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After Lou died； Ida had gathered all the bankbooks and E。 F。 Hutton statements and got the calculator to add up their worldly possessions…only to discover that Lou Kimmelman； damn his arithmetic； had been absolutely correct。 Southern California was no more affordable than Gstaad。
So Ida laid her dream to rest with Lou； and vowed to make the best of it。 Never would she admit to her Otter Creek neighbors that her unhappiness was anything but a widow's grief； or that sometimes； especially during Florida's steambath of a summer； she longed to be back up North； in the city； where one could actually walk to the grocery without an oxygen tank。
December； with its cooler nights； wasn't so unbearable。 The snowbirds were trickling south and the condominium was a much livelier place than in August； when nothing moved but the mercury。 Now Otter Creek Village slowly was awakening； soon to be clogged with other couples who'd discovered Florida as long…ago tourists or honeymooners and returned to claim it in their old age。
The center of social life was the swimming pool。 Not much swimming took place； but there was a lot of serious floating； wading； and talking…by far the most petitive of all condominium sports。
When Ida went down to the pool； which wasn't often； she'd usually end up dominating some debate about the perilous traffic； the impossible interest rates； or the criminally high hospital bills。 Each outrage was a harbinger of financial ruination； which was the favorite topic poolside at Otter Creek。 Lately； since she'd discovered Lou's Social Security checks were still ing； Ida's stock speech on the economy had lost some of its fire and she'd avoided the daily discussions。 Ida loved to express her opinions； but she loved her spa； too。
On the morning of December 8； Ida Kimmelman followed her morning routine： hot bagels； two cups of coffee； six ounces of prune juice； David Hartman； and the Fort Lauderdale Sun…Sentinel； which had terrific grocery coupons。 By ten Ida was usually made…up and ready to walk Skeeter； but on this day she was running late because she had to go to Eckerd Drugs to buy a card for her nephew Joel the law student。
Ida returned to the apartment at ten…thirty to find a nasty little present from Skeeter on the shag in the bedroom。 This was another reason she missed Lou； because Lou would always clean up after the dog； he never clobbered Skeeter or threatened to put him to sleep the way Ida did。
She was so mad about the mess in the bedroom that she hooked Skeeter to his leash and dragged him； yelping； down four flights of stairs。 She led the dog out to the canal behind Otter Creek Village； near the Everglades dike； and unfastened the leash to let him run。
Ida noticed there was nobody out by the pool。 She thought： These people！ A touch of cold weather and they run indoors。 The breeze felt good； too； although it puffed her new hairdo。
After fifteen minutes Ida Kimmelman got goose bumps and wished she'd brought a light sweater。 She clapped her hands and shouted for Skeeter in a baritone that seemed to carry all the way to Orlando。
But Skeeter didn't e。
Ida picked up her pace along the canal； careful not to get too close。 She called for Skeeter again； expecting any moment to see his beautifully barbered； AKC…registered poodle face hopping through the high grass along the banks of the canal。
But there was no sign of the little dog。
Ida trudged on； hollering； calling； cooing； thinking： He's just mad about what happened upstairs。 He'll be back。
Soon she found herself standing in a field of scrub and palmetto； a full mile from Otter Creek。 The sandspurs stuck to her slacks； and she cried out when a fat coppery ant chomped on her big toe。
〃Skeeter darling；〃 Ida Kimmelman cried； the great voice fading； 〃e home to Momma！ Momma loves you！〃
Suddenly she heard a motion and turned to see two men waist…deep in the scrub； one black and ominous； the other small and dark。 Nothing frightened Ida Kimmelman so much as the fact that the small man wore an undershirt； the mark of a true desperado。
〃Have you seen my doggie？〃 Ida asked nervously。
The black man nodded。 〃Skeeter had an accident；〃 he said。 〃You'd better e quick。〃
〃What kind of accident？〃 Ida Kimmelman cried； forgetting her own safety and clumping after the men。 〃I said； what kind of accident？〃
〃An eagle；〃 the black man said。 〃A fish eagle； ma'am。〃
And when Ida Kimmelman saw what was left of poor Skeeter； presented in a shoebox by the man in the undershirt； she fainted dead away。 The next time she opened her eyes was in the airboat。
Standing before Brian Keyes was a plainly terrified woman in her late sixties； slightly overweight； lacquered with rouge and mascara。 Her mouth was covered with two…inch hurricane tape； and her hands were tied with rope。 Her shiny wine…colored hair was piled in a tangled nest on one side of her head。 She was doing plenty' of talking with her eyes。
Jesus Bernal cut Keyes loose and stood him up。
Skip Wiley said； 〃Brian； this is Mrs。 Kimmelman。〃
〃Skip； are you nuts？〃 Keyes said。 〃This is kidnapping！ You and your merry men are gonna wind up at Raiford。〃
〃Mrs。 Kimmelman and her late husband discovered South Florida in 1962；〃 Wiley said； 〃when they spent two weeks on gorgeous sundrenched Miami Beach。 Stayed at the Beau Rivage； shopped at Lincoln Road。 Went to see a Jackie Gleason show live； right； Mrs。 Kimmelman？〃
Ida Kimmelman nodded。
〃Had such a good time； they came back again and again；〃 Wiley said； 〃and when Mr。 Kimmelman； rest his soul； retired； they moved down here for good。 Bought a unit out at Otter Creek Village； forty…two…five at twelve percent。 A very tasteful place； Mrs。 Kimmelman； I must say。〃
〃Mmmmmm；〃 Ida Kimmelman protested through the tape。
〃Skip； let her go。〃
〃Can't do that； Brian。〃
Viceroy Wilson held one of Ida Kimmelman's pale arms； and Tommy Tigertail the other。 Wiley jerked his head and they led her out of the clearing into the darkness。
〃Skip； I don't need to see any more。 Let her go and I'll do what you want。 I'll go back and tell the cops you mean business。〃
〃No； I think you need to be convinced；〃 Wiley said。 〃I know I would。 Skeptics； you and I both； Brian。 Take nobody's word for anything。 First law of good journalism： if your mom says she loves you； check it out first。〃
Jesus Bernal handed Brian Keyes his trousers and said something sternly in Spanish。
〃Put your pants on；〃 Wiley translated； 〃and follow me。〃
In great strides Wiley crashed through the brush while Keyes struggled to keep up。 Saw…grass and grape…sized pine burs bit into his bare feet； but Jesus Bernal stayed close enough to prod him with his beloved knife whenever Keyes faltered。
Ahead Wiley broke from the shelter of the hammock and took a ragged trail through an open； flat expanse of swamp。 A juggernaut of noise； he was just as easy to track by sight； the cream…colored smock fluttering in the gray night。
Keyes found himself trotting faster to escape the insects； but dreading what awaited him。 Jesus Bernal gave no clues； grunting with each step。
After ten minutes the sprint ended abruptly at water's edge。 Keyes caught his breath and studied the scene b