Morelli looked at the two puncture wounds in my thumb, then he looked at the bookcase. “You want me to shoot him?”

“No, I don’t want you to shoot him. I want you to go into the kitchen, get the big strainer, and trap Rex in it while I wash my hands and get a Band-Aid.”

When I came out of the bathroom five minutes later, Rex was crouched still as stone under the strainer, and Morelli was at the dining room table eating the spice cake. He’d set out a wedge for me and poured glasses of milk.

“I think we can hazard a pretty good guess at the identity of the villain here,” Morelli said, glancing at my business card impaled on my carving knife, which was sunk into the middle of my square wood table. “Nice centerpiece,” he offered. “Did you say you left your calling card with one of Sandeman’s neighbors?”

“Seemed like a good idea at the time.”

Morelli finished his milk and cake and rocked back in his chair. “How spooked are you about all of this?”

“On a scale of one to ten, I guess I’m at six.”

“Do you want me to stay until you can get your door fixed?”

I took a minute to consider. I’d been in worrisome situations before, and I knew it was no fun being alone and scared. Problem was, I didn’t want to admit any of this to Morelli. “You think he’ll be back?”

“Not tonight. Probably not ever unless you push him again.”

I nodded. “I’ll be okay. But thanks for the offer.”

He stood. “You’ve got my number if you need me.”

I wasn’t about to touch that one.

He looked at Rex. “You need any help getting Dracula settled in?”

I knelt down, lifted the strainer, scooped Rex up, and gently set him back in his cage. “He doesn’t usually bite,” I said. “He was just excited.”

Morelli gave me a chuck under the chin. “Happens to me sometimes, too.”

I slid the chain home after Morelli left and jury-rigged an alarm system for myself by stacking glasses in front of the door. If the door opened, it’d knock the pyramid over, and the glasses smashing on the linoleum floor would wake me up. There was the added advantage that if the intruder was barefoot, he’d cut himself on the broken glass. Of course, this was unlikely since it was November and forty degrees.

I brushed my teeth, got into my jammies, put my gun on the table beside my bed, and crawled into bed, trying not to be disturbed by the writing on my wall. First thing in the morning I’d call the super to get my door fixed, and while I was at it, I’d mooch some paint.

I lay awake for a long time, unable to sleep. My muscles were twitchy with nerves and my brain was uneasy. I hadn’t shared my opinion with Morelli, but I was pretty sure Sandeman hadn’t vandalized my apartment. One of the messages on my wall had mentioned conspiracy, and a silver letter K had been pasted below the message. Probably I should have shown Morelli the K, and probably I should have shown him the silver-lettered note suggesting I take a vacation. I wasn’t sure why I’d held back. I suspected the reason was childish. Sort of like … you won’t tell me your secret, then I won’t tell you mine. Nah, nah, nah, nah, nah.