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of the "insight" turned out to be misleading, useless,
or wildly ass-backward. I used it in the book anyway, much to the embarrassment
of Erik. Crump and I had a laugh at this up in Vacaville.
    But I knew why Amber had been drawn to Erik Wald: Amber was always drawn
to men who could inflict harm. And never since my first meeting of Wald did I
doubt that his fury, if unleashed, might prove formidable.
    So I called Amber's agent and said I was Erik Wald and asked whether he
could tell me if Amber was on a shoot today.
    He chuckled in the way that only busy, superior people can do.
    "Just one moment," he said.
    The next voice that come on was one of the last I
expected.
    "This is Erik Wald. Who the hell are you?"
    I told him. Erik laughed, too. It was a low, even baritone that spoke of
advantage. I let him laugh some more. I could hear Amber's agent—Reuben
Saltz—in the background, joining in. When the hilarity had waned, I asked him
whether Amber was on a shoot or not.
    "Why?"
    "It's about Grace."
    I'm a good liar. Grace is Amber's daughter.
    "Why not talk to Grace about Grace? She's a big
girl now."
    "I know that, Erik. Finding her is the hard part. I was hoping
Amber could—
    "Finding Amber isn't any easier. She was supposed to work today, a
shampoo deal, but she never showed. Nobody knows where she is. With five grand
an hour at stake, Reuben here is a quivering mass of anxiety and thwarted
greed."
    I tried to sound casual. "Maybe she stayed home
sick."
    "Reuben has called every hour since ten. I imagine you have, too,
if you really needed her. Reuben is enterprising, though. He just got back from
the Wilson manse in Laguna— nobody home."
    The demons starting stirring in my blood again. "Maybe she was
sleeping one off."
    "Nobody home is what I said, Russ. Reuben, the concerned
mentor, has a key."
    It was one of those moments when the gravity inside your chest seems to
multiply. My heart felt as if it were down next to the seat belt. I turned the
air conditioner on high and aimed the stream into my eyes. What could possibly
have happened? Didn't Reuben go upstairs?
    "Well," I said, trying to steady the breath in my throat. "You know Amber."
    "We know Amber," said Wald. "If I find her first, I'll
tell her you were looking for her. Heh, heh."
    "Heh, heh. I'll do the same."
    Trying to sound satisfied, I changed the topic. "What’s your call
on the Ellisons and that Mexican couple?"
    "I believe the cops, for right now. Talk to
Marty yet?'
    "Sure."
    "I did, too, last week. The captain doth protest too much. To me,
it looks bad. Blunt-force trauma. Quite a ring to it. Bashers are furious, very
bold, and poor personal groomers. They sometimes affect beards. They often see
themselves as outdoorsmen, lovers of nature. They also have the problem of what
to do with their blunt instruments—leave 'em or keep 'em? You know what
intrigues me? His marks are all minorities. I sense the offspring some racist,
archconservative, neofascist John Birch Society Orange Countians. So stay on
it, Russ—maybe there's another book in it for you. Speaking of which, I saw Under Scorpio Crown for a buck ninety-eight yesterday. Hardcover."
    The two-dollar shelf at Crown is a pillory. On the other hand, a book is
a book and a lot of hard work goes into one and some are bound to do better
than others.
    "It wasn't that bad a book. I took some chances."
    "So did Custer. I bought six anyway. Gifts, you
know.
    "Thanks, Erik. Still enjoying your appointment as Amber Mae's
financial czar?"
    "Yes. Consulting with Mr. Saltz on any of Amber's many financial
messes is a balm to me. Not surprisingly, she only trusts me with the small
stuff, the liquid diet, she calls it."
    This I understood. Amber's parsimony and hypercautiousness regarding
money had been clear to me from the beginning, back when she was poor and had
good enough reason to act that way. I recalled a caustic remark from Martin
Parish, made a few years ago, after Amber had "settled" their