I didn’t think that sounded like much of a plan, but I didn’t have anything better, so I didn’t complain. I filled my thermos with coffee, packed two sandwiches and an apple into my little cooler, and turned my answering machine on.

It was still dark when I walked to my car. Sunday morning. No traffic. Neither of us was in a talkative mood. I didn’t see Morelli’s truck in the lot.

“What are you driving?” I asked.

“A black Explorer parked on the street, to the side of the building.”

I unlocked the Buick and threw everything into the backseat, including a blanket, which it looked like I wouldn’t need. It had stopped raining and the air felt much warmer. In the fifties, I guessed.

I wasn’t sure if Spiro kept the same schedule on Sundays. The funeral home was open seven days a week, but I suspected weekend hours depended on bodies received. Spiro didn’t seem like the sort to go to church. I crossed myself. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d attended mass.

“What was that all about?” Morelli asked. “What’s with the sign of the cross?”

“It’s Sunday, and I’m not in church … again.”

Morelli put his hand on the top of my head. It felt steady and reassuring, and heat seeped into my scalp.

“God loves you anyway,” he said.

His hand slid to the back of my head, he pulled me to him, and kissed me on the forehead. He gave me a hug, and then he was suddenly gone, striding across the lot, disappearing into the shadows.

I stuffed myself into the Buick, feeling warm and fuzzy, wondering if something was going on with Morelli and me. What did a kiss on the forehead mean, anyway? Nothing, I told myself. It didn’t mean anything at all. It meant that sometimes Morelli could be a nice guy. Okay, so why was I smiling like an idiot? Because I was deprived. My love life was nonexistent. I shared an apartment with a hamster. Well, I thought, it could be worse. I could still be married to Dickie Orr, the horse’s patoot.

The drive to Century Court was quiet. The sky had begun to lighten. Black layers of clouds and blue strips of sky. Spiro’s apartment complex was dark, with the exception of Spiro’s apartment. I parked and watched the rearview mirror for Morelli’s headlights. No headlights appeared. I swiveled in my seat and scanned the lot. No Explorer.

No matter, I told myself. Morelli was out there, somewhere. Probably.

I had few illusions about my place in the scheme of things. I was the decoy, making myself clearly visible in the Buick, so Kenny wouldn’t look too hard for a second man.

I poured coffee and settled in for the long wait. A band of orange appeared on the horizon. A light blinked on in the apartment next to Spiro. Another light appeared a few apartments down. The charcoal sky turned azure. Ta daaa! It was morning.