How could I make Kit understand my reasons for sending him away? He was young, and vulnerable, and desperate for recognition and approval.

But recognition and approval from whom? Why does he want to stay with me? Do I provide a base from which he can pursue activities he won't disclose to me?

From the day of Kit's arrival his apathy had puzzled me. While Katy would have craved constant peer contact, my nephew seemed satisfied with limited sight-seeing, video games, and the company of an aging aunt and her aging cat. The current Kit was jarringly at odds with the youngster I remembered.

Skinned knees. Stitches. Broken bones. Kit's perpetual motion had kept Harry on a first-name basis with her local paramedics for the duration of his childhood.

Had Kit been staying in, or had he been out and about with Lyle Crease? Or the Preacher? Or the hyena? Was he lethargic around me because he was tired?

More tea. Tepid now

I pictured two men behind blood-spattered plastic, and even the tea couldn't warm my chil .

Was I making a mistake? If Kit was going through a rough patch could I have some positive influence? If he was involved in something precarious would it be safer to keep him with me?

No. The overal situation made it too risky. I would stick to my plan. My nephew would be in Texas before George Dorsey's body was underground.

As dawn crawled up from the horizon, a gentle wash spread across my yard, tinting trees, hedges, and the old brownstones across the street. Edges softened, until the city resembled a Winslow Homer landscape. A gentle watercolor, a perfect backdrop for a gangland funeral.

I poured the last of my tea onto the lawn, and went to wake my nephew

His room was empty.

Chapter 37

A note was stuck to the refrigerator. I read it in place, afraid to trust my unsteady hands.

Thanks for everything. Don't worry. I'm with friends.

Friends?

My heart felt dead in my chest.

I looked at the clock. The Dorsey funeral would start in a little more than an hour.

I dialed Claudel's pager, then made coffee, dressed, and made the bed.

Seven-fifteen.

I sipped and picked at a cuticle.

The earth rotated. Tectonic plates shifted. Twelve acres of rain forest disappeared from the globe forever.

I went to the bathroom, combed my hair, dabbed on makeup, added blush, returned to the kitchen for a second cup.

Seven-thirty. Where the hel was Claude!?

Back to the bathroom, where I wet and recombed my hair I was reaching for dental floss when the phone rang.

"I wouldn't have thought you an early riser."

Claudel.

"Kit's gone."

"Cibole!"

I could hear traffic in the background.

"Where are you?"

"Outside the church."

"How does it look?"

"Like a theme park of deadly sins. Sloth and gluttony are wel represented."

"I don't suppose you've seen him."