"Maybe eleven, twelve o'clock." "Why so late?" "Well." "Who is she?"

"Somebody." "Who?" I'll tell you later. I got to go, Tony. She'll be here any minute."

"Bring me half of her, too," Tony said.

Smiling, Georgie put up the phone, and checked his watch. Six-twenty: Plenty of time to go look at the money again. It never failed to delight him, looking at all that money. Still smiling, he went into the bedroom.

The window was open.

The smile dropped from his face.

The drawers had been pulled out of his dresser and his shirts and socks and sweaters and underwear were strewn all over the floor and the bed.

The closet door was open, too. Jackets and suits had been ripped from their hangers and thrown everywhere.

An open shoebox was lying on the floor.

Two black patent-leather shoes lay on the floor beside the box.

Both shoes were empty.

All of fifteen minutes downstairs, he thought.

This city.

Carella woke up at a quarter to seven that evening. The house was very still. He put on a pair of jeans and a

T-shirt and padded around looking for someone. Not a soul was in sight. "Fanny?" he called. No answer. "Dad?"

Mark, calling from his bedroom down the hall. He was sitting up in bed, reading, when Carella walked in. "Hi, Dad," he said. "Have a good sleep?" "Yes. How do you feel?" "Much better."

"Let's see," Carella said, and sat on the edge of the bed, and put the palm of his hand on Mark's forehead. "Where is everybody?" he asked.

"Fanny took April to ballet and Mom's out shopping."

"Shopping or marketing?"

"What's the difference?"

"About five hundred dollars."

"How can you tell my temperature that way?" Mark asked.

"Your forehead's supposed to feel hot at first. If it continues feeling hot, you've got a fever." "I still don't get it." "Trust me."

"So what's my temperature?"

"Ninety-eight point five. Wait," he said, and looked at his palm.

"Five and a half," he corrected. "Either way, you'll be ready for school tomorrow."

"Good. Did you like school when you were a kid?" "I loved it," Carella said. "So do I."

"How's the book?"

"Crap."

"Then why are you reading it?"

"It's the best Mom could find at the supermarket." "Speaks well for our culture."

He tousled Mark's hair, kissed him on the cheek, and was heading into the living room when Fanny came through the front door.

"Well, look who's up and about," she said. "Wipe your feet, April."

April shuffled her feet on the hall mat, put down her black tote bag with the ballet school's name and logo on it, and sat on the hall bench to take off her boots. "How's Mark?" she asked. "Better." "Good,"

she said. "Better get dinner started," Fanny said, and went off into the kitchen.

Carella watched his daughter, her head bent, as she struggled with the zipper on the left boot. Of the twins, she was the one who most resembled Teddy. The same black hair and dark brown eyes, the same beautifully expressive face. Mark favored his father, poor kid, Carella thought.

"How was dance?" he asked.

"Okay," she said, shrugging. "Where's Mom?" "Shopping."

"Did you sleep good?" "Well," he said. "Well what?"

"Not good," he said.

"That's too bad," she said, and suddenly looked up at him. "Dad?"

"Yeah?"

"The other day, when Mark was feeling so awful,

you know?"

"Yeah?"

"And I thought he might die?" "He wasn't going to die, honey." "I know, but that's what I thought." "Well, don't worry, he's okay now."

"Yeah, but that's not what I'm trying to say, Dad."

She seemed suddenly distraught, her brow furrowed, her eyes troubled.

He sat beside her on the bench, put his arm around her, and said, "What is it, darling?"

"When I thought he was going to die?"

"Yes?"

"I wished I would inherit his guitar."