on you,” Jesse said.
“No, but there’s something about how complete he is, how, what, interior, independent.”
“Power,” Jesse said.
“Yes,” Molly said. “He reeks of power.”
“I guess I better take more night courses,” Simpson said. “I don’t know what you people are talking about.”
“He’s a little like you, Jesse,” Molly said.
“Except that I just reek.”
“No. You have that same silent center. Nothing will make you turn aside. Nothing will make you back up. It’s…what do the shrinks call it…?”
“Autonomy,” Jesse said.
“Yes. Both of you are, like, autonomous,” Molly said. “Except maybe you have scruples.”
“Maybe he does, too,” Jesse said.
“For fantasy purposes,” Molly said, “I hope not.”
“Fantasy?” Simpson said. “Molly, how long you been married?”
“Fifteen years.”
“And you got how many kids?”
“Four.”
“And you are going to have sex fantasies about some Apache hit man?”
Molly smiled at Simpson.
“You better believe it,” Molly said.
3.
“I wish to have nothing to do with this,” Mrs. Snowdon said when Molly showed her a picture of Crow.
“Have you ever seen him before?” Molly said.
“No.”
They were in the vast Snowdon living room in the huge Snowdon house on Stiles Island. Mrs. Snowdon sat on her couch with her feet on the floor and her knees pressed together and her hands clasped tightly in her lap. Suit stood across the room by the French doors to the patio. Molly sat on a hassock across from Mrs. Snowdon.
She looks too small for the gun belt, Suit thought. But she’s not.
“Was he here with other men when they looted the island,” Molly said, “and locked you and your husband up in the lavatory?”
“Late husband,” Mrs. Snowdon said.
Her blue steel hair was rigidly waved. She wore a black-and-red flowered dress and a red scarf, and a very large diamond-crusted wedding ring.
“Was this man in the picture one of the men?” Molly said.
“I don’t wish to discuss it,” Mrs. Snowdon said.
“Are you afraid?”
