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figured if she wanted to tell me, she would. I guess she never wanted to.”
    “When was the last time she took off?”
    “About six months ago. But she only stayed overnight. I don’t know, maybe she doesn’t love me. I honestly want her to be happy. If she’d be happier somewhere else, I’ll even help her move. She knows that.” He was a real scrapper, like a worm on a sunbaked sidewalk.
    When we left him, Burton was heading toward the kitchen to hack away at his poem. He had given me a photo-booth snapshot of his wife. I stuck it in my wallet. In spite of his passiveness, I liked him. He was goofy, but maybe that was what it took to be a poet. Maybe that was what it took to spill your guts across the page for the whole world to see, and maybe to laugh at.
    Under a sky the color of a bad bruise, we stood together beside the truck, each wrapped in our own thoughts.
    Kathy chewed on her lower lip, a habit I invariably found appealing, even in white face. Across the street from the Nadisky household stood another tumbledown bungalow, the only other rundown place on the tidy block. I’ll bet the neighbors loved it.
    A woman leaned over a davenport and stared at me through the window, curlers in her hair, lines from a sleepless night tweezering her eyes, heavy breasts tugging at her bathrobe. Something told me she had more interest in Nadisky’s problems than just that of a snoopy neighbor. If I reached any dead ends I would double back and look her up. Sometimes the neighbors knew more than the husband. Lots of times the neighbors knew more than the husband.
    Before I realized what was happening, Kathy began trembling. I reached out and held her in my arms. She was small and frail as she shivered in my grip. The woman across the way didn’t take her eyes off us for one moment. Perhaps she had never seen a man hug a clown before.
    “Oh hell,” said Kathy. “This is the second time I’ve gotten the heebie-jeebies over this family.”
    We climbed into the truck. She had shrugged off her shivering fit and was now staring at the top hat in her hand. From it she produced three colored juggling balls and began fiddling with them. I slid the seat all the way back from where she had adjusted it to drive Nadisky to the hospital. The woman across the street had vanished from the window. I could see a football game on their color television in the background.
    “What about that man? That awful guy who was beating up Burton? Who was he?”
    “He works for various detective agencies. He freelances when somebody offers him a wad of bills. He’s a nice guy. He was going to give your dentist a lot of work before I grabbed you.”
    “He wouldn’t hit a woman?”
    I fired up the truck and edged into the street. Kathy had buried the tires against the curb. They made a ripping noise. “Don’t bet on it. Holder’d whack himself in the head with a brick if the money was right.”
    “What was he doing with the Crowells?”
    “My guess is Angel’s grandfather brought him along as a sort of policeman, to make sure there were no hitches.”
    Kathy tumbled the colored juggling balls into her top hat and spoke through gritted teeth. “Oh, that gripes me. That makes me so mad how they waltzed in and beat up Burton and took his daughter.”
    “Burton doesn’t seem as angry as you do.”
    “Don’t let him fool you. I’ve seen him mad before. He’s written some real angry poems. You should see them.”
    “I read some of them.”
    Kathy did a double take. “Thomas, you didn’t! These are my friends. How could you do such an embarrassing thing?”
    “He had a poem right out on the kitchen table in plain sight.”
    “Oh.”
    “But I snooped through their place anyway.”
    “Thomas!”
    “You want me to find Melissa? Or would you rather I was polite?”
    “Can’t you do both?” I shrugged. “I never have yet. I wouldn’t know how to start.” ?

Chapter Five
    BELLINGHAM IS A LONG HAUL WHEN YOUR THOUGHTS ARE dark and