Dark Rivers of the Heart

had achieved a rapport deeper than he would have thought possible in such a short acquaintance. More than handcuffs and shackles, the mutual respect between them was certain to guarantee Ackblom's fullest cooperation.
        He and the artist got out of the limousine, leaving Rink and Fordyce and the driver to wait for them. No wind carved the night, but the air was frigid.
        As the fenced fields had been, the lawns were white and softly luminous in the platinum light of the partial moon. The evergreen shrubs were encrusted with snow. Its limbs jacketed in ice, a winter-shorn maple cast a faint moonshadow upon the land.
        The two-story Victorian farmhouse was white with green shutters.
        A deep front porch extended from corner to corner, and the embracing balustrade had white balusters under a green handrail. A gingerbread cornice marked the transition from the walls to the dormered roof, and a fringe of small icicles overhung the eaves.
        The windows were all dark. The Dresmunds had cooperated with Duvall.
        For the night, they were staying in Veil, perhaps curious about events at the ranch but selling their forgetfulness for the price of dinner in a fourstar restaurant, champagne, hot-house strawberries dipped in chocolate, and a restful night in a luxury hotel suite.
        Later, with Grant dead and no caretaker job to be filled, they would regret making such a bad bargain.
        Duvall and the twelve men under his supervision were scattered with utmost discretion across the property. Roy couldn't discern where a single man was concealed.
        "It's lovely here in the spring," said Steven Ackblom, speaking not with audible regret but as if remembering May mornings full of sun, mild evenings full of stars and cricket songs.
        "It's lovely now too," Roy said.
        "Yes, isn't it?" With a smile that might have been melancholy, Ackblom turned to survey the entire property. "I was happy here."
        "It's easy to see why," Roy said.
        The artist sighed." 'Pleasure is oft a visitant, but pain clings cruelly to us."
        "
        "Excuse me?"
        "Keats," Ackblom explained.
        "Ah. I'm sorry if being here depresses you."
        "No, no. Don't trouble yourself about that. It doesn't in the least depress me. By nature, I'm depression-proof. And seeing this place again… it's a sweet pain, one well worth experiencing."
        They got into the limousine and were driven to the barn behind the house.
        In the small town of Eagle, west of Vail, they stopped for gasoline. In a minimart adjacent to the service station, Ellie was able to purchase two tubes of Super Glue, the store's entire supply.
        "Why Super Glue?" Spencer asked when she returned to the pumps, where he was counting out cash to the attendant.
        "Because it's a lot harder to find welding tools and supplies."
        "Well, of course, it is," he said, as though he knew what she was talking about. She remained solemn. Her fund of smiles had been depleted. "I hope it's not too cold for this stuff to bond."
        "What're you going to do with your Super Glue, if I may ask?"
        "Glue something."
        "Well, of course, you are."
        Ellie got into the backseat with Rocky.
        At her direction, Spencer drove the pickup past the service bays of the repair garage to the edge of the station property. He parked beside a ten-foot-high ridge of plowed snow.
        Fending off the mutt's friendly tongue, Ellie unlatched the small sliding window between the cab and the cargo bed. She slid the moveable half open only an inch.
        From the canvas duffel bag, she removed the last of the major items that she had chosen to salvage when the signal trace-back from Earthguard had made it necessary to abandon the Range Rover. A long orange utility cord. An adapter that transformed any car or truck cigarette lighter into two electrical sockets from which current could be drawn when the engine was running. Finally, there was the compact satellite up-link with automated tracking arm and collapsible Frisbee-like receiving dish.
        Outside again, Spencer put down the tailgate, and they climbed into the empty bed of the pickup. Ellie used most of the Super Glue to fix the microwave transceiver to the painted-metal cargo bed.
        "You know," he said, "a drop or two usually does the trick."
        "Got to be sure it doesn't pop loose at the