FJ was not there. Myron called his office again. The same secretary told him that FJ was still unavailable. Myron repeated that it was imperative that he speak to Francis Ache Junior as soon as humanly possible. The secretary remained unimpressed.

Myron returned to his office.

Big Cyndi wore a bright green spandex bodysuit with a slogan across the chest-this on a woman who could barely squeeze into a caftan. The fabric screamed in pain, the letters in the slogan so elongated that Myron couldn't read them, kinda like what happens to Silly Putty after you press it against a newspaper headline and stretch it out.

“Lots of clients have been calling, Mr. Bolitar,” Big Cyndi said. “They are not pleased by your absence.”

“I'll take care of it,” he said.

She gave him the messages. “Oh, and Jared Mayor called,” she said. “He seemed very anxious to talk to you.”

“Okay, thanks.”

He called Jared Mayor first. He was in his mother's office at Yankee Stadium. Sophie switched on the speakerphone.

“You called?” Myron said.

“I was hoping you could give us an update,” Jared said.

“I think someone is setting up your mother.”

Sophie said, “Setting me up how?”

“Clu's drug test was a fix. He was clean.”

“I know you want to believe that-”

“I have proof,” Myron said.

Silence.

“What kind of proof?” Jared asked.

“There's no time for that now. But trust me on this. Clu was clean.”

“Who would have fixed the test?” Sophie asked.

“That's what I want to know. The logical suspects are Dr. Stilwell and Sawyer Wells.”

“But why would they want to hurt Clu?”

“Not Clu, Sophie. You. It fits in with everything else we have. Raising the specter of your missing daughter, taking your big baseball trade and turning it against you- I think someone's out to hurt you.”

“You're jumping to conclusions,” Sophie said.

“Could be.”

“Who would want to hurt me?”

“I'm sure you've made your share of enemies. How about Vincent Riverton, for one?”

“Riverton? No. Our whole takeover was far more amicable than the press portrayed it.”

“Still, I wouldn't rule him out.”

“Listen, Myron, I don't really care about any of this. I just want you to find my daughter.”

“They're probably connected.”

“How?”

Myron changed ears. “You want me to be blunt, right?”

“Absolutely.”

“Then I have to remind you what the odds are that your daughter is still alive.”

“Slim,” she said.

“Very slim.”

“No, I'll stay with slim. In fact, I think it's better than slim.”

“Do you really believe Lucy is alive someplace?”

“Yes.”

“She's out there somewhere, waiting to be found?”

“Yes.”

“Then the big question,” Myron said, “is why.”

“What do you mean?”

“Why isn't she home?” he asked. “Do you think someone's been holding her hostage all these years?”

“I don't know.”

“Well, what other choices are there? If Lucy is still alive, why hasn't she come home? Or phoned home? What is she hiding from?”

Silence.

Sophie broke it. “You think someone has resurrected my daughter's memory as part of some vendetta against me?”

Myron was not sure how to answer. “I think it's a possibility we have to consider.”

“I appreciate your bluntness, Myron. I want you to remain honest with me. Don't hold back. But I'll also keep my hope. When your child disappears into thin air, it creates a huge void. I need something to fill that void, Myron. So until I find out otherwise, I'll fill it with hope.”

Myron said, “I understand”

“Then you'll keep looking.”

There was a knock on the door. Myron put his hand over the phone and said to come in. Big Cyndi opened the door. Myron gestured to a chair. She took it. In the bright green she looked a bit like a planet.

“I'm not sure what I can do, Sophie.”

“Jared will investigate Clu's drug test,” she said. “If there was anything amiss, he'll find out about it. You keep your eyes open for my daughter. You may be right about Lucy's fate. Then again you may be wrong. Don't give up.”

Before he could reply, the line was disconnected. Myron put the phone back in the cradle.

“Well?” Big Cyndi asked.

“She still has hope.”

Big Cyndi scrunched up her face. “There's a fine line between hope and delusion, Mr. Bolitar,” she said. “I think Ms. Mayor may have crossed it.”

Myron nodded. He shifted in his chair. “Something I can do for you?” he asked.

She shook her head. Her head was a nearly perfect cube and reminded Myron of the old game of Rock'Em Sock'Em Robots. Not sure what else to do, Myron folded his hands and put them on his desk. He wondered how many times he had been alone with Big Cyndi like this. Less than a handful for sure. Wrong to say, but she made him uncomfortable.

After some time had passed, Big Cyndi said, “My mother was a big, ugly woman.”

Myron had no comeback for that one.

“And like most big, ugly women, she was a shrinking violet. That's how it is with big, ugly women, Mr. Bolitar. They get used to standing alone in the corner. They hide. They become angry and defensive. They keep their heads down, and they let themselves be treated with disdain and disgust and-”

She stopped suddenly, waved a meaty paw. Myron sat still.

“I hated my mother,” she said. “I swore that I would never be like that.”

Myron risked a small nod.

“That's why you have to save Esperanza.”

“I'm not sure I see the connection.”

“She's the only one who sees past this.”

“Past what?”

She thought about that one for a moment. “What's the first thing you think when you see me, Mr. Bolitar?”

“I don't know.”

“People like to stare,” she said.

“Hard to blame them, don't you think?” Myron said. “I mean, the^way you dress and stuff.”

She smiled. “I'd rather see shock on their faces than pity,” she said. “And I'd rather they see brazen or outrageous than shrinking or scared or sad. Do you understand?”

“I think so.”

“I'm not standing alone in the corner anymore. I've done enough of that.”

Myron, unsure what to say, settled for a nod.

“When I was nineteen, I started wrestling professionally. And of course I was cast as a villain. I sneered. I made faces. I cheated. I hit opponents when they weren't looking. It was all an act, of course. But that was my job.”

Myron sat back and listened.

“One night I was scheduled to fight Esperanza-Little Pocahontas, I should say. It was the first time we'd met. She was already the most beloved wrestler on the circuit. Cute and pretty and small and all the things… all the things that I'm not. Anyway, we were performing in some high school gym outside Scranton. The script was the usual. A back-and-forth match. Esperanza winning with her skill. Me cheating. Twice I was supposed to nearly have her pinned when the crowd would go wild and she'd start stamping her foot, like the cheers were giving her strength, and then everyone would start clapping in unison with her stomps. You know how it works, right?”

Myron nodded.

“She was supposed to pin me with a backflip at the fifteen-minute mark. We executed it perfectly. Then as she was raising her hands in victory, I was supposed to sneak up on her and whack her in the back with a metal chair. Again it went perfectly. She collapsed to the canvas. The crowd gasped. I, the Human Volcano-that's what I was called then-raised my hands in victory. They started booing and throwing things. I sneered. The announcers acted all concerned for poor Little Pocahontas. They brought out the stretcher. Again you've seen the same act a million times on cable.”

He nodded again.

“So there was another match or two, and then the crowd was ushered out. I decided not to change until I got back to the motel. I left for the bus a few minutes before the other girls. It was dark, of course. Nearly midnight. But some of the spectators were still out there. They confronted me. There must have been twenty of them. They started shouting at me. I decided to play back. I did my ring sneer and flexed”-her voice caught-“and that was when a rock hit me square in the mouth.”