“It’s very cool, actually,” he replied. “We got a printout of a stolen car’s GPS, and we’re going to follow everywhere the guy went before somebody knocked him off.”

She made a face. “Delightful. You do the funnest things.”

“I know, right?” he responded, nudging her in the ribs. He then tugged on the top half of her scrubs. “You coming or going? I forget.”

“Just back,” she said, putting her sneakered feet up on the coffee table. “I covered for somebody today, so I got the night off.”

He still had hold of her top and now pulled on it enough to admire what lay underneath. “You’re kidding,” he said more softly. “We get to spend the whole night together?”

She gently pushed his hand away as he kissed her neck. “Unless you get called out again for another body. Plus, I thought you were seeing another woman.”

This time, he slipped his hand up under the top and laid it on her bare stomach. “That’s not until tomorrow,” he said, adding, “Where’s Wendy?”

She left his hand where it was this time and kissed his ear. “She’s due back in half an hour, tops, tiger, and I want more of you than that, so hold that thought.”

“I will,” he chuckled, running his hand higher up. “I promise.”

“The wood splinter was a hit,” Joe said on the phone. He was lying on the couch at home, an open can of vienna sausages balanced on his chest, competing for Gilbert’s attention. The cat was on Gunther’s stomach, batting at his hand every time Joe extracted another tempting offer. Their eyes were locked throughout this contest. A second can, of fruit cocktail in heavy syrup, awaited its turn as dessert on the nearby coffee table. This was of no interest to Gilbert.

“You are so romantic,” Beverly responded. “So which one opined that it came from a baseball bat?”

His eyes widened. “Do you have my office bugged? How the hell did you know that? It was Willy.”

She sounded dismissive. “It had to be someone, but I would have expected better of him. Such a cliché.”

“It was a throwaway. We know we’re looking for something rougher. You are dealing with the Four Musketeers of homicide, you know.”

He could just envision her expression at that. He popped another sausage into his mouth.

“What are you eating?”

“Sorry. You weren’t supposed to notice that. Very rude.”

“Less the act of eating than the likely ingredients, knowing you,” she commented. “A shish kebab of Spam and Velveeta?”

“What a horrible idea,” he protested as Gilbert gave up and thrust his paw right into the can, causing Joe to grab hold of it.

“Is the case proceeding well?” she asked, wisely moving on.

“Depends on which part you’re asking about,” he replied. “That car was as full of separate cases as it was of stolen goods. Thankfully, we’re only interested in the juicy ones—your customer, Don Kalfus, being on top of the list. But Scooter Nelson’s made an appearance, too, in the form of his missing flip phone from back then.”