your pocket. He likes to chew paper. I hope you don’t have any valuable documents in there. Car registration, anything like that. I speak from sad experience.”
“He chewed your car registration?”
Alvin interrupted. “It was an accident. You really should learn to let things go, Camilla.”
Have I mentioned that Gussie started out as the Ferguson family’s dog? But no point in harping. “So, Bunny, you didn’t keep any of these so-called jokes?”
“Well, why would I? Did you keep yours?” Bunny’s voice rose into a squeak. Alvin blurted, “It’s not my fault. Gussie eats every piece of paper around here the minute it hits the floor.”
Gussie gave a soft belch to reinforce Alvin’s point. I didn’t bother to inquire about why pieces of paper would be on the floor. “Be quiet, Alvin. Okay, Bunny, at what point did you start to realize there was something going on?”
Bunny shrugged. “After the second one, I guess. I thought it was kind of funny that each of those names arrived the day after a joke, but before that person’s death became public. I mean when these people died, it made the papers.”
I nodded. Bunny was right. People talked about it. People wrote about it. Cyclists had written furious letters to the editor after Roxanne Terrio’s death. People had waxed eloquent about the dangers of nut allergies after Judge Cardarelle’s demise. Everyone would be buzzing over Rollie’s bizarre end.
“So, you don’t still have any of the jokes?”
“Nah. Tonya is crazy clean. She hates any kind of paper around. She threw them out probably even faster than your dog could eat them. But when I got Rollie Thorsten’s name today and I knew from the news that he was defending in Brugel’s trial, I had to get over there to warn him if he was still alive. I heard there was a suspicious death today, but they didn’t give the name on the news. I knew it would be Rollie Thorsten, because that’s the name I got. I was too late.”
“We didn’t get that name,” Alvin said. “I know because I open the mail and I would have—”
“Hold that thought, Alvin. So, Bunny, why did you come to me?”
“I thought maybe I could talk to you and explain about the jokes and the names and figure out what to do. I called your cell, and someone said you were in court today.”
“That was me,” Alvin said. “She forgot her phone at home.”
“Then that Sgt. Mombourquette gave me the brush off. Do you think he’s good enough for Elaine? She’s really special and she deserves—”
“Bunny!”
“Sorry, so I came here tonight hoping you wouldn’t think I was nuts.”
“Not exactly nuts,” I said.
“Maybe peculiar,” Alvin said.
Bunny pouted. “You made fun of me. The Bunny of Death? Like I’m going to forget that anytime soon?”
“I think I said I was sorry.”
“You didn’t.”
“Well, I am saying it now.” Bunny has always been a sensitive flower. He said nothing, just kept stroking Gussie. Alvin seemed to have joined the conspiracy of silence.
“Fine,” I said. “Alvin? Anything to add?”
“How was I to know that those names were connected to the jokes?”
My voice rose. “You mean to tell me we did get them?”
Bunny said, “What can we do about it?”
“In the end, I think you’ll find that a lot of people probably got those jokes, and they’re not really connected to us.”
Bunny pulled his towel closer. “I sure hope you’re right.”
THREE
What do you call an honest lawyer?
-A statistical improbability
S aturday morning, I was annoyed bright and early by more knocking at the door. I whipped it open expecting to see Bunny there with yet another nutty bit of information.
A small, crisp woman with expensive blonde highlights gripped my hand and shook it. I was so startled that I hardly noticed that she’d actually stepped right into the house. Maybe I was taken aback because her teeth seemed to twinkle, and her skin glowed like she was some kind of magic