“Robbie isn’t home. He ran away, and Mommy’s out looking for him. Daddy is furious, he says when he finds Robbie he’ll make sure he toughens up, we’ve been soft on him too long.”

“He ran away? Do you know where he’d go?” I hoped there was a sympathetic grandmother or aunt someplace who might stand up for Robbie.

That’s why Eleanor had taken off, Madison explained, to go to her mother’s in case Robbie was hiding there. “We’re going to France on Saturday, and Robbie better be back before then. We’re renting a castle with a swimming pool so me and Utah and Rhiannon can practice. Do you know we’re having a swimming meet here on Labor Day? If Rhiannon beats me in the backstroke, I am going to be so sick. Robbie would never beat me, he’s too fat, he can’t do anything with his body. Like last summer when he fell over his feet playing football at our cousin’s. He got his feet tangled up in his shoelaces. He looked so funny, me and my cousin Gail laughed our heads off. Robbie was up all night crying. That’s something only weak girlie girls do.”

“Yes, I remember,” I said. “You didn’t even cry when a fire truck ran over your cat. Or did you cry because the nice shiny engine had a smear on it?”

“Huh? Fluffy didn’t get hit by a fire truck. That was Mom; she ran over her with the car. Robbie cried. He cried when she killed a bird. I didn’t.”

“You’re going to be a credit to Dr. Mengele one of these days.”

“Who?” she screeched.

“Mengele.” I spelled the name. “Tell BB and Eleanor he has an opening for a bright young kid.”

I tried not to slam the phone in her ear: it wasn’t her fault her parents were bringing her up to have the sensitivity of a warthog. I wished I could take some time off to look for Robbie, but I had more to do here than I could figure out. Such as what to do about Veronica Fassler’s call from Coolis. In the morning I’d take another trip out there, but for right now I could try to get the doctor who’d operated on Nicola Aguinaldo at Beth Israel.