I gave him a plate and silverware and took a beer from the refrigerator. “Big zero. No one’s seen him.”

“You have any clever ideas about where we go from here?”

“No.” Yes! The mail! I’d forgotten about the mail in my pocketbook. I hauled it out and spread it on the kitchen counter—phone bill, MasterCard bill, a bunch of junk mail, and a postcard reminder that Kenny was due for a dental checkup.

Morelli glanced over while he ladled gravy on the dressing, potatoes, and cold chicken. “Is that your mail?”

“Don’t look.”

“Shit,” Morelli said. “Isn’t anything sacred to you?”

“Mom’s apple pie. So what should I do here? Should I steam the envelopes or something?”

Morelli dropped the envelopes on the floor and smushed them with his shoe. I picked them up and examined them. They were torn and dirty.

“Received in damaged condition,” Morelli said. “Do the phone bill first.”

I paged through the statement and was surprised to find four overseas calls.

“What do you make of this?” I asked Morelli. “You know any of these codes?”

“The top two are Mexico.”

“Can you put names to the numbers?”

Morelli set his plate on the counter, slid the antennae up on my portable phone, and dialed. “Hey, Murphy,” he said, “I need you to get me names and addresses for numbers.” He read the numbers off and ate while he waited. Minutes later, Murphy came back on the line, and Morelli acknowledged information given. His face was impassive when he hung up. I’d come to know this as his cop face.

“The second two numbers are El Salvador. Murphy couldn’t get more specific.”

I snitched a piece of chicken from his plate and nibbled on it. “Why is Kenny calling Mexico and El Salvador?”

“Maybe he’s planning a vacation.”

I didn’t trust Morelli when he went bland like this. Morelli’s emotions were usually clear on his face.

He opened the MasterCard bill. “Kenny’s been busy. He charged almost two thousand dollars’ worth of stuff last month.”

“Any airline tickets?”

“No airline tickets.” He handed the bill over to me. “Look for yourself.”

“Mostly clothes. All local stores.” I laid the bills out on the kitchen counter“. About those phone numbers …”

He had his head back in the grocery bag. “Is that apple pie I see?”

“You touch that pie and you’re a dead man.”

Morelli chucked me under the chin. “I love it when you talk tough like that. I’d like to stay and hear more, but I have to get moving.”

He let himself out, walked the short distance down the hall, and disappeared into the elevator. When the elevator doors clicked closed I realized he’d walked off with Kenny’s phone bill. I smacked the heel of my hand to my forehead. “Unh!”

I retreated back into my apartment, locked my front door, shucked my clothes en route to the bathroom, and plunged into a steaming shower. After the shower I dug out a flannel nightie. I towel-dried my hair and padded barefoot into the kitchen.