Morelli dragged in with a sweat stain the length of his gray Tshirt. He went to the refrigerator and stuck his head in the freezer. "I've gotta get air in this house."

I thought the weather was pretty good compared to yesterday. Today you could sort of see a yellow glow where the sun was behind the layer of funk air.

He pulled his head out of the freezer, tossed his gun on the counter and got a beer.

"Bad day?"

"Average."

"I saw you in north Trenton."

"You made me?"

"I recognized the car. I figured you were watching the Seven-Eleven."

"And watching, and watching, and watching."

"Drugs?"

"Funny money."

"I thought you weren't supposed to tell me."

"Fuck it. Treasury has this case so screwed up it doesn't matter. There've been bogus twenties coming out of Trenton for five years that we know of . . . probably more. Treasury has everything in place. They go in to get the guy. No plates where the plates are supposed to be. No paper. No nothing. Including no funny money traffic. We can't even make an arrest. We look like a bunch of fucking amateurs. Then all of a sudden, yesterday, a couple of the twenties get passed at the convenience store on Olden. So we start all over, looking to see who goes in that store."

"The clerk didn't know who passed them?"

"They were discovered at the bank when the teller was counting them out for deposit."

"What do you think?"

"I think we had the right guy the first time. Some fluky thing happened and the stuff wasn't there."

"I just had a weird thought. We attributed Helen Badijian's death to her connection with Maxine. Maybe it didn't have anything to do with Maxine. Maybe it had to do with the funny money."

"I thought of that, too, but the MO ties it to Maxine. Cause of death to Badijian was a blow to the head, but she also had one of her fingers chopped off."

I had an even weirder thought, but I didn't want to say it out loud and sound like a dunce.

The phone rang, and Morelli answered. "Yes, Mrs. Plum," he said.

I jumped out of my chair and started to run for the front door. I was halfway through the dining room when Morelli snagged me by the back of my shirt and stopped my progress with a sharp yank that had me pressed against his chest.

"Your mother," he said, handing me the phone.

"Stephanie," my mother said. "What is this I hear about your being pregnant?"

"I'm not pregnant. This is a living arrangement, not a marriage."

"Everybody's talking. Everybody thinks you're pregnant. What should I tell Mrs. Crandle?"

"Tell her I'm not pregnant."

"Your father wants to talk to you."

I could hear the phone being transferred and then some breathing.

"Dad?"

"Yeah," he said. "How's the Buick running? You gotta give it high test, you know."