“A hundred and forty-one grand. Seventy-one for me, seventy for you.”
“Right.” For somebody about to score the windfall of a lifetime, Fred Dove was subdued. “My concern, again, is Mister Torres-”
“Like I told you last night, Tony’s in some kind of serious jam. I doubt he’ll be back.”
“But didn’t you say Mrs Torres, the real Mrs Torres, might be returning to Miami-”
“That’s why you need to hurry,” Edie Marsh said. “Tell the home office it’s an emergency.”
The insurance man pursed his lips. “Edie, every case is an emergency. There’s been a hurricane, for God’s sake.”
Impassively, she watched him finish dressing. He spent five full minutes trying to smooth the wrinkles out of his sex-rumpled Dockers. When he asked to borrow an iron, Edie reminded him there was no electricity.
“How about taking me to breakfast,” she said.
“I’m already late for an appointment in Cutler Ridge.
Some poor old man’s got a Pontiac on top of his house.” Fred Dove kissed Edie on the forehead and followed up with the obligatory morning-after hug. “I’ll be back tonight. Is nine all right?”
“Fine,” she said. Tonight he’d undoubtedly bring condoms-one more comic speed bump on the highway to passion. She made a mental note to haul one of Tony’s mattresses out in the sun to dry; another strenuous session in the BarcaLounger might put poor Freddie in traction.
“Bring the claim forms,” she told him. “I want to see everything.”
He jotted a reminder on his clipboard and slipped it into the briefcase.
“Oh yeah,” Edie said. “I also need a couple gallons of gas from your car.”
Fred Dove looked puzzled.
“For the generator,” she explained. “A hot bath would be nice … since you won’t let me share your tub at the Ramada.”
“Oh, Edie-”
“And maybe a few bucks for groceries.”
She softened up when the insurance man took out his wallet. “That’s my boy.” She kissed him on the neck and ended it with a little bite, just to prime the pump.
“I’m scared,” he said.
“Don’t be, sugar. It’s a breeze.” She took two twenties and sent him,on his way.
TEN
On the drive to the morgue, Augustine and Bonnie Lamb heard a news report about a fourteen-foot reticulated python that had turned up in the salad bar of a fast-food joint in Perrine.
“One of yours?” Bonnie asked.
“I’m wondering.” It was impossible to know if the snake had belonged to Augustine’s dead uncle; Felix Mojack’s handwritten inventory was vague on details.
“He had a couple big ones,” Augustine said, “but I never measured the damn things.”
Bonnie said, “I hope they didn’t kill it.”
“Me, too.” He was pleased that she was concerned for the welfare of a primeval reptile. Not all women would be.
“They could give it to a zoo,” she said.
“Or turn it loose at the county commission.”
“You’re bad.”
“I know,” Augustine said. As legal custodian of the menagerie, he felt a twinge of responsibility for Bonnie Lamb’s predicament. Without a monkey to chase, her husband probably wouldn’t have been abducted. Maybe the culprit was one of Uncle Felix’s rhesuses, maybe not.
Without reproach, Bonnie asked: “What’ll you do if one of those critters kills a person?”
“Pray it was somebody who deserved it.”
Bonnie was appalled. Augustine said, “I don’t know what else to do, short of a safari. You know how big the Everglades are?”
They rode in silence for a while before Bonnie said: “You’re right. They’re free, and that’s how it ought to be.”
“I don’t know how anything ought to be, but I know how it is. Hell, those cougars could be in Key Largo by now.”
Bonnie Lamb smiled sadly. “I wish I was.”
Before entering the chill of the Medical Examiner’s Office, she put on a baggy ski sweater that Augustine had brought for the occasion. This time there were no preliminaries to the viewing. The same young coroner led them directly to the autopsy room, where the newly murdered John Doe was the center of attention. The corpse was surrounded by detectives, uniformed cops, and an unenthusiastic contingent of University of Miami medical students. They parted for Augustine and Bonnie Lamb.