A young man she knew. Well, she was overdue for one brilliant moment of plain, unadulterated good luck.

"Gary!"

It took him a second to register that someone was calling his name, and there seemed to be far too much subtext in the changes his expression went through on its way to recognition. Confusion, the momentary joy of spotting a familiar face in a land of strangers. Finally, he settled for something petulant and sulky.

"Tess Monaghan. Fancy meeting you here."

"Ditto."

"So, what's up?"

"Maybe you can tell me. I'm looking for Crow."

"Good luck." He unfold his legs, crawled down from the top of the trash can. "I haven't talked to that fucker in weeks."

"What about Poe White Trash?"

"Deader than its namesake. The name never did go over down here. The few times we got a gig, usually at some freebie festival, someone would call the Chronicle and complain about our name. ‘Inherently racist in its implication that other cultures don't meet the same standards of normative behavior.' Someone actually wrote that in a letter to the editor. Normative behavior. I thought it should be our new name."

"You're kidding me."

"About the name, not about the letter. Welcome to PC city, hon, and I'm not talking about the computer industry."

"So the band broke up? Where did everyone go? Where's Crow?"

"Crow broke up the band. Said he was going in a new direction, literally and artistically, but it was really her fault."

Crow's mysterious female companion again. "Blond girl? With features like a china doll?"

"Blond, sure, but I don't know about any doll," Gary said, rubbing his chin, as if trying to stimulate growth in the wispy, halfhearted goatee there, a new affectation. "Unless you're talking Chuckie, from those slasher movies. She Yoko'ed us but good. Once Crow met her, it was like I didn't even know him anymore. He suddenly wanted to do all this indigenous shit. He even asked me if I could learn to play the accordion. I told him he could take that Lawrence Welk shit and shove it up his ass."

"When was this?"

"Summer, I guess. Like it's not summer now. I remember it was hot. Then again, it's been hot since we got here in May. July? August? I don't know. A while. The other guys went back to Baltimore. I thought I'd give Austin a try. I mean, the winters here gotta be better, right?" He was pleading, his voice as urgent as any panhandler's. "A whole summer gone, and I haven't had a single steamed crab."

Tess had no patience for seafood reveries. "Where is Crow now? Is he in a new band? What's the name of this blond girl?"

"You know, I never knew her full name. She called herself Emmie, just one fucking name, like Madonna. She was performing under the name Lady M when we met her. But she had a place out in the Hill Country, I know that much. She and Crow crashed there sometimes. She said Austin wasn't the place to be anymore, and he believed her. He believed every stupid shit thing that came out of her mouth."

"Where's the Hill Country?"

"It's the area west of Austin and it's a pretty big place. LBJ's home," Maury put in. "You're going to need more than that to go on."

Gary glared at Maury, as if this strapping young Texan was responsible for everything that had gone wrong for him in the Lone Star State. "I know that. I'm not stupid. It began with a B."

"Boerne Tess asked, remembering the postmark on Crow's note to her.

"Naw, but somewhere like that. Bingo? Boffo? Blanco! He's in Blanco, OK? Or near there. I remember because of the White Album. But I think the town was called something like Two Sisters."

Tess was still mystified, but Maury nodded, smiling. "Now that's something to go on. Twin Sisters's a small enough place so a stranger might stick out."

Two lucky breaks in fifteen minutes-finding Gary, finding a lead. Tess just hoped she hadn't blown her serendipity account for all eternity.

"Okay, I'll head down there tomorrow."

"But what about dinner tonight?" Maury put in plaintively.

"Sure, fine, your pick."

"Barbecue. Chili dogs? Barbecue."

"Barbecue's good here," Gary said, his tone grudging.

Maury inspected the dejected drummer. He was wearing a Mencken's Cultured Pearl T-shirt with the sleeves ripped out and his arms were scrawny and sunburned. He had managed a haircut recently, but that only called attention to the white stripe on his bright red neck. "You want to join us? My treat, because I hate to hear of someone having a bad time in my hometown. Don't you know this is Eden?"

"Yeah, well, the snake and the broad with the apple have already been here and gotten me kicked out," Gary said. "But I could go for some barbecue, I guess."

There was precious little that was white about Blanco County. The hills were brown, with outcroppings of rock, the highway black, the cloudless sky above so blue, and so huge that Tess felt paradoxically claustrophobic, as if a gigantic sheet had been thrown over her. It seemed she could drive for days and days and never arrive anywhere.

Still, it was a relief just to be alone for a while, no one but Esskay for company. Not that solitude had come easily. Maury, sensing a payoff might be near, had wanted to continue on his whole Bwana trip. She had wanted to confront Crow alone. Perceptive Keith had told Maury that he had to cover the store while Keith ran errands that afternoon. She had left him sulking behind the counter, pretending to read a new comic book.

The town of Blanco wasn't much more than a small grouping of buildings and a sign warning that the speed limit had dropped. Tess, still wedded to her Old Western version of Texas, had expected a dusty Main Street flanked by late nineteenth-century buildings with porches, maybe a saloon. It passed by in less than five minutes, and in another five minutes she had found the dance hall and convenience store that seemed to be the sum of Twin Sisters.

The girl behind the counter was bright-eyed and friendly, a little too happy to be working as a cashier in the local convenience store. Just the kind of personality Tess had hoped to find-an outgoing busybody who engaged every passerby in conversation. The photograph of a boy in a football uniform was taped to the cash register.

"How're you doing today?" the girl asked, her voice as loud and enthusiastic as a big puppy on the loose.

"Fine, just fine," Tess replied.

Experience had taught her it was better to come at things slantwise. People trusted you more if you didn't seem too focused. She grabbed a Coke, then tried to find some regional specialty among the junk food. Alas, another aspect of American life gone totally generic. While some of her favorites were missing-Goldenberg Peanut Chews, Fifth Avenues, Clark Bars-there didn't appear to be any local equivalents to take their place.

"You looking for something in particular?" the clerk asked.

"In a manner of speaking. I want something I've never had before."

The girl's eyes widened, as if this was a strange, almost subversive thing to say.

"I mean, candy-wise," Tess explained. "What's the point of traveling if everything is the same wherever you go?"

"We've got some of these Mexican candies here by the cash register, pralines and such. These ones look like the Mexican flag." The girl held up what appeared to be a block of solid sugar, striped red, green and white. The red had faded, as if the candy had been sitting out in the sun for a very long time. "And you could always have a Big Red, I guess, instead of that Coke."

"What does Big Red taste like?"

"Truthfully?" The girl looked around, making sure there was no one to overhear her. "Ground-up pencil erasers. But it is local."

"I guess I'll stick with the Coke. And a moon pie. I can't get that back home."