Lastly and perhaps most crucial of all Chad had been gone for two days without raising eyebrows. Forget Linda Coldren's discourse on responsible children and open child raising. The only rational explanation for their nonchalance was that this had happened before, or at the very least, was not unexpected.

But there were problems with the hoax scenario too.

For example, how did Mr. Total Grunge from the mall fit in?

There was indeed the rub. What role was the Crusty Nazi playing in all this? Did Chad Coldren have an accomplice?

Possibly, but that really didn't fit in well with a revenge scenario. If Chad was indeed behind all this, Myron doubted that the preppy golfer would join forces with a "skinhead wanna-be," complete with a swastika tattoo.

So where did that leave Myron?

Baffled.

As Myron pulled up to the guest house, he felt his heart constrict. Win's Jag was there. But so was a green Chevy Nova.

Oh, Christ.

Myron got out of the car slowly. He checked the license plate on the Nova. Unfamiliar. As he expected. He swallowed and moved away.

He opened the cottage's front door and welcomed the sudden onslaught of air-conditioning. The lights were out.

For a moment he just stood in the foyer, eyes closed, the cool air tingling his skin. An enormous grandfather clock ticked.

Myron opened his eyes and flicked on a light.

"Good evening."

He pivoted to his right. Win was seated in a high back leather chair by the fireplace. He cupped a brandy sniiter in his hand.

"You were sitting in the dark?" Myron asked.

"Yes." `

Myron frowned. "A bit theatrical, don't you think?"

Win switched on a nearby lamp. His face was a tad rosy from the brandy. "Care to join me?"

"Sure. I'll be right back."

Myron grabbed a cold Yoo-Hoo from the refrigerator and sat on the couch across from his friend. He shook the can and popped it open. They drank in silence for several minutes. The clock ticked. Long shadows snaked across the floor in thin, almost smoky tendrils. Too bad it was summertime. This was the kind of setting that begged for a roaring fire and maybe some howling wind. An air conditioner just didn't cut it.

Myron was just getting comfortable when he heard a toilet flush. He looked a question at Win.

"I am not alone," Win said.

"Oh." Myron adjusted himself on the couch. "A

woman?"

"Your gifts," Win said. "They never cease to amaze."

"Anybody I know?" Myron asked.

Win shook his head. "Not even somebody I know."

The norm. Myron looked steadily at his friend. "You want to talk about this?"

"No." '

"I'm here if you do."

"Yes, I see that." Win swished around the drink in the snifter. He finished it in one gulp and reached for the crystal decanter. There was a slight slur in his speech.

Myron tried to remember the last time he had seen Win the vegetarian, the master of several martial arts, the transcendental meditator, the man so at ease and in focus with his surroundings, have too much to drink.