Fearless Fourteen - Janet Evanovich [53]
Mooner, Zook, Bob, Gary, Lula, and I left the yard and huddled in the kitchen. I gave everyone an ice cream sandwich, except Bob. Bob got a slice of ham.
“How come you think the money isn’t in the yard?” Lula wanted to know.
“People wouldn’t be breaking into Morelli’s house if the money was in the yard. The only people digging in the yard are idiots who saw Brenda on television.”
Lula peeled the wrapper off her ice cream. “So you think the money’s in the house?”
“I’m not sure there is any money. I suspect it was here at one time, but Dom was in prison for almost ten years, and there were a lot of changes. Rose died. Morelli moved into the house. Things were thrown away. Rooms were renovated. For all we know, Rose could have found the money and given it to the church.”
“I don’t think so,” Gary said. “I’m getting a sharp pain in my forehead.”
“It’s the ice cream,” I told him. “You’re getting a brain freeze.” I herded everyone into the living room and found some Saturday morning cartoons on television. “I need to go out again, but I’ll be back by noon.”
I found the keys to Morelli’s car and left my keys in their place. I drove to Jelly’s house and idled across the street. It was a small two-story house that had been converted into two apartments. There was only one front door, so I assumed the owner had made a small foyer with two inner doors. I looked up to the second floor. Four windows going across. The shades had been raised on all four windows. It would be easier to snoop if Jelly lived on the ground floor. I drove around the block. Sometimes older neighborhoods in Trenton have alleys intersecting the blocks. This block wasn’t divided by an alley. I parked around the corner, walked to Jelly’s house, and tried the front door. Ordinarily, if you look like you belong somewhere, no one pays attention. Unfortunately, I was blue, and I looked like I belonged in some distant galaxy.
The front door was unlocked, so I stepped inside. Just as I’d thought, there was a small foyer. The door to my left led to the ground-floor apartment. The door directly in front of me led upstairs. I rang the bell. No answer. I rang again. Nothing. I tried the doorknob. Locked. I looked under the mat. No key. I felt the top of the doorjamb. Eureka . . . a key. I plugged the key into the lock, the door clicked open, and I stepped inside. I closed the door and stood listening, hearing nothing but quiet.
I crept up the stairs and cautiously peeked into the apartment. Living room with a galley kitchen at one end. A small hall leading to a bedroom and a bathroom. Dirty dishes in the sink. A cereal box on the counter. A pillow on the couch in front of the small television. An open half-empty bag of chips on the coffee table. I moved to the bathroom. Not clean. Two toothbrushes. Two razors. Towels on the floor. Toilet lid up. Ick. The door was open to the bedroom. Bed unmade. Sheets looked like they’d been on there since Christmas. Socks and underwear on the floor. Top bureau drawer open. Big mess.
I thought there was a good chance Dom was crashing here. I was tempted to do a more thorough search, but I wasn’t sure what it would produce. And the longer I lingered, the better my chance of getting caught in the act. I decided to sneak out and do a background search on Jelly and turn the whole mess over to Morelli.
I walked out of the bedroom into the short hallway, and I heard the door open and close at the foot of the stairs. Instant panic! I was trapped. I wasn’t in a position where I felt I could successfully detain Dom, and I didn’t want to blow his cover and have him run. I did a ten-second imitation of a cat on roller skates. I pulled myself together, scurried into the bedroom, and dove under the bed.
The reality of hiding under a bed is that it’s uncomfortable, it’s terrifying, and you feel like an idiot. I inched to the middle, so there was less chance I’d be seen, and I tried to breathe quietly.
There were two sets of footsteps on the stairs and then there was a moment of quiet, and