"As long as he didn't spend the night," Morelli said. He reached around me to a cookie tin, removed the lid, and selected a cookie.

I cut my eyes to Diesel and caught him smiling.

Morelli's pager buzzed. He checked the readout and swore to himself. He used the kitchen phone, staring at his shoes while he was talking. Never a good sign. The conversation was short.

"I have to go," Morelli said. "Work."

"Will I see you later?"

Morelli pulled me out to the back stoop and shut the kitchen door behind us. "Stanley Komenski was just found stuffed into an industrial waste barrel. It was sitting in the alley behind that new Thai restaurant on Sumner Street. Apparently it had been sitting there for days and was attracting flies, not to mention some local dogs and a pack of crows. He was muscle for Lou Two Toes so this is going to get ugly. And if that isn't bad enough, there's something screwy going on with the electric grid. There have been power outages in pockets all over Trenton and they all of a sudden correct themselves. Not a big deal, but it's making a mess out of traffic." Morelli turned his head to look through the glass pane, into the kitchen. "Who's the big guy?"

"I told you. He popped into my kitchen this morning. I think he's an alien. Or maybe he's some kind of a ghost."

Morelli felt my forehead. "Are you running a fever? Have you fallen down again?"

"I'm fine. Pay attention. The guy popped into my kitchen."

"Yeah, but everyone pops into your kitchen."

"Not like this. He really popped in. Like he was beamed down, or something."

"Okay," Morelli said, "I believe you. He's an alien." Morelli dragged me tight against him, and he kissed me. And he left.

"So," Diesel said, when I returned to the kitchen.

"How'd that go?"

"I don't think he believed me."

"No kidding. You go around telling people I'm an alien and they're eventually going to lock you up in the booby hatch. And just for the record, I'm not an alien. And I'm not a ghost."

"Vampire?"

"A vampire can't enter a home without an invitation."

"This is too weird."

"It's not that weird," Diesel said. "I can do some things most people can't do. Don't make more of it than it is."

“I don't know what it is!"

Diesel's smile returned.

At precisely six o'clock we sat down to the table.

"Isn't this nice," Grandma said. "It feels like a party."

"I'm squished," Mary Alice said. "Horses don't like when they're squished. There's too many people at this table."

"I've got room," Albert Kloughn said. "I can pick my fork up and everything."

My father already had lasagna on his plate. My father always got served first with the hope that he'd be busy eating and wouldn't jump up and strangle Grandma Mazur. "Where's the gravy?" he asked. "Where's the extra sauce?"