CHAPTER 8: TSUNAMICATASTROPHES STRIKING ALL OVER THE globe, thought Lydia, and where’s a flood, fire, or earthquake when I need one?
In the Zappa tent nothing had visibly changed. The demo participants—all fellow cops again—went on answering questions while the Zapatistas checked their heart rates and blood pressure. OK, so Pam’s party wasn’t entirely f****d. Pam herself, though, kept glancing in her daughter’s direction.
“Edgar. What should I do? How can I fix this?”
“Oh, heavens. I haven’t the least idea.” He flickered his fingers at some friends Lydia didn’t know. “What about Mudge?”
“What about Mudge?”
“Didn’t you say he and Ashley were at school together?”
Part of Edgar Rowdey’s maddening charm, for Lydia, was that his brain ran two steps ahead of anyone else’s. When he irritat
