“What were the rumors about Clu?” Myron asked.

“You mean before the positive test results?”

“Yes.”

“Time bomb,” Bruce said.

“Explain.”

“He was pitching great, no question. And he looked good. Thinned down, seemed focused. But then a week or so before the drug test, he started looking like hell Christ, you must have seen it, right? Or were you out of the country then too?”

“Just go on, Bruce.”

“What else can I tell you? With Clu you've seen it a hundred times before. The guy breaks your heart. His arm was touched by God. The rest of him was, well, just touched, if you follow my meaning.”

“So there were signs before the positive test?”

“Yeah, I guess. In hindsight, sure there were lots of signs. I hear his wife threw him out. He was unshaven, red-eyed, that kind of thing.”

“It didn't have to be drugs,” Myron said.

“True. It could have been booze.”

“Or maybe it was just the strain of marital discord.”

“Look, Myron, maybe some guys like Orel Hershiser get the benefit of the doubt. But when it comes to Clu Haid or Steve Howe or some other perennial screwup, you figure it's substance abuse, and eleven times out of ten you're right.”

Myron looked over at Win. Win had finished patting the blond locks and was now using the mirror to practice his different smiles. Right now he was working on roguish.

Subtle, Myron reminded himself, subtle… “Bruce?”

“Yeah?”

“What can you tell me about Sophie Mayor?”

“What about her?”

“Nothing specific.”

“Just curious, huh?”

“Right, curious.”

“Sure you are,” Bruce said.

“How much damage did Clu's drug test do to her?”

“Tremendous damage. But you know this. Sophie Mayor stuck her neck out, and for a while she was a genius. Then Clu fails the drug test, and presto, she's an idiotic bimbo who should let the men run things.”

“So tell me about her background.”

“Background?”

“Yes. I want to get a feel for her.”

“Why?” Bruce asked. Then: “Ah, what the hell. She's from Kansas, I think, or Iowa or Indiana or Montana. Someplace like that. An aged Ivory Girl type. Loves fishing, hunting, all that nature stuff. She was also something of a math prodigy. Came East to go to MIT. That's where she met Gary Mayor. They got married and lived most of their lives as science professors. He taught at Brandeis; she taught at Tufts. They developed a software program for personal finance in the early eighties and suddenly went from middle-class professors to millionaires. They took the company public in '94 and changed the m to a b.”

“The m to a b?”

“Millionaire to billionaire.”

“Oh.”

“So the Mayors did what lots of superwealthy people do: They bought a sports franchise. In this case, the Yankees. Gary Mayor grew up loving them. It was going to be a nice toy for him, but of course he never got to enjoy it.”

Myron cleared his throat. “And they, uh, have children?” Senor Subtle-ol

“They had two. You know Jared. He's actually a pretty good kid, smart, went to your alma mater, Duke. But everyone hates him because he got the job through nepotism. His main responsibility is to keep an eye on Mommy's investment. My understanding is that he's actually pretty good at that and that he leaves the baseball to the baseball guys.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Theyalso have a daughter. Or had a daughter.”

With great effort, Win sighed, closed the closet door. So difficult to pull himself away from a mirror. He sat across from Myron looking, as always, completely at ease. Myron cleared his throat and said into the phone, “What do you mean, had a daughter?”

“The daughter's very estranged. Don't you remember the story?”

“Vaguely. She ran away, right?”

“Right. Her name was Lucy. She took off with a boyfriend, some grunge musician, a few weeks before her eighteenth birthday. This was, I don't know, ten, fifteen years ago. Before the Mayors had any money.”

“So where does she live now?”

“Well, that's the thing. No one knows.”

“I don't understand.”

“She ran away, that much is known for sure. She left them a note, I think. She was going to hit the road with her boyfriend and seek her fortune, the usual teenage stuff. Sophie and Gary Mayor were typical East Coast college professors who read too much Dr. Spock, so they gave their daughter 'space,' figuring of course that she'd come back.”

“But she didn't.”

“Duh.”

“And they never heard from her?”

“Duh again.”

“But I remember reading about this a few years ago. Didn't they start a search for her or something?”

“Yeah. First off, the boyfriend came back after a few months. They'd broken up and gone their separate ways. Big shock, right? Anyway, he didn't know where she went. So the Mayors called the police, but they treated it like no big deal. Lucy was eighteen by this time, and she had clearly run away on her own. There was no evidence of foul play or anything and remember that this was before the Mayors had beaucoup bucks.”

“And after they became rich?”

“Sophie and Gary tried to find her again. They made it like a search for the missing heiress. The tabloids loved it for a while. There were some wild reports but nothing concrete. Some say Lucy moved overseas. Some say she's living in a commune somewhere. Some say she's dead. Whatever. They never found her, and there was still no sign of foul play, so the story eventually petered out.”

Silence. Win looked at Myron and arched an eyebrow. Myron shook his head.

“So why the interest?” Bruce asked.

“I just want to get a feel for the Mayors.”

“Uh-huh.”

“No big deal.”

“Okay, I buy that. Not.”

“It's the truth,” Myron lied. “And how about using a more up-to-date reference? No one says not anymore.”

“They don't?” Pause: “Guess I gotta watch more MTV. But Vanilla Ice is still hip, right?”

“Ice, ice, baby.”

“Fine, okay, we'll play it your way for now, Myron. But I don't know anything else about Lucy Mayor. You can try a search on Lexis. The papers might have more detail.”

“Good idea, thanks. Listen, Bruce, I got another call coming in.”

“What? You're just going to cut me loose?”

“That was our deal.”

“So why all the questions about the Mayors?”

“Like I said, I want to get a feel for them.”

“Does the phrase what a crock mean anything to you?”

“Good-bye, Bruce.”

“Wait.” Pause. Then Bruce said, “Something serious is going down here, right?”

“Clu Haid has been murdered. Esperanza's been arrested for the crime. I'd say that's pretty serious.”

“There's more to it. Tell me that much. I won't print it, I promise.”

“Truth, Bruce? I don't know yet.”

“And when you do?”

“You'll be the first to know.”

“You really think Esperanza's innocent? Even with all that evidence?”

“Yes.”

“Call me, Myron. If you need anything else. I like Esperanza. I want to help if I can.”

Myron hung up. He looked over at Win. Win seemed in deep thought. He was tapping his chin with his index finger. They sat in silence for several seconds.

Win stopped tapping and asked, “Whatever happened to the King Family?”

“You mean the ones with the Christmas specials?”

Win nodded. “Every year you were supposed to watch the King Family Christmas Special. There must have been a hundred of the buggers-big Kings with beards, little Kings in knickers, Mommy Kings, Daddy Kings, Uncle and Aunt and Cousin Kings. Then one year-poof- they're gone. All of them. What happened?”

“I don't know.”

“Strange, isn't it?”

“I guess.”

“And what did the King clan do the rest of the year?”

“Prepared for the next Christmas special?”

“What a life, no?” Win said. “Christmas passes, and you start thinking about next Christmas. You live in a snow globe of Christmas.”