“That’s tempting, but no,” I said. “I’m engaged.”
The restoration person left, and I put the groceries away. I would only have the apartment for a couple more weeks, and I had no reason to leave Rangeman, especially since I seemed to be engaged, but I felt compelled to stock up with waffles and peanut butter.
I walked through the apartment to my bathroom. It was ugly but it was totally intact. Much like the ’53 Buick. Magically indestructible.
“I could consider this to be an act of God,” I said to Bob. “It’s like the big guy is telling me it’s time to move on. New beginnings. That’s how Lula would look at it.”
I returned to the kitchen and Ranger called. “I have a franchised Rangeman facility in Virginia that’s had a total security breach. I’m flying out with my tech guy. I’ll give you a call tonight when I know more.”
“He has an empire,” I said to Bob. “And he has me.”
Good thing Bob wasn’t in a position to have a conversation with Morelli. News of my impending marriage wasn’t something Morelli would want to hear from his dog.
* * *
By four thirty I had my couch set on a dry spot in the living room and my new sleeping bag unrolled on the couch. The table lamp was plugged in and placed beside the couch.
“I guess I don’t need any of this,” I said to Bob, “but it’s like the waffles and peanut butter. It feels like the right thing to do. It’s still my apartment.”
I returned to Rangeman and changed into the black skirt, white top, and blue jacket I’d worn to the Zelinsky viewing. It was the only outfit I had that was appropriate for a wedding rehearsal.
I gave Bob a big bowl of dog kibble and when he was done, I clipped him to his leash.
“You have to be on your best behavior,” I said to Bob. “We’re going to church.”
This wasn’t my first wedding rehearsal, so my expectations were low. I was partnered with a guy who worked as a bartender and was super impressed with himself. His eyes were rimmed with black liner and his pants were tight across the ass. His teeth were very white, and he smiled a lot. I had used up most of my smiles earlier in the day, so I was struggling to keep up.
Bob walked down the aisle with me, strained at the leash, and snuffled Father John’s crotch, leaving a drool mark on his cassock.
“So sorry,” I said to Father John. “I’m babysitting. His owner has terminal cancer and is in hospice.”
“God bless,” Father John said. “Perhaps you could allow one of the family members to watch the dog while we conduct the rehearsal.”
I gave Bob over to a boy who stepped forward. “Maybe he wants to go outside to tinkle,” I said to the boy.
We resumed the rehearsal and had gotten to the part with the vows when there were loud slurping noises coming from the front of the church. Bob was drinking from the baptismal font. Everyone turned to look and there was a group gasp.
“He was thirsty,” the boy said.
When we were done with the rehearsal, I called Lula. “I need help,” I said. “I have to go to dinner with the wedding party and Bob is persona non grata. Is there any chance that you can babysit?”
“Sure,” Lula said. “Julio is watching wrestling and as long as I get back to tuck him into bed, he’ll be happy.”
I met Lula in front of Casa Soupa. It was a family-friendly bar and restaurant in the Burg, not far from the church. The rehearsal dinner would be held in their private room. The menu was predetermined. I didn’t care what I ate as long as it was served with some form of alcohol.
“I’ll leave as soon as possible,” I said to Lula. “Here are the keys to the SUV. This is a halfway-okay neighborhood. Maybe you can walk him around a little and then the two of you can go back to the SUV.”
I watched Lula and Bob walk down the street and I went into the restaurant. I was at an awkward age. I was ten years older than the rest of the wedding party and at least twenty years younger than everyone else. Loretta and her fiancé were holding hands, looking overwhelmed and nervous. I’m sure that they were in love, but it seemed overshadowed by the event. I thought this is the way it was when you were young and it was your first marriage. I didn’t want my second marriage to be overshadowed by the event. I wanted the event to be private and personal.
Antipasti was brought out and the toasts began. Halfway through the toasts my phone vibrated, and Nutsy’s mom’s number showed on my screen. I quietly excused myself and left the room. I stood in the narrow hallway and called Celia back.
“I’m sorry to bother you,” Celia said, “but I’m worried about Andrew. He got a clown gig. I thought he shouldn’t take it, but he was excited and said it would be okay. He was supposed to be back hours ago, and I haven’t heard from him.”
“Who hired him?”
“I don’t know, but I heard him repeat the address when he got the phone call. It was Shirley Street. I don’t know the number.”
“I’ll look into it,” I said. “Let me know if you hear from him.”
I went back to the dining room and made my excuses. I left the restaurant and found Lula and Bob standing by the SUV.
“I just got a call from Celia Manley,” I said to Lula. “Nutsy got a clown gig and he’s overdue to return home.”
“He’s got clown in his blood,” Lula said. “He probably could never refuse someone wanting him to be a clown. It’s too late for a little kid’s birthday party, so he must be entertaining a bunch of adult clown lovers.”
“Or he could be entertaining Frankie Plover.”
“That was going to be my next possibility,” Lula said, getting into the SUV.
“Celia said Nutsy was heading for Shirley Street.”
“That’s a strange place for a clown performance,” Lula said. “It’s mostly industrial around Shirley. Some small warehouses and stores. Although, there’s a dance studio and a gym and one of those trampoline bounce places for kids. The bounce place advertises parties all the time. I know about it because it’s next to a store for hair and nail techs. My friend Yolanda works there and gets me a discount.”
Shirley was just past lower Stark Street. At this time of night there was no traffic, and most buildings were dark. A few of the smaller units had lights shining in windows. The dance studio, gym, and bounce thing were dark. I crept along, looking for Nutsy’s Yamaha. After two blocks I came to a small one-story building that was lit and had a bunch of balloons fixed to its mailbox.
“Hunh,” Lula said. “I bet there’s a clown in there.”
I idled in front of the building for a moment and a text message dinged on my phone. Unknown caller with a photo of Nutsy in a clown costume. He was strapped to a straight chair. His face was bruised and bleeding. He was slumped over, possibly unconscious. There was another ding. Congratulations. You found us. Join the party.
“Are we going to join the party?” Lula asked.
“Eventually,” I said. “Are you armed?”
“Do bears do it in the woods?” Lula said. “Are you?”