"You know what I mean."

"You want a full accounting of my sex life up to this moment?"

"That would probably take days."

Morelli slouched a little lower in his chair, his legs stretched in front of him, his lips curved into a smile, his eyes dark and dreamy. "I don't know Joyce as well as I know you."

The phone rang, and we both gave a start. Morelli had the cordless on the table beside him. He answered and mouthed "Your mother."

I was making no, no, no signals, but Morelli continued to smile and handed the phone over to me.

"I saw Ed Crandle this afternoon," my mother said. "He said don't worry, he'll take care of everything. He's going to drop the forms off here."

Ed Crandle lived across the street from my mother, and he sold insurance. I guessed this meant that I had some. Ordinarily I could look in my desk drawer to check. That wasn't possible now that my desk drawer and everything in it was smoke.

"And that nice superintendent, Dillon Ruddick, called and said your apartment was sealed for security right now, so you can't get in. But he said he was going to start work on it next week. Also, a woman named Sally would like you to call her back."

I thanked my mother and again declined dinner and the use of my room. I hung up and called Sally.

"Shit," Sally said, "I just heard about your apartment. Hey, I'm really sorry. Is there anything I can do? You need a place to crash?"

I told him I was staying with Morelli.

"I would have fucking wrestled him into the ground if I wasn't wearing heels," Sally said.

When I got off the phone Morelli had pulled the plug on Jeopardy and was watching a ball game. I felt gritty from sweat, the back of my neck was scratchy with sunburn, and I could see my nose glowing. Should have used sunblock.

"I'm going to take a shower," I said to Morelli. "It's been a long day."

"Is this a sexual shower?"

"No. This is an I've-been-sweating-all-day-at-the-shore shower."

"Just checking," Morelli said.

The bathroom, like the rest of the house, was faded but clean. It was smaller than my apartment bathroom, and the fixtures were older. But the era of construction was more graceful. Morelli had stacked towels on a shelf above the toilet. His toothbrush, toothpaste and razor took up the left side of the sink vanity. I'd placed my toothbrush and toothpaste on the right. His and hers. I gave myself a mental shake. Get a grip, Stephanie . . . this isn't a romance novel. This is the result of a firebombing. There was an over-the-sink medicine cabinet, but I couldn't bring myself to open the door. It seemed like prying, and I was sort of afraid what I might find.

I showered and brushed my teeth and was toweling my hair dry when Morelli knocked on the door.