Unfortunately, Valerie was speaking from firsthand experience.

“I’ve never jumped out of a window,” Kloughn said. “I thought people just did that in the movies. You’re the first person I’ve ever met who jumped out of a window,” he said to Morelli. “And a bedroom window, too. Did you have your clothes on?”

“Yeah,” Morelli said. “I had my clothes on.”

“How about your shoes? Did you have your shoes on?”

“Yes. I had my shoes on.”

I almost felt sorry for Morelli. He was making a major effort not to lose his temper. A younger Morelli would have broken a chair over Kloughn’s head.

“I heard Terry didn’t hardly have anything on,” Grandma said. “Loretta’s sister lives right across from Terry Gilman and she said she saw the whole thing and Terry was wearing a flimsy little nightie. Loretta’s sister said even from across the street you could see right through the nightie and she thinks Terry got a boob job because Terry’s boobs were perfect. Loretta’s sister said there was a big to-do with the police showing up on account of all the shooting.”

I tried to control my eyebrows from jumping halfway up my forehead. “Nightie? Shooting?”

“Loretta’s sister was the one who called the police,” Joe said. “And there wasn’t a lot of shooting. A gun accidentally discharged.”

“And the nightie?”

The anger disappeared and Morelli tried unsuccessfully to stifle a smile. “It wasn’t exactly a nightie. She was wearing one of those camisole tops and a thong.”

“No kidding!” Kloughn said. “And you could see through it, right? I bet you could see through it.”

“That does it,” I said, standing at my seat, throwing my napkin onto the table. “I’m out of here.” I stomped out of the dining room into the foyer and stopped with my hand on the door. “What did you make for dessert?” I yelled to my mother.

“Chocolate cake.”

I wheeled around and flounced off to the kitchen. I cut a good-size wedge from the cake, wrapped it in aluminum foil, and swept out of the house. Okay, so I was acting like an idiot. At least I was an idiot with cake.

I took to the road and drove off, spewing indignation and self-righteous fury. I was still fuming when I reached Joe’s house. I sat there for a couple beats, considering my predicament. My clothes and my hamster were in the house. Not to mention my safety and great sex. Problem was, there was all this . . . emotion. I know emotion covers a lot of ground, but I couldn’t hang a better name on my feelings. Wounded might be in the ballpark. I was stung that Morelli couldn’t keep from smiling when he thought back to Gilman in her thong and camisole. Gilman and her perfect boobs. Unh. Mental head slap.

I opened the aluminum foil and ate the chocolate cake with my fingers. When in doubt, eat some cake. Halfway through the cake I started to feel better. Okay, I said to myself, now that we have some calm, let’s take a look at what happened here.