“Have any luck on the funeral circuit?”

“None.”

He cut the engine and leaned close to me. “You smell like carnations.”

“Watch it. You’ll crush the cake.”

He looked down at the bag. “That’s a lot of cake.”

“Un-huh.”

“You eat all that cake, and it’ll go straight to your hips.”

I heaved a sigh. “Okay, you can have some of the cake. Just don’t try anything funny.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”‘

“You know what that means!”

Morelli grinned.

I thought about looking haughty, but decided it was too late, and I probably couldn’t pull it off anyway, so I settled for a grunt of exasperation and levered myself out of the pickup. I stalked off with Morelli following close on my heels. We rode the elevator in silence, exited at the second floor, and stopped short at the sight of my door slightly ajar. There were gouge marks where a tool had been inserted between jamb and door and used to pry the door open.

I heard Morelli unholster his gun, and I slid a glance in his direction. He motioned for me to step aside, his eyes locked on the door.

I pulled the .38 out of my pocketbook and muscled my way in front of him. “My apartment, my problem,” I said, not actually anxious to be a hero, but not wanting to relinquish control.

Morelli grabbed me by the back of my jacket and yanked. “Don’t be an idiot.”

Mr. Wolesky opened his door with a bag of garbage in his arms and caught us scuffling. “What’s going on?” he asked. “You want me to call the cops?”

“I am the cops,” Morelli said.

Mr. Wolesky gave him a long, considering look, and then turned to me. “He give you any trouble, you let me know. I’m just going down the hall with my garbage.”

Morelli stared after him. “I don’t think he trusts me.”

Smart man.

We both peeked cautiously inside my apartment, entering the foyer glued at the hip like Siamese twins. The kitchen and the living room area were empty of intruders. We immediately went to the bedroom and bath, checking out closets, looking under the bed, peering out at the fire escape beyond the window.

“It’s clear,” Morelli said. “You assess the damage and see if anything’s been stolen. I’ll try to secure the front door.”

At first glance damage seemed to consist exclusively of spray-painted slogans having to do with female organs and anatomically impossible suggestions. Nothing seemed to be missing from my jewelry box. Sort of insulting since I had a very nice pair of cubic zirconias that I thought looked every bit as good as diamonds. Well, what did this guy know? This was a person who’d misspelled vagina.

“The door won’t lock, but I was able to attach the security chain,” Morelli called from the foyer. I heard him walk to the living room and stop. Silence followed.

“Joe?”

“Un-huh.”

“What are you doing?”

“Watching your cat.”