CHAPTER 11
The next morning, after dreaming fitfully of alligator eggs and my son pointing a knife at me, I remembered the key I had filched from the athletic club five days before. I doubted that going through Laura’s locker could be more productive than going through her house. Still, Arch had correctly role-cast me: I could be a thief.
Arriving at the club brought the horrid realization that the Saturday morning aerobics class was the one for masochists. Attending this class had always led to deep and serious regret. When I sidled into the back row Trixie was leading the pain parade in a high-step double-time run-in-place to the chase scene music from To Live and Die in L.A.
“Go! Go!” Trixie shrieked over the din. She was throwing her arms and legs out like a cheerleader fighting off
