"Good idea."

"I'll see you later." She tumed to leave.

"Esperanza?"

She looked at him.

"You're not mad, right'?"

"Not mad," she repeated.

"We'll work something out," he said.

She nodded. "Right."

"Don't forget. We're meeting with Tad Crispin an hour after they finish. By the pro shop."

"You want me there?"

"Yes."

She shrugged. "Okay." Then she left.

Myron leaned back and watched her go. Great. Just what he needed. His best friend in the world as a business partner. It never worked. Money screwed up relationships;

it was simply one of life's givens. His father and his uncle two closer brothers you never saw had tried it. The outcome had been disastrous. Dad finally bought Uncle Morris out, but the two men didn't speak to each other for four years. Myron and Win had labored painstakingly to keep their businesses separate while maintaining the same interests and goals. It worked because there was no crossinterference or money to divide up. With Esperanza things had been great, but that was because the relationship had always been boss and employee. Their roles were well defined. But at the same time, he understood. Esperanza deserved this chance. She had earned it. She was more than an important employee to MB. She was a part of it.

So what to do?

He sat back and chugged the Yoo-Hoo, waiting for an idea. Fortunately, his thoughts were waylaid when someone tapped his shoulder.

Chapter l7

"Hello."

Myron turned around. It was Linda Coldren. Her head was wrapped in a semi-babushka and she wore dark sunglasses.

Greta Garbo circa 1984. She opened her purse.

"I forwarded the home phone here," she whispered, pointing to a cellular phone in the purse. "Mind if I sit down?"

"Please do," Myron said.

She sat facing him. The sunglasses were big, but Myron could still see a hint of redness around the rims of her eyes. Her nose, too, looked like it had been rubbed raw by a Kleenex overdose. "Anything new?" she asked.

He told her about the Crusty Nazis jumping him.

Linda asked several follow-up questions. Again the internal paradox tore at her: she wanted her son to be safe, yet she did not want it all to be a hoax. Myron finished by saying, "I still think we should get in touch with the feds.

I can do it quietly."

She shook her head. "Too risky."

"So is going on like this."

Linda Coldren shook her head again and leaned back.

For several moments they sat in silence. Her gaze was cast somewhere over his shoulder. Then she said, "When Chad was bom, I took off nearly two years. Did you know that'?"

"No," Myron said.

"Women's golf" she muttered. "I was at the height of my game, the top female golfer in the world, and yet you never read about it."

"I don't follow golf much," Myron said.

"Yeah, right," she snorted. "If Jack Nicklaus took two years off you would have heard about it."