Nothing.

“Are you sure he’s here?” I asked Dolly.

“Of course he’s here. It’s Tuesday. I don’t mean to be rude, but I’m real busy. I’m behind schedule. I’ve got kitty litters to clean, I gotta get the car in for service, and I’m meeting the girls for lunch.”

“Do you mind if I take a look for myself?” I asked her.

“No. Go right ahead. I’d get him up for you, but I haven’t got the time. He’s a wonderful man. He can play bingo with the best of them, but he’s slow as molasses in the morning. Bedroom’s in the back.”

I moved past Dolly to the back of the house and the master bedroom, pushing cats out of my way as I walked. I could see Lula from the corner of my eye, shooing cats away, holding her nose.

Lula and I inched into the room and looked at Dirk.

“Uh-oh,” Lula said.

I bit into my lower lip. “How long has Dirk been sleeping like this?” I yelled to Dolly.

“Since last night. He went to bed early. Said he had indigestion.”

I hauled my cell phone out of my bag and called 911. “We need an officer at 401 Stanley Street,” I said. “And an EMT truck, hold the siren.”

“Is there something wrong?” Dolly asked.

“I’m really sorry, but I’m pretty sure Dirk’s dead,” I told her.

Dolly took a close look at him and poked him. “Yep, he’s dead all right. Damn. This is the third husband that’s died on me in the past year. I’ve got to start marrying younger men. Good thing I didn’t take his name. The red tape is awful.” She smoothed a wisp of hair down on McCurdle’s head. “He was fun,” she said. “I’ll miss him on Mondays and Tuesdays.”

Lula sneezed. “Damn cats. I gotta get out of here. I’m allergic to just about everything in this house . . . cats and dead people, and pretty soon it’s gonna be filled with cops.”

Dolly looked at her watch. “I should probably cancel my service appointment.”

“You might want to do that,” Lula said. “But if we hurry things along, you could make lunch.”

“We should go out and wait for the police,” Dolly said. “They can never find this house. I don’t know why. It’s the house with the gnome, for goodness sakes.”

“Guess you’re getting good at this,” Lula said.

“The husband before Dirk died five months ago, he should rest in peace. And before that was George.”

We all meandered out of the house and stood blinking in the late morning sun.

A cop car angled to a stop behind my Jeep and Carl Costanza and Big Dog got out. Carl and I did Communion together, and he was friends with Morelli.

Carl looked at me and smiled. “I bet this is going to be good,” he said.

“I have a dead FTA in there,” I told him.

“Did you kill him?”

“No. Looks to me like natural causes, but what do I know. Dolly said he just never woke up.”