"I don't do any of those things, but at least they can be done in private. A yarmulke-it announces you're a Jew."

"So?"

"So did six-pointed stars pinned to jackets, and everyone agrees those were a bad idea."

"One is a choice, the other an attempt to stigmatize."

"But having made the choice, you single yourself out, which can lead people to stigmatize you anyway."

"Single myself out? There are more than a hundred thousand Jews in the Baltimore area. I'm far from alone."

"I mean-the yarmulke tells everyone you're Jewish, which invites everything you do to be viewed through the prism of all sorts of prejudices and judgments." Tess was thinking about how tough he had been in negotiation, the day she had overheard him on the phone. His contact in Montreal probably ascribed Rubin's behavior to his religion-assuming the Montreal supplier wasn't a Jew himself. "Don't you ever want to pass through the world anonymously, responsible for only yourself?"

"Look, Tess, I can take my yarmulke off, but what will that gain me? Do you think that Mark Rubin-seller of furs, resident of Pikesville, owner of a striking yet prominent nose"-he thrummed the tip of said nose with an index finger-"is going to pass? I've never wanted to be anyone but who I am. No offense, but your views on religion are a little warped."

"Warped?"

"Maybe that's too strong a word. But-you'll forgive me a little dime-store psychology-just because you like to have it both ways doesn't mean everyone else wants to play the same game."

"What do you mean?" He had, however accidentally, echoed an accusation made against Tess not long ago, although in a different context.

"You like this game you play, shifting between identities, confusing people. With me, you act like a shiksa naif. But I bet when it suits you, when you're around more unambiguously goyish types, you play the Jew."

He had scored a bull's-eye, but Tess didn't see any reason to concede his point.

"I'm not playing anything. I'm legitimately stranded between two religions."

"Do you believe in God?"

"That's awfully personal."

Rubin laughed. It was the first time Tess had heard his laugh, and it was full-bodied, extremely appealing, the kind of laugh that made her want to keep saying funny things.

"Tess, you've asked me about my marriage, my sex life, my wife's convict father, and my finances. I think I'm entitled to ask whether you believe in God."

"Okay, okay. I… do."

"Why?"

"I'm not sure I could explain it."

"Maybe there's your yarmulke."

"I don't get it."

"Think about it."

Tess might have said something more, but as they crossed the next summit, the horizon turned gray-green and the air changed perceptibly. A sudden drenching rainstorm began moments later, a downpour so complete that visibility was reduced to virtually nothing. The scenario happened to match one of Tess's recurring nightmares, one in which she was driving but could not see-because of weather or simply because her eyes refused to open.

"Pull over," she urged Rubin in a tight, dry voice.

"It's safer to keep going, as long as I can see the taillights of the car ahead."

"Yeah, assuming he's still on the road. You could follow him right off the side of the mountain, too."

Rubin did not bother to reply, just drove in grim silence. The freak storm lasted no more than a minute or two, but Tess spent every endless second awaiting a plunge over the side of the highway or the sudden jolt of a runaway truck on the Jaguar's bumper. She would have felt so much better if she were behind the wheel.

The rain ended as abruptly as it began, stopping completely instead of tapering off. Over the next few miles, Tess and Mark passed dozens of cars on the shoulder-cars with crumpled fronts or crushed backs, surrounded by dazed-looking people. At least no one appeared to have been badly injured.

"See?" Mark said.

"See what?"

"They pulled over and ended up having accidents."

"You don't know that. They could have pulled over after the collisions."

"Do you always insist on having the last word?"

Tess opened her mouth, saw the trap he had set for her, and shut it, shaking her head emphatically instead. Rubin's laugh boomed out again, but she could not quite recapture the pleasant mood. The rain had seemed prophetic, a reminder that they had crossed some unseen boundary and all natural laws were now suspended.

Amos Greif lived outside Grantsville on a large farm, a place of several hundred acres judging by the long expanse of barbed-wire fence that fronted the roadway, no trespassing signs were posted every few feet, and when the Jaguar turned into the long, dirt driveway, two mutts raced it for much of the way, dropping out only because the distance was so great, almost two miles by the odometer.

Tess hummed a few lines from the old Deliverance banjo duet.

"Are you sure this guy is Jewish?" she asked Rubin.

"In his own way, yes."

"How did a car thief ever make a living in Grantsville? It's pretty small."

"Amos ran a chop shop out here, dismantling cars stolen from Baltimore and Pittsburgh-and who knows what else. I think he took care of the paperwork, too."

"One-stop shopping. How convenient."

Amos was standing on his porch by the time they reached the top of the hill, probably alerted by the dogs and the Jaguar's noisy approach. He was the biggest man Tess had ever seen-maybe six foot eight and at least three hundred pounds, massive but not fat. He was perhaps the one person who really could attribute his weight to being big-boned. He also looked like he never quite came clean, although not for lack of trying. Perhaps there was just too much of him to wash, and too many places he couldn't see.

Tess and Mark got out of the car but lingered behind the Jaguar's open doors, unsure of their welcome.

"So," Amos said, "the mountain comes to Muhammad."

Tess looked across the roof of the car at Rubin, who seemed equally mystified by the greeting. They had literally come to the mountains, and the man on the porch was far more mountainlike than either of them.

"It's been a long time, Amos. You look well."

This generous description didn't lure Amos forward or even convince him to unfold his huge, muscled arms. "Why are you here?"

"Miss Monaghan is helping me look for my wife and children, who have been missing since before Labor Day. During her investigation she discovered that Natalie had a friend, Lana Wishnia. Tess tells me you were once married to Lana, and that you may have been a confidante of my father-in-law as well. You remember him, Boris Petrovich? I couldn't help thinking-well, hoping-that you knew something, anything, about Natalie's whereabouts. If either one of them told you anything…"

Amos just kept staring, assessing them.

"There's money for you," Tess said, "if you know something."

Rubin nodded. "Absolutely. I'd pay dearly for any information that led me to my family."

"Wait here," Amos said, in a tone that made it unthinkable to do anything else. He turned his back on them and disappeared inside the little farmhouse with a slam of the screen door. He hadn't done much to prettify it, but the wood-frame building was well tended.

Tess and Mark were left where they stood, car still idling, its open doors like wings on a green metallic bug. Tess would not be surprised if the Jaguar proved to have magical powers, a la Chitty Chitty Bang Bang, capable of taking them through the sky or across the water. There was no trace in the air of the strange weather they had passed through. The sky was a cloudless blue again, clear enough to see miles in all directions.

"You can see three states from here," Rubin said, "if you know where to look."