I looked at the racks and for the first time in Plum history, I didn’t want to shop. My mind wouldn’t move off the carnation killer. I was thinking of Lillian Paressi and Fisher Cat and Singh and Howie. And probably there were a lot others. I knew of two games, but there might have been more. I was thinking of my sister’s baby and the fact that I didn’t have one. And maybe never would.

“Look at those sandals with the four-inch heels and rhinestones,” Lula said. “You can’t go wrong with rhinestones. And heels always make your legs look real shapely. I read that in a magazine.”

Lula had her shoes off, looking for a pair of the sandals in her size. She was wearing a poison green spandex tube top and yellow stretch pants that matched my car and came to midcalf. She found the sandals, slipped them on and paraded in front of the mirror.

Cal and Junior were at the edge of the aisle, looking uncomfortable. They probably had expected to follow me around and catch some scofflaws when they got their marching orders from Ranger. And here they were in the Macy’s shoe department, gaping at Lula, who was all boobs and booty in the rhinestone shoes.

“What do you think?” Lula wanted to know. “Should I get these shoes?”

“Sure,” I said. “They’ll go with the pink outfit you got in Vegas.”

What if Ranger’s wrong, I thought. What if the carnation killer is tired of the game and doesn’t want to play with me? What if he just wants to kill me? He could be watching me now. Lining me up in his sights.

Lula paid for the shoes and we hit the food court next. Lula got a chicken. I got a cheeseburger. Cal and Junior got nothing. Guess they didn’t eat while working. Didn’t want to have a burger in their hand if they had to go for their guns. That was fine by me. I was scanning the mall and my eyes were rolling around in my head so fast I was getting a headache.

I watched Lula tear into her food and I had a creepy thought that she might be right about her teeth. She could really rip apart a chicken.

“What are you staring at?” Lula wanted to know. “Are you staring at my teeth?”

“No! Swear to God. I was just . . . daydreaming.”

After we ate we went back to the cars. I drove about a half mile down Route 1 and Lula and I turned our attention to the motel coming up on the right. It was the Morelli and Gilman motel.

“Probably I didn’t see what I thought I saw that day,” Lula said. “Probably I was just imagining . . .”

Lula stopped talking because Morelli’s truck was parked in front of one of the units.

“Uh-oh,” Lula said.

I’d been doing eighty and I was a quarter mile past the hotel by the time I screeched to a stop. Cal and Junior went flying past me, utter surprise and horror on their faces. I put the Escape into reverse, backed up on the shoulder at a modest fifty miles per hour, and turned into the motel parking lot. No sign of Cal and Junior.