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concern, and I smiled. “That’s a line from a movie,” I said.
    “Uh huh.”
    “ The Princess Bride ,” I added.
    “Well it doesn’t sound like a wedding movie to me,” she said. I pulled out my CIA creds and waited for her to ooh and ah . Instead, she frowned and said, “This looks like something you’d find in a five and dime.”
    “What’s a five and dime?”
    “Like a Woolworths.”
    I shook my head. “Doesn’t matter. As I said, I’m a friend of Addie’s. I met her through Kathleen, one of the volunteers here. I want to help.”
    “What’s in it for you?”
    I sighed. “Fine, don’t tell me.” I took out my cell phone, called Lou. When he answered, I said, “There was a fire two weeks ago at the home of Greg and Melanie Dawes.” I spelled the last name for him. “Both adults died in the fire. Their twin girls were taken to the burn center at New York-Presbyterian. I need the address of the house that burned down. No, I’m not sure of the state. Try New York, first.” I got our waitress’s attention and asked her to bring me a pencil and paper. By the time she fetched them, I had the address. I hung up and smiled at Aunt Hazel.
    “Who was that?” she asked.
    “Inigo Montoya.”

 
     
     
    CHAPTER 11
     
    V alley Road in Montclair, New Jersey, runs south from Garrett Mountain Reservation to Bloomfield Ave. Along the way, it borders the eastern boundary of Montclair State University’s sprawling campus. Coming west from NYC, you’re not supposed to see any of this on your way to the fi re station, but if you make the wrong turn o ff the freeway like I did, you get to see the sights. While I was doing so, my cell phone rang. Salvatore Bonadello, the crime boss, was on the line.
    “You still alive?” Sal said.
    “You call this living,” I said. It was still morning, not quite ten. I’d left the co ff ee shop, and Aunt Hazel, less than two hours earlier.
    “I been hearing some things,” he said. “You stepped on someone’s toes big time.” He waited for me to respond, playing out the moment.
    “Joe DeMeo?” I said.
    Sal paused, probably disappointed he hadn’t been the one to break the news. “You didn’t hear it from me,” he said.
    “Don’t tell me you’re afraid of DeMeo,” I said. “Big, tough, hairy guy like you?” I turned left on Bloomfield, heading south east.
    “I don’t gotta fear the man to respect the power. And I got—whatcha call—compelling evidence to respect it. Whaddya mean, hairy?”
    “Figure of speech,” I said.
    I hadn’t been certain that arson was involved in the Dawes’ house fire but figured if it was, DeMeo was responsible. The fact DeMeo knew I was looking into the fire confirmed my suspicions. Still, I was shocked at how quickly he’d gotten the word. “How long you think I have before the hairy knuckle guys show up?”
    “You in someone’s attic or what?”
    “Rental car.”
    “Okay. You prob’ly got a couple hours. But I was you, I’d start checking the rearview anyway.”
    “Thanks for the heads-up.”
    “Just protectin’ my—whatcha call—asset.”
    “DeMeo called you personally? He doesn’t know we’re doing business?”
    Sal paused, weighing his words. “He knows.”
    I was stuck in a line of cars at the intersection of Bloomfield and Pine, waiting for the light to change. I had nothing else to think about beyond Sal’s comment or I might have missed the clue. I kicked it around in my head a few seconds before it hit me. “DeMeo o ff ered you a contract on me.”
    “Let’s just say your next two jobs are—whatcha call— gratis .”
    Two jobs? That meant … “You turned down a hundred grand?”
    Sal laughed. “It ain’t love, so don’t get all wet about it. I just don’t have anyone—whatcha call—resourceful enough to take you outta the picture. Plus, where am I gonna get a contract killer good as you? Unless maybe that blond fox you use. You tell her about me yet?”
    The light turned green, and