Maybe an ordinary criminal would've taken it as a compliment. Snapper did not.
All the mattresses in Tony Torres's house were soaked from the storm, so Edie Marsh had sex with the insurance man on the BarcaLounger. It was a noisy and precarious endeavor. Fred Dove was nervous, so Edie had to assist him each step of the way. Afterwards he said he must've slipped a disk. Edie was tempted to remark that he hadn't moved enough muscles to slip anything; instead she told him he was a stallion in technique and proportion. It was a strategy that seldom failed. Fred Dove contentedly fell asleep with his head on her shoulder and his legs snagged in the footrest, but not before promising to submit a boldly fraudulent damage claim for the Torres house and split the check with Edie Marsh.
An hour before dawn, Edie heard a terrible commotion in the backyard. She couldn't rise to investigate because she was pinned beneath the insurance man in the BarcaLounger. Judging from the tumult outside, Donald and Maria had gone rabid. The confrontation ended in a flurry of plaintive yips and a hair-raising roar. Edie Marsh didn't move until the sun came up. Then she stealthily roused Fred Dove, who panicked because he'd forgotten to phone his wife back in Omaha. Edie told him to hush up and put on his pants.
She led him to the backyard. The only signs of the two miniature dachshunds were limp leashes and empty collars. The Torres lawn was torn to shreds. Several large tracks were visible in the damp gray soil; deep raking tracks, with claws.
Fred Dove's left Hush Puppy fit easily one of the imprints. "Good Lord," he said, "and I wear a ten and a half."
Edie Marsh asked what kind of wild animal would make such a track. Fred Dove said it looked big enough to be a lion or a bear. "But I'm not a hunter," he added.
She said, "Can I come stay with you?"
"AttheRamada?"
"What-they don't allow women?"
"Edie, we shouldn't be seen together. Not if we're going through with this."
"You expect me to stay out here alone?"
"Look, I'm sorry about your dogs—"
"They weren't my goddamn dogs."
"Please, Edie."
With his round eyeglasses, Fred Dove reminded her of a serious young English teacher she'd known in high school. The man had worn Bass loafers with no socks and was obsessed with T. S. Eliot. Edie Marsh had screwed the guy twice in the faculty lounge, but he'd still given her a C on her final exam because (he claimed) she'd missed the whole point of "J. Alfred Prufrock." The experience had left Edie Marsh with a deep-seated mistrust of studious-looking men.
She said, "What do you mean, if we go through with this? We made a deal."
"Yes," Fred Dove said. "Yes, we did."
As he followed her into the house, she asked, "How soon can you get this done?"
"Well, I could file the claim this week—"
"Hundred percent loss?"
"That's right," replied the insurance man.
"A hundred and forty-one grand. Seventy-one for me, seventy for you."
"Right." For somebody about to score the windfall of a lifetime, Fred Dove was subdued. "My concern, again, is Mister Torres—"
"Like I told you last night, Tony's in some kind of serious jam. I doubt he'll be back."
"But didn't you say Mrs. Torres, the real Mrs. Torres, might be returning to Miami—"
"That's why you need to hurry," Edie Marsh said. "Tell the home office it's an emergency."
The insurance man pursed his lips. "Edie, every case is an emergency. There's been a hurricane, for God's sake."
Impassively, she watched him finish dressing. He spent five full minutes trying to smooth the wrinkles out of his sex-rumpled Dockers. When he asked to borrow an iron, Edie reminded him there was no electricity.
"How about taking me to breakfast," she said.
"I'm already late for an appointment in Cutler Ridge.
Some poor old man's got a Pontiac on top of his house." Fred Dove kissed Edie on the forehead and followed up with the obligatory morning-after hug. "I'll be back tonight. Is nine all right?"
"Fine," she said. Tonight he'd undoubtedly bring condoms-one more comic speed bump on the highway to passion. She made a mental note to haul one of Tony's mattresses out in the sun to dry; another strenuous session in the BarcaLounger might put poor Freddie in traction.
"Bring the claim forms," she told him. "I want to see everything."
He jotted a reminder on his clipboard and slipped it into the briefcase.
"Oh yeah," Edie said. "I also need a couple gallons of gas from your car."
Fred Dove looked puzzled.
"For the generator," she explained. "A hot bath would be nice ... since you won't let me share your tub at the Ramada."
"Oh, Edie—"
"And maybe a few bucks for groceries."
She softened up when the insurance man took out his wallet. "That's my boy." She kissed him on the neck and ended it with a little bite, just to prime the pump.
"I'm scared," he said.
"Don't be, sugar. It's a breeze." She took two twenties and sent him, on his way.
CHAPTER TEN
On the drive to the morgue, Augustine and Bonnie Lamb heard a news report about a fourteen-foot reticulated python that had turned up in the salad bar of a fast-food joint in Perrine.
"One of yours?" Bonnie asked.
"I'm wondering." It was impossible to know if the snake had belonged to Augustine's dead uncle; Felix Mojack's handwritten inventory was vague on details.
"He had a couple big ones," Augustine said, "but I never measured the damn things."
Bonnie said, "I hope they didn't kill it."
"Me, too." He was pleased that she was concerned for the welfare of a primeval reptile. Not all women would be.
"They could give it to a zoo," she said.
"Or turn it loose at the county commission."
"You're bad."
"I know," Augustine said. As legal custodian of the menagerie, he felt a twinge of responsibility for Bonnie Lamb's predicament. Without a monkey to chase, her husband probably wouldn't have been abducted. Maybe the culprit was one of Uncle Felix's rhesuses, maybe not.