“This guy thinks he’s playing a game.”

“Have you run across any paranoid schizophrenics lately? Any completely wacko nut cases?”

“My path is littered with them. Have you guys had any luck tracking the emails?”

“No. Hiding the origin of an email requires some sophistication, but it’s possible. The Mercer County Prosecutor’s Office is working with us. We’ll see what we can do with this new one. I’m going to confiscate your computer for a while.”

“Were you able to locate the flower source?”

“They didn’t come from any of the local florists. This guy probably picked them up at a supermarket. We have notices up in all the supermarket lunchrooms for checkers to watch for red roses and white carnations going out. We’ve dusted your apartment for prints, but nothing worthwhile came up.”

“This is very creepy.”

“Yeah,” Morelli said. “Let’s go to bed and I’ll take your mind off your problems.”

I WOKE UP the next morning thinking maybe I only had thirty percent of Morelli, but it was a damn good thirty percent.

My schedule for fighting crime began considerably later in the day than Morelli’s, so by the time I wandered into the kitchen Morelli was already at work. I got coffee brewing and dropped a frozen waffle into the toaster. The morning paper was on the table. I did a fast scan, but saw nothing about a body found floating in the Delaware.

I took a mug of coffee and padded out to the living room, opened the door, and looked up and down the street for Tank. No Tank in sight. That didn’t mean he wasn’t there.

I called Ranger and told him about the latest email. “I don’t suppose you’ve seen Carl Rosen this morning?” I asked.

“No. His car hasn’t surfaced. And he didn’t show up for work.”

“Is Tank out there? I didn’t see him.”

“He saw you. He said you were frightening.”

“I haven’t taken a shower yet. My hair might be a little unruly.”

“Takes a lot to scare Tank,” Ranger said. And he was gone.

I took a shower and I did the full-on hair thing. Hot rollers, gel, the works. I tweezed my eyebrows, painted my toenails, and spent an hour applying makeup. I shrugged into a swirly flowered skirt and finished it all off with a stretchy little white knit top. I was Jersey Girl right down to the strappy sandals with the four-inch heels. Not only did I have to do some image correction for Tank, but I’d be damned if I was going to die needing a pedicure.

I clacked out of the house carrying my big leather shoulder bag and took off for the office in the Escape. I looked great, but I couldn’t run for a damn in the shoes so I had sneakers in my shoulder bag . . . just in case I had to chase down a bad guy.

I turned onto Hamilton and Andrew Cone called.

“I have something for you,” he said. “This is really good. Can you stop around?”