“At the end of the month,” she said. “I remember because I was doing the monthly billing, and this truck went in and out a couple times.”

“Can you describe it?”

“It was fairly large. Like a small moving van. Not an eighteen-wheeler or anything. More that it could hold a couple rooms of furniture. And it wasn’t a rental. It was white with black lettering on the door, but it was too far to read from the office.”

“Did you see the driver?”

“Sorry, I didn’t pay that close attention. I was doing the billing.”

I thanked her and hung up. Hard to say if the truck information was worth anything. There had to be a hundred trucks in the Trenton area to fit that description.

Morelli looked at me expectantly when I got back to the table. “Well?”

“She didn’t find anything, but she remembered seeing a white truck with black lettering on the door make several passes at the end of the month.”

“That narrows it down.”

Ranger’d picked his ribs clean. He looked at his watch and pushed back. “Gotta see a man.”

He and Morelli did some ritualistic hand thing, and Ranger left.

Morelli and I ate in silence for a while. Eating was one of the few body functions we felt comfortable sharing. When the last of the greens had been consumed we gave a collective sigh of satisfaction and signaled for the check.

Big Jim’s didn’t have five-star prices, but there wasn’t much left in my wallet after I anted up my share. Probably it would be wise to visit Connie and see if she had any more easy pickups for me.

Morelli had parked on the street, and I’d opted to leave the blimp in a public lot two blocks down on Maple. I left Morelli at the door and marched off, telling myself a car was a car. And what did it matter if people saw me driving a 1953 Buick? It was transportation, right? Sure. That’s why I’d parked a quarter mile away in an underground garage.

I retrieved the car and motored down Hamilton, past Delio’s Exxon and Perry Sandeman, and found an empty parking space in front of the bond office. I squinted at the slope of the baby blue hood and wondered exactly where the car came to an end. I eased forward, rolled up on the curb, and nudged the parking meter. I decided this was close enough, cut the engine, and locked up behind myself.

Connie was at her desk, looking even meaner than usual, with her thick black eyebrows drawn low and menacing, and her mouth held in a tight slash of blood red lipstick. Unfiled files were stacked on the tops of the cabinets, and her desk was a jumble of loose papers and empty coffee cups.

“So,” I said, “how’s it going?”

“Don’t ask.”

“Hire anyone yet?”

“She starts tomorrow. In the meantime I can’t find a goddamn thing because nothing’s in order.”