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y characters…Mickey Mouse； Donald Duck； Snow White。 Oddly； they made Bonnie Lamb think of her honeymoon and Max。 The first thing he'd bought at the Magic Kingdom was a Mickey golf cap。
I should've known then and there； she thought。 Bless his heart； he probably couldn't help it。
She got up to see the baby's crib。 A mobile of tropical butterflies； fastened to the rail； had been snapped at the stem。 The mattress was splotched with dark greenish mildew。 Shiny red ants trooped across the fuzzy pink blanket。 Bonnie wondered what had happened to the infant and her parents。 Surely they escaped before the roof blew off。
Augustine waved her back to the broken window。 Heart skipping； she knelt between the two men。 What am I doing？ Where is this heading？
Another car drives up to 15600 Calusa。 A white pact。
Man gets out。 Bony and clerical…looking。 Gray hair。 Brown windbreaker； loose dark trousers。 Reminds Bonnie of her landlord back in Chicago。 What was his name？ Wife taught piano。 What the heck was his name？
Standing by his car； the old man puts on a pair of reading glasses。 Looks at a piece of paper； then up at the numerals painted on the house。 Nods。 Takes off the glasses。 Tucks them in the left pocket of his windbreaker。 Pats the right pocket； as if checking for something。
Awfully hot for a jacket； Bonnie's thinking。 Summertime in Miami； how can a person be chilly？
〃Where does he fit？〃 said Augustine。
〃Contractor。 Utility worker。 Something like that；〃 Skink speculated。
Bonnie Lamb watches the old man straighten himself； stride purposefully to the doorway。 Into the house he goes。
Augustine said； 〃I thought I saw a woman。〃
〃Yes。〃 Skink scratched thoughtfully at his beard。
Creedlow！ Bonnie thinks。 That's the ex…landlord's name。 James Creedlow。 His wife； the piano teacher； her name was Regina。 Chicago wasn't so long ago…Bonnie feels ditzy for not remembering。 James and Regina Creedlow； of course。
Augustine said； 〃What now； captain？〃
Skink settled his bristly chin on the windowsill。 〃We wait。〃
Two hours later； the old man still hasn't e out of the house at 15600 Calusa Drive。 Bonnie's worried。
Then another car pulls up。
CHAPTER TWENTY
Neria Torres had no desire to drive all the way to Brooklyn in search of a thieving husband。
〃Then fly；〃 suggested Celeste； the graduate student who shared the Volkswagen van with Neria and Neria's lover； the professor。
The professor's name was Charles Gabler。 His field of interest was parapsychology。 〃Neria won't fly；〃 he said。 〃She's afraid to death of airplanes。〃
〃Wow；〃 said Celeste； cooking on a portable stove in the back of the van。 She was in charge of the macrobiotic menu。
Neria said； 〃It's not just the flying； it's Brooklyn。 How would I find Tony in a place like that？〃
〃I know how；〃 Celeste piped。 〃Hire a psychic。〃
〃Great idea。 We'll call Kreskin。〃
The professor said； 〃Neria； there's no need to be snide。〃
〃Oh yes； there is。〃
She and Dr Gabler had been sorely low of funds when he'd proposed that young Celeste join them a week earlier as they prepared to depart Eugene； Oregon； for Miami。 Young Celeste had been blessed with a fortable trust fund； a generous heart and handsome gravity…defying breasts。 Neria was under no illusions about the professor's motives； but she tried to put aside her concerns。 They needed gas money； and young Celeste kept a world of credit cards in her purse。 Somewhere near Salina； Kansas； Neria felt the need to inform Dr Gabler that he was paying too much attention to their travel panion； that his behavior was not only rude but disrespectful； and that the Great Plains in the heat of summer was no place to relearn the basics of hitchhiking。 The professor seemed to take the warning to heart。
In truth； Neria was growing bored with Dr Gabler and his absurd blue and red crystals。 Mystic healing； my ass…a box of Milk Duds starts to look pretty mystical； you smoke enough dope。 Which was how the professor spent most of his waking hours； sluggishly bequeathing the driving duties to Neria and Celeste。
〃I'd rather go to Miami anyway；〃 Celeste said； measuring out two cups of brown rice。 〃I'd like to work in one of those tent cities。 Cook for the homeless； if they need me。〃
The professor regarded Neria Torres through bloodshot hound…dog eyes。 〃Darling； it's entirely up to you。 We'll go wherever you wish。〃
〃Wow；〃 said Neria。 The mockery was lost on Celeste； who was immersed in a plex recipe。 Neria declared she was going for a walk； and exited the van。
They had parked at a public campground off Interstate 20； outside Atlanta； to discuss which way to go… New York or Miami； north or south。 Neria Torres replayed in her mind the upsetting conversation with the stranger who'd answered Tony's telephone。 The more Neria thought about it； the more doubts she had。 Not that her piggy husband wasn't capable of falling for a twenty…four…year…old blonde； rather； it was highly implausible that one would fall for him。 And Brooklyn？ Hardly a boomtown for the mobile…home trade。 The stranger's story didn't add up。
Neria Torres had tried to confirm the lurid details with Varga； the nosy next…door neighbor； but his telephone was out of order。 Neria was certain about two things： She was entitled to half the hurricane money for the house in Miami。 And her estranged husband was dodging her。
New York was an astronomic long shot。 At least in Florida there'd be a trail。 Neria decided they should head for Miami； as originally planned。
She thought of a way to widen the net： Why not let the cops search for Tony； too？ They were the pros； after all。 Neria backtracked through the campground to a phone booth； where she used her husband's PIN number to call the Metro…Dade police and make a missing…person report。
After a desk officer took the information； he put Neria Torres on hold。 She waited several minutes； growing increasingly impatient。 The sky began to drizzle。 Neria fumed。 She thought of Dr Gabler and young Celeste； together in the back of the Volkswagen van。 She wondered if the professor was demonstrating his 〃human Ouija board〃 exercise； the one he'd worked so charmingly on Neria herself。
Around Neria's neck hung a polished stalk of rose quartz； which Dr Gabler had given her to help channel untapped torrents of 〃unconditional love。〃 Dickhead！ thought Neria。 At that very moment he was probably tuning young Celeste's inner chakras。 Until she'd met the professor； Neria Torres hadn't known what a chakra was。 Celeste undoubtedly did。 She and Dr Gabler seemed to operate on the same wavelength。
The drizzle turned to a hard rain。 Under Neria's feet； the red Georgia clay turned to slop。 A man with a newspaper over his head came up behind her and stood unfortably close。 He employed noisy； urgent breathing to emphasize his need for the telephone。 Neria cursed aloud and slammed down the receiver。
On the other end； at Metro police headquarters in Miami； the desk officer had been diligently crosschecking the missing husband against a list of unclaimed bodies in the morgue。 He was surprised to get a possible hit： One dead man had the same name； same date of birth； same extravagant brand of wristwatch。
The offider immediately had transferred Mrs。 Torres's phone call to the Homicide division。 By the time a detective picked up； nobody was on the line。
Max Lamb flew from New York to San Diego to Guadalajara； where he slept for eleven hours。 He woke up and called the airport hotel in Miami。 Bonnie hadn't checked in。 Max lit a Bronco cigaret and fell back on the pillow。
He chewed over a scenario in which his new wife might be cheating on him with one of two certifiable lunatics； or both。 He couldn't conceive of it。 The Bonnie Brooks he knew wasn't a free spirit…that was one of the things he loved about her。 Steady and predictable； that was Bonnie。 To Max's knowledge； the most impulsive thing she'd ever done was to hurl a stale pizza； Frisbee style； out the apartment window in Manhattan。 When it came to sex； she was practically old…fashioned。 She hadn't slept with him until their seventh date。
So it took only minutes for Max Lamb to dismiss his worries about Bonnie's fidelity。 The ability to delude oneself on such matters was a benefit of owning a grossly inflated ego。 Bottom line： Max couldn't imagine that Bonnie would desire another man。 Especially those types of men： outlaws and psychos。 Impossible！ He snickered； blowing smoke at the notion。 She was punishing him； that was all； obviously she was still ticked off about the hurricane excursion。
Scrubbing in the shower； Max Lamb refocused on the task at hand： the obstreperous Clyde Nottage Jr； ailing chairman of Durham Gas Meat 8c Tobacco。 Max's orders were to talk some sense into the old fart； make him understand the grievous consequences of withdrawing all those expensive advertisements from print。 Before Max Lamb had left New York； four Rodale & Burns executive vice presidents had individually briefed him on the importance of the Guadalajara mission。 Success； Max knew； would guaran