hydrocarbon level was high enough to etch glass, and the highways hummed with road rage. Air conditioners were failing, dogs had diarrhea, laundry mildewed in hampers, and sinus cavities felt filled with cement. If the barometric pressure dropped any lower everyone's guts would be sucked through the soles of their feet into the bowels of the earth.
Morelli and I barely noticed any of this, of course, because we were born and raised in Jersey. Life is about survival of the fittest, and Jersey is producing the master race.
We stood dripping in Morelli's foyer, and I couldn't decide what I wanted to do first. I was starving, I was soaked, and I wanted to call and see if Eddie Kuntz had turned up. Morelli prioritized my actions by stripping in the hall.
"What are you doing?" I asked.
He'd removed his shoes and socks and shirt and had his thumbs stuck in his shorts. "I don't want to track water all through the house." A smile tugged at his mouth. "You have a problem with this?"
"No problem at all," I said. "I'm taking a shower. Does that give you any problems?"
"Only if you use all the hot water."
He was on the phone when I came downstairs. I was clean, but I couldn't get dry. Morelli didn't have air, and at this time of the day it was possible to work up a sweat doing nothing. I prowled through the refrigerator and decided on a ham-and-cheese sandwich. I slapped it together and ate standing at the counter. Morelli was writing on a pad. He looked up at me, and I decided this was cop business.
When he got off the phone he picked at the deli ham I'd left out. "That case I was working on has just been reopened. Something new turned up. I'm going to take a fast shower, and then I'm going to have to go out. I'm not sure when I'll be back."
"Today? Tomorrow?"
"Today. I just don't know when."
I finished my sandwich and straightened the kitchen. Rex had crawled out of his soup can and was looking neglected, so I gave him a small chunk of cheese and a crust of bread. "We're not doing too good here," I told him. "I keep losing people. Now I can't find the guy I'm working for."
I tried calling Eddie Kuntz. No answer. I looked up Glick in the phone book and called Betty.
"Have you seen Eddie yet?" I asked.
"No."
I hung up and did some pacing. Someone knocked on the front door.
It was a little Italian lady.
"I'm Joe's godmother, Tina Ragusto," she said. "You must be Stephanie. How are you, dear? I just heard. I think it's wonderful."
I didn't know what she was talking about, and I suspected it was better that way. I made a vague gesture toward the stairs. "Joe's in the shower."
"I can't stay. I'm on my way to a jewelry party." She handed me a white shirt box. "I just wanted to drop this off." She lifted the lid and spread the tissue paper, so I could see what lay beneath. Her round face smoothed with her smile. "You see?" she said. "Joseph's christening outfit."
Ulk.
She gave me a pat on the cheek. "You're a good Italian girl."
"Half Italian."
"And a good Catholic."
"Umm . . ."
I watched her walk to her car and drive away. She thought I was pregnant. She thought I was marrying Joe Morelli, the man voted "least trustworthy male to date my daughter" by mothers statewide. And she thought I was a good Catholic. How had this happened?
I was standing in the foyer, holding the box, when Joe came down. "Was someone here?"
"Your godmother. She brought me your christening outfit."
Morelli picked it out of the box and looked at it. "Good grief, it's a dress."
"What do you want me to do with it?"
"Put it in a closet somewhere, and I'd appreciate it if you kept the dress part quiet."
I waited until Morelli was out of sight, and then I looked down at my stomach. "No way," I said. I looked at the christening dress. It was kind of pretty. Old-fashioned. Very Italian. Damn, I was getting all choked up over Morelli's dress. I ran upstairs with the dress, put it on Morelli's bed, ran out of the room and slammed the door closed.
I went to the kitchen and called my best friend, Mary Lou, who had two kids and knew about pregnancy.
"Where are you?" Mary Lou wanted to know.
"I'm at Morelli's."
"Ommigod! It's true! You're living with Morelli! And