Brooke took back the phone. She tried to call Nancy again, but there was no answer. She sent a text asking her for some clarification or details. Again there was no reply.

“She never liked us,” Chick said. “She blamed us for what happened, even though our kid went missing too.”

He ducked inside the plane. Mee was there in her formfitting flight attendant uniform. She gave them a small smile, as befitted the situation, and took their coats.

“She acts like it’s our fault,” Chick said to his wife. “I’ve told you that before, you know.”

“Yes, I know, Chick. Many times.”

“Even before all this. I mean, Hunter, he’s a drunk now, but he was always a ne’er-do-well. Everything handed to him. Boring as hell. It’s like talking to a rock. But Nancy, I mean, what the hell is she trying to pull here?”

They had no answer for him.

Chick turned to Mee. “Anyone using the bedroom?”

“It’s at your disposal, sir.”

“Great. Can you get me some water?”

“Immediately, sir.”

Chick grabbed a bottle of pills from his pocket. He shook out two tablets and then, thinking better of it, shook out a third. Mee handed him the water. He swallowed all three and gestured toward the room in the back of the plane. “Do you mind if I . . . ?”

“Go ahead,” Brooke said.

Three minutes later, they could hear him snoring. Mee closed the bedroom door, and the sound was gone. The plane rushed down the runway and climbed into the air. Myron and Brooke sat side by side.

“So what’s Win’s plan?” she asked.

“He wants to catch Fat Gandhi before the police do.”

Brooke nodded. “That would be good. Do you think he can do it?”

“If Win were here, I think he’d say, ‘I’ll pretend you didn’t ask that.’”

That made her smile. “He loves us.”

“I know.”

“There aren’t many he loves,” she said. “But when he does love you, it’s both ferocious and comforting.”

“He has saved my life more times than I can count.”

“And you, his,” she said. “He’s told me. You met at Duke, right?”

“Yes.”

“When?”

“Freshman year.”

“Tell me: What was your first impression of him?”

Myron looked off and tried not to smile. “My dad drove me down to Duke. I was nervous, first year of college and all that. He kept it light, distracted me. I remember he helped me move in. We lugged all this stuff up four flights of stairs. I kept telling him I could do it. I was worried because my dad was so out of shape . . .”

Myron shook his head, got back to it.

“Anyway, there was the freshman face book in my dorm. Do you remember those?”

“Oh yes,” Brooke said, and a sad smile came to her lips. “We went through ours and rated the boys on a scale of one to ten.”

“God, you’re so shallow, Brooke.”

“I am, yeah.”