway. He leaned a shoulder against the jamb, hands in pants pockets. "We're late," he said. "How's it going?"

It wasn't going good. Dinner with Joe's family had me in a state. I'd accidentally poked myself in the eye with the mascara wand and almost gone blind. "It's going great," I said. "Give me another minute."

"You have a big black blob on your eye."

"I know that. Go away!"

Ten minutes later I clattered down the stairs in my high-heeled strappy sandals, the swirly skirt, and a stretchy top. It was the best I could do under the circumstances. I didn't have a lot of clothes at Joe's house.

"Nice," Joe said, eyes on the skirt. "I'm going to have fun this outfit when we get home. You have panties on, right?"

"Right."

"I don't suppose you'd want to take them off."

"I don't suppose."

"Doesn't hurt to ask," Morelli said with a grin. "It would make dinner more interesting."

Everyone was at the table when we arrived. Joe's mom was at the head. Grandma Bella was next to her, then Mary Elizabeth. Joe's sister, Cathy, was next to Mary Elizabeth. Joe's Uncle Mario was at the foot of the table. Cathy's husband was seated across from her. Joe and I were seated across from Mary Elizabeth and Bella.

"Sorry we're late," Joe said. "Cop business." Mary Elizabeth was looking very happy. She had an empty highball glass in front of her and a half-empty wineglass. "More like monkey business," she said.

Bella shook her finger at Joe. "All the Morelli men are sex fiends."

"Hey," Uncle Mario said, "how's that to talk?" Mario was Bella's first cousin and the only male Morelli left from Bella's generation. Morelli men weren't especially long-lived. Mario was small and wrinkled, but still had a full head of wiry black hair. It was rumored he colored it with shoe polish.

Grandma Bella fixed an eye on Mario. "Are you telling me you're not a sex fiend?"

"There's a difference between an Italian stallion and a sex fiend. I'm an Italian stallion."

Joe filled our wineglasses. "Salute," he said.

Everyone held their glasses high. "Salute."

"I didn't see you in church today," Grandma Bella said to Joe.

"I had to miss today," Joe said.

And last week. And the week before that. And come to think of it, last time Joe was in church was Christmas.

"I prayed for you," Bella told him.

Joe took a sip of wine and looked at Bella over the rim of his glass. "Thanks."

"And I prayed that the bambinos would get over the death of their mother."

Joe's mother gripped her wineglass and narrowed her eyes at Bella. I stopped breathing. Everyone else slumped in their seat with an oh boy, here it comes sigh.

"The bambinos?" Joe asked.

"You will have many bambinos. The mother will die. It will be very sad. I saw it in a vision."

I bit down hard on my lower lip. My poor little bambinos!

"Don't worry," Bella said to me. "It's not you. The woman in the vision was blond."

Chapter Eleven

Joe drank more wine and draped an arm around my shoulders. "At least you're not the dead woman in this vision."

Mrs. Morelli threw a dinner roll at him and hit him in the head. "That's a stupid thing to say to a woman. Sometimes you're just like your father." She crossed herself and looked penitent. "God rest his soul."

Everyone at the table crossed themselves except Joe. "God rest his soul," everyone said.

"And you" Mrs. Morelli said to her mother-in-law. "No more with the visions."

"I can't help I have visions," Grandma Bella said. "I'm an instrument of God."

This brought on a lot more crossing and Uncle Mario muttered something that I think included the words devil woman.

Bella turned on Mario. "You watch your step, old man. I'll put the eye on you."

The table went silent. No one wanted to mess with the eye. The eye was Italian voodoo.

While all this was going on, Mary Elizabeth had put away three glasses of wine. "I love a party," Mary Elizabeth said, her words slightly slurred, her eyes slightly crossed. She raised her wineglass. "Here's to me!"

We all raised our wineglasses. "To Mary Elizabeth!"

When we were all stuffed with chicken in red sauce and meatballs and macaroni casseroles, Mrs. Morelli brought out the desserts. Plates of Italian cookies from People's bakery, fresh-filled cannoli from Panorama Musicale, cheeses from Porfirio's, and the birthday cake from Little Italy.

By now it was sweltering in the Morelli dining room. All the windows were open and Mrs. Morelli had brought a fan in to circulate air. Sweat was running down my breastbone, soaking my shirt. My hair was stuck to my face and my mascara was not living up to its waterproof promise. No one cared about the heat. Everyone but Joe and his mom was shit-faced, me included.

Candles were lit on the cake, raising the room temperature by another ten degrees. We all sang "Happy Birthday," Mary Elizabeth blew out the candles, and Mrs. Morelli made the first cut in the cake.

Grandma Bella slammed her hands palms down on the table and tossed her head back. She was having a vision.

Everyone at the table groaned.

"I see death," Grandma Bella said. "A woman."