09 To the Nines Read Online Free PDF Page A

afternoon. I could cut across town and do a quick drive around, looking for Boo, and then I'd be in a good position to mooch dinner from my mom.
    I called Morelli and told him the plan. “You can mooch dinner, too,” I said.
    “Last time I ate dinner at your parents' house your sister threw up three times and your grandmother fell asleep in her mashed potatoes.”
    “And?”
    “And I'd like to mooch dinner, but I have to work late. I swear to God, I really do have to work late.”
    Nonnie and Mama Apusenja lived a quarter mile from my parents' house, in a neighborhood that was very similar to the Burg. Houses were narrow, two stories, set on narrow lots. The Apusenja house was a two-toned clapboard, painted a bilious green on the top and chocolate brown on the bottom. A ten-year-old burgundy Ford Escort was parked curbside. The small backyard was fenced. I couldn't see all the yard, but what I could see didn't contain a dog. I cruised four blocks without a Boo sighting. Also, no Ranger sighting. I turned a corner and my cell phone chirped.
    “Yo,” Ranger said.
    “Yo yourself,” I told him. “Do you have Singh in leg irons?”
    “Singh is nowhere to be found.”
    “And the dog?”
    A couple beats of silence. “What's with you and the dog?”
    “I don't know. I just have these dog feelings.”
    "Not a good sign, babe. Next thing you'll be adopting cats.
    And then one day you'll get all choked up when you walk down the baby food aisle in the supermarket. And you know what happens after that..."
    “What?”
    “You'll be punching holes in Morelli's condoms.”
    I would like to think the scenario was funny, but I was afraid it might be true. “I visited with the people at TriBro,” I told Ranger. “I didn't come away with anything useful.”
    I caught a familiar reflection in my rearview mirror. Ranger in his truck. How he always managed to find me was part of the mystery.
    Ranger flashed his lights to make sure I saw him. “Let's talk to the Apusenjas,” he said.
    We drove around the block to Sully Street, parked behind the burgundy Escort, and walked to the door together.
    Mama Apusenja answered. She was still in the sari and her fat rolls made me think of the Michelin tire guy.
    “Well,” she said to me, with a head wag. “I see you've cleaned yourself up. You must be a terrible burden to your mother. I am feeling so sorry for her not to have a proper daughter.”
    I narrowed my eyes and opened my mouth to speak and Ranger leaned into me and rested a hand on my shoulder. Probably he thought I was going to do something rash, like call Mrs. Apusenja a fat cow. And in fact he was right. Fat cow was on the tip of my tongue.
    “I thought it might be helpful to see Singh's room,” Ranger said to Mrs. Apusenja.
    “Will you be bringing this one in with you?”
    Rangers grip on me tightened. “This one's name is Stephanie,” Ranger said pleasantly. “And yes, she'll be coming with me.”
    “I suppose it will be all right,” Mrs. Apusenja said grudgingly “I will expect you to be careful. I keep a very nice house.” She stepped back from the door and motioned us in to the living room. “This is the formal parlor,” she said proudly “And beyond that is the dining room. And then the kitchen.”
    Ranger and I stood speechless for a moment, taking it all in. The house was filled to the bursting with overstuffed furniture, end tables, lamps, trinkets, dried flowers, faded photos, stacks of magazines and bowls of fake fruit. And elephants. There were ceramic elephants, elaborate elephant couch pillows, elephant clocks, foot stools, and planters. Elephants aside, there was no dominant style or color. It was a garage sale waiting to happen.
    I watched Ranger scan the room and I suspected he was doing a mental grimace. It would be easy to miss a note in the mess. For that matter, it would be easy to miss Singh. He could be slouched in a chair somewhere and never be noticed.
    Mrs. Apusenja led the way upstairs,