There was a voice whispering in his ear that maybe he shouldn't do it, but the voice in his other ear was a sight louder and pointing out that he was gonna lose his soulmate if he didn't. What's more, he owed it to his children to find their mother and bring her home. If she was lost in the woods, he wouldn't hesitate to go after her even though there might be a bear behind every tree. Idalupino was hairy, but she was nowhere near as vicious as a bear.

He stuck his head out of the lounge to make sure she wasn't nearby, then hurried across the storage room to the loading dock. No one hollered when he got into the fourwheel drive, closed the door as quietly as he could, and put the key in the ignition. There were some things on the dashboard he couldn't make heads or tails of, but he'd been driving a stick shift since he was twelve. If the wimpy city boys in TV ads could drive these across rivers and up mountains, he could, too.

He wiggled the stick until he found reverse and pressed down on the accelerator. The vehicle shot backward in a spray of gravel and gray smoke. He jerked his foot off the pedal and sat until his heart quit thudding, eyeing the dashboard with a newly discovered respect.

Time was wasting. Dahlia was most likely headed toward Farberville, with only a few minutes head start. He would follow her at a distance, even though there was no way she'd recognize him in this. Just to be extra safe, he took a scarf off the seat and tied it around his head, then found a pair of sunglasses in the glove compartment and put them on. After he'd checked his reflection in the mirror, he reopened the glove compartment, took out a tube of lipstick, and applied a thick red band over his lips. Now not even his ma would recognize him, he thought as he crammed the stick into first gear and eased down timidly on the pedal.

The car bucked across the parking lot but finally seemed to accept a stranger at the reins. Fully intending to bring bear meat home for supper, Kevin stuck out his chin and took off at a full gallop for Farberville.

Estelle was in no mood for breakfast, which was dandy, since I was in no mood for her company. I left her pacing around the hotel room and went down to the restaurant, determined to eat breakfast and read a newspaper in relative solitude.

I'd just ordered when a man approached the table. "May I join you?" he said as he pulled out a chair.

Recognizing him as the boorish blackjack player who'd attempted to banish me to the slot machines, I frowned and said, "I prefer to eat alone."

He sat down and filled his coffee cup from the pot on the table. "I hope I didn't offend you last night, or more accurately, this morning. I'm afraid I take my gambling too seriously, especially when I'm losing. The evening started so well, as it usually does. I am keenly aware of the percentages and play accordingly, but Lady Luck turned on me like an ungrateful mistress. It didn't matter what I did." He took the water glass in front of me and drank deeply. "There are moments when I feel like Prometheus, doomed by the gods to have my entrails ripped out at the gaming tables. In the wee hours, dealers take on an uncanny resemblance to predatory birds with razor-sharp talons."

"Perhaps you should take up needlepoint," I said without sympathy.

"Rex Malanac," he said, extending his hand. "You are, I believe, the daughter of Ruby Bee Hanks? I hope she's recovering."

I briefly touched his hand. "They're doing some tests at the hospital. She should be able to go home in a few days. Are you on the Elvis Tour?"

"Yes, but I must say it's been a disappointment. In Memphis, the driver did his best to convince us that we were staying in a motel where Elvis once slept, but of course everyone knows that he and his parents lived in public housing in the north part of Memphis. There is no documentation or reason to believe he ever stayed in any motels. One would almost suspect this was an economizing tactic on the part of C'Mon Tours."

"Estelle mentioned gunfire," I said.

"All of us were in abject terror that we would be killed by stray bullets. Only our little lovebirds had the courage to go out into the night, but they arranged to have taxis pick them up and deliver them to their motel-room door. Had your mother and her friend asked, I gladly would have taken up a post in their room in order to protect them. They're quite the innocents abroad, are they not?"

"Oh, absolutely," I said, stirring several spoonfuls of sugar into my coffee. "You heard about Stormy?"

"A terrible thing." He picked up the menu and beckoned to a waitress. "Be a dear and bring me scrambled eggs, two very crisp strips of bacon, and dry whole-wheat toast."

My appetite diminished, I ordered a bagel, then said, "What exactly did you hear, Mr. Malanac?"

"Please call me Rex. Otherwise, I'm apt to forget you're not a student and start lecturing you on the emergence of militaristic symbolism in the literature of prewar Germany. I'm sure you wouldn't care for that."

"What about Stormy?"

"All I know is that she fell to her death several hours ago. A rather uncouth police officer ordered me to remain in the hotel until I've given a statement. It will be a very short one, I'm afraid. I stayed in the casino until four, then went to my room and fell asleep immediately. I might still be in that condition had the police officer not banged on my door. I find it difficult to think kindly of him."

"Did you see Cherri Lucinda playing craps?"

"I do not allow my attention to wander when I'm at the blackjack table," he said primly. "I did see her enter the casino clinging to the arm of an unfamiliar man, and while on the way to the men's room, I noticed Stormy playing the quarter slots as if determined to win a kidney transplant for a kid sister or brother. Neither of them was of consequence to me, to be brutally honest. I came on the pilgrimage to do further investigation into Elvisian folklore, and divert myself with an evening at a casino. Calculating odds at blackjack makes a pleasant change from grading ill-written essays on Albert Camus and Günter Grass."

"Miss Hanks," said the same silky voice I'd heard in the casino, "you look as though you've had the opportunity to catch a few hours of sleep."

I looked up at the ostentatiously gracious young man in the lustrous gray suit. In that it was wise to avoid insulting likely members of a crime family, I said, "Yes, thank you."

"I was worried about you. If you will honor us with your presence tonight, I'd be delighted to offer you a drink."

"Drinks are free," I said, glancing at Rex, who was attacking his bacon and eggs with the dedication of a famished refugee. If he'd bent over any further, his nose would have made contact with the grease puddling the hash-brown potatoes. "Why don't you offer me a nice big stack of chips? You know you'll have them back at the end of the evening, but you'll have kept me amused and eternally grateful to the benevolence of The Luck of the Draw."

"I understand you're associated with the tour group that lost a member in a tragic fashion," he said. "All of us on the staff would like to share our condolences."

"So are you giving me chips to ease the pain?" I asked. "Red ones will do, but I'd prefer green."

"We'll have to see. You have the look of someone who might get lucky and make a run on the bank."

"I'll bet you say that to all the girls," I replied with a saccharine smile.

He looked down at Rex, who was still wolfing down his scrambled eggs as if they would scamper away if he didn't contain them with a fork, then nodded at me and wound his way through the tables to the exit.

I waited until Rex emerged from his close encounter with carbohydrates. "When you saw Stormy playing the slot machine, was she alone?"