“We can send a man to the moon, but we can’t find a way to stop junk mail!” I yelled at the computer.

I calmed myself and deleted the garbage. I was left with one piece of mail. No subject in the subject line. The body of the letter was short: Did you like my flowers? Were you impressed with my marksmanship this afternoon?

My stomach went hot and sick and my vision got cobwebby. I put my head between my legs until the ringing stopped in my ears and I was able to breathe again.

This was from Howie’s killer. He knew my email address. Not that my email address was a secret. It was printed on my business cards. Still, the message was chilling and eerily invasive. It tied the flowers and the photos to the shooting. It was a message from a madman.

I typed back to him. Who are you?

Seconds later, my message was returned as undeliverable.

I saved the email to show to Morelli and I shut down.

“My day is in the toilet,” I told Bob. “I’m taking a shower. Don’t let any maniacs in the house.” I stood up as tall as I could and I made sure my voice was steady. The bravado was partly for Bob and partly for me. Sometimes if I acted brave, I almost became a little brave. And just in case Bob fell asleep on the job, I went to the closet in Morelli’s room, helped myself to his spare gun, and took it into the bathroom with me.

GRANDMA MAZUR WAS waiting at the door when I pulled up. “What do you think of my new hair?” she asked.

It was punk rock star red and stuck out in little spikes. “I think it’s fun,” I told Grandma.

“It brings out the color of my eyes.”

“And it’s flattering to your skin tone.” Definitely drags attention away from the liver spots.

“It’s a wig,” she said. “I got it at the mall today. Me and Mabel Burlew went shopping. I just got home. I missed all the excitement when everybody thought you shot someone again.”

Albert Kloughn came in behind me. “What about shooting someone? Do you need a lawyer? I’d give you a real good rate. Business has been a little slow. I don’t know why. It’s not like I’m not a good lawyer. I went to school and everything.”

“I don’t need a lawyer,” I told him.

“Too bad. I could use a high-profile case. That’s what really helps your practice to take off. You gotta win something big.”

“What do you think of my hair?” Grandma asked Kloughn.

“It’s nice,” he said. “I like it. It’s real natural looking.”

“It’s a wig,” Grandma said. “I got it at the mall.”

“Maybe that’s what I should get,” Kloughn said. “Maybe I’d get more cases if I had more hair. A lot of people don’t like bald men. Not that I’m bald, but it’s starting to get thin.” He smoothed his hand over his few remaining strands of hair. “You probably didn’t notice that it was thin, but I can tell when the light hits it just right.”