Mary was waiting outside. She brought him past the three members of the home guard who stood in the driveway and seemed disappointed. Moran recognized the one with the mustache. Corky. The one trying to look mean.

From the front steps Moran said, “Keep an eye on my car, okay?”

Mary took him by the arm. “Get in here.” And closed the door. “What’s in the bag?”

Moran opened it and brought out a pink negligee. “You like it? Anita de Boya’s playsuit. She left it.”

“He’s not gonna believe that’s why you came,” Mary said. “Anita lives in Bal Harbor.”

“Do you want me to care what he believes?”

“You’re right, it doesn’t matter,” Mary said. Tense today, inside herself.

She led him from the hallway that was like an arboretum of exotic plants and trees, past an almost bare living room that resembled a modern-art gallery, through a more lived-in-looking room done in rattan and off-white fabrics and out to the sundeck with its several-million-dollar view of Biscayne Bay and the Atlantic Ocean, what Miami money was all about.

Moran was impressed; but he could be impressed by all kinds of things and not have a desire to own them; he considered himself lucky. He took in the sights, the empty boat dock, the stand of acacia trees, then back again, across the sweep of lawn to the swimming pool, designed to resemble a tropical lagoon set among palm trees and terraced flower gardens. Clean that setup every day, he thought. But said, “I like it.”

“I don’t,” Mary said. “I’ve got to get out of here.”

She stood at the rail with him, wearing sunglasses now, looking out at the water. When she turned away he followed her to a half-circle of chairs with bright yellow cushions. On the low table in the center was a white telephone and the morning paper headlining the dead Haitians.

“Why don’t you leave now? With me,” Moran said. He sat down. Mary remained standing, tan in her white sundress, silent, her slim legs somewhat apart, folding her arms now; protective or defiant, Moran wasn’t sure.

She said, finally, “Rafi was here yesterday.”

“I know, I had a talk with him,” Moran said. “If that’s what’s got you clutched up, don’t worry about it. Rafi comes on strong, but he’s a twink at heart, he caves in.”

“What did he say?”

“He’s not our problem. There’s a guy that works for your husband on and off, Jiggs Scully. You know him?”

“I know who he is.”

“He’s been following you. He knows what we’re doing and wants to talk to me.”

“Oh, God-”

“Wait. Nolen Tyner-I told you about him. He says Jiggs doesn’t have his hand out, he wants to discuss something else entirely, but I don’t see any reason to talk to him. Do you?”

“I don’t know.” Mary was wide-eyed now, gathering it all in. “If he saw us together and he works for Andres…”

“Nolen says he hasn’t told Andres. You know why?”

“No.”

“He doesn’t like him. I feel like we’re back in the eighth grade. Here’s a guy-” Moran stopped. “Well, that’s beside the point. What Jiggs and Nolen are up to’s none of our business. I hope. But I don’t want to see us get dragged into it. We got enough going as it is.”

“Dragged into what?”

“I don’t know, but it’s got to have something to do with your husband and they either want to use me-I’m guessing now, you understand-or they want some information from me, or they want me to get it from you.”

“Oh-”

The way she said it, like an intake of breath, surprised him. She was thoughtful now, staring. Then took several steps without purpose, moving idly, though he could see she was concentrating, looking down at the boards as she paced toward the railing, aimless, and came back. As she turned again he stopped her.

“You have an idea what it might be?”

Mary sat down now. She eased back into the chair next to him.

“Money. What else?”

“I had that in mind,” Moran said. “But what kind of money? How do you rip off a guy like your husband? I mean it’s not like going to the bank, make a withdrawal. How do you get it? Extortion? They have something on Andres? It’s a feeling I’ve got more than anything else. I think Nolen and this guy Jiggs are putting something together. But it wouldn’t be a holdup, anything as simple as that. Nolen’s not, well, he’s a little shifty, but he’s not an armed robber. I don’t think he’d have the nerve to walk in with a gun. So it would have to be something he thinks is clever or he wouldn’t be doing it. If they’ve got some kind of scheme in mind.”

“There’s money in the house,” Mary said.

Moran waited a moment. “Is that right?” He waited again and was aware of the silence. “You mean a lot of money, huh?”

“Quite a lot,” Mary said.

Moran looked out at the bay, at the dark shape of Key Biscayne lying five miles off, on the horizon.

“Is it money he has to hide? I mean, did he get it illegally?”

“I assume it’s from his business. Andres’s investments net, before taxes, three to four million a year.”

Moran waited. If she wanted to tell him more he’d let her, up to a point.

Mary said, “Remember in Santo Domingo we were talking about Andres? You’d heard he came here in Sixty-one with a fortune. Everyone thought so-he was a millionaire general with a sugar plantation and God knows what else. But he lost all that. He had to run for his life and he came here with practically nothing.”

“I remember.”

“And I think I said something about he’s never gonna let that happen again. Have to run and leave everything behind.”

“You said he’d be ready next time,” Moran said. “But I would imagine he has money in a Swiss bank or the Bahamas, one of those numbered accounts.”

“I’m sure he does,” Mary said, “but if for some reason he’s not able to leave the country or he has to hide… All I know is he’s got quite a chunk of quick-getaway money right here… in the house.”

He could see the two of them at the deep end of the hotel pool… the wives of the winter ballplayers in a group… “I asked you, where’s he keep it, under the mattress?”

Mary was looking at him. She didn’t speak right away; she didn’t have to. Finally, in the silence, she said, “You want to guess how much?”

“I’ve got a feeling I know too much already,” Moran said. “We’ve got to get you out of here. Why don’t you pack a bag and leave him a note.”

“Not yet. I’m gonna talk to him, George, if I have to hit him over the head. Last night, I had all the words ready. ‘Andres, listen to me, okay?’ Like talking to a child. ‘This isn’t a marriage. I’m not happy and I know you’re not.’ And that was as far as I got. He gave me papers to sign. ‘Here’-like he hadn’t heard a word-‘read these and sign them.’ “

“What kind of papers?”

“Business. I’m part of his corporation, one of them. He made a business transaction out of the marriage with that prenuptial agreement and that’s all it is, a deal. I’m a member of the board.”

“Resign,” Moran said.

“Now he’s trying to use the agreement to threaten me. He’ll amend it so there won’t be a settlement if I walk out. I told him fine, I don’t care. I said, ‘I just want to talk. I want you to understand how I feel.’ “

“That didn’t impress him?”

“I’ll tell you, George, I’m scared to death. You know that,” Mary said. She seemed to clench her teeth. “But I’m also getting mad, goddamn it.”

“Good,” Moran said.

“I’m gonna write it down, everything I want to say. Then I’m gonna try once more. If he still won’t listen then I’ll hand him the papers this time and that’s it, I’m through.”

“You promise?”

“You have my word,” Mary said.

“Stay mad.”

“I am. I don’t owe him a thing.”

“If anybody owes anybody,” Moran said, and let it go at that. It would be nice to sit with tall drinks and talk about nothing and enjoy the million-dollar view. But his presence was making her nervous. He said, “Write your letter.” He touched Mary’s shoulder as he got up and left his hand there until she put her hand on his. She was looking up at him through her round sunglasses. More than anything he could think of he wanted to touch her face.