Dark Rivers of the Heart

been r-assured by Kleck's confidence and by the rich timbre of his voice-if he hadn't known that Kleck looked like a fish trying to swallow a cantaloupe. "Later." He hung up.
        He married the phone to the attache case computer, started the car, and linked with Mama in Virginia. He gave her a daunting task, even considering her considerable talents and connections: Search for Spencer Grant in the computerized records of water and power companies, gas companies, tax collectors' offices; in fact, search the electronic files of every state, county, regional, and city agency, as well as those of any company regulated by any public agency in Venture, Kern, Los Angeles, Orange, San Diego, Riverside, and San Bernardino Counties; furthermore, access customer records of every banking institution in California-their checking, savings, loan, and credit-card accounts; on a national level, search Social Security Administration and Internal Revenue Agency files beginning with California and working eastward state by state.
        Finally, after indicating that he would call in the morning for the results of Mama's investigation, he closed the electronic door in Virginia.
        He switched off his computer.
        The fog was growing thicker and the air chillier by the minute.
        'The three men were still waiting for him by the gate, shivering.
        "We might as well wrap it up for tonight," Roy told them. "Get a fresh start in the morning."
        They looked relieved. Who knew where Grant might send them next Roy slapped their backs and gave them cheerful encouragement as they returned to their vehicles. He wanted them to feel good about themselves. Everyone had a right to feel good about himself.
        In his car reversin along the gravel to the two-lane blacktop,, Roy breathed deeply, slowly. In with the pale-peach vapor of blessed tranquility. Out with the bile-green mist of anger, tension, stress.
        Peach in. Green out. Peach in.
        He was still furious.
        Because they had eaten a late lunch, Spencer drove across a long stretch of barren Mojave, all the way to Barstow, before pulling off Interstate 15 and stopping for dinner. At the drive-through window of a McDonald's, he ordered a Big Mac, fries, and a small vanilla milkshake for himself Rather than fuss with the cans of dog food in the canvas satchel, he also ordered two hamburgers and a large water for Rocky-then relented and ordered a second vanilla shake.
        He parked at the rear of the well-lighted restaurant lot, left the engine running to keep the Explorer warm, and sat in the cargo area to eat, with his back against the front seat and legs stretched out in front of him.
        Rocky licked his chops in anticipation as the paper bags were opened and the truck filled with wonderful aromas. Spencer had folded down the rear seats before leaving Malibu, so even with the suitcase and other gear, he and the dog had plenty of room.
        He opened Rocky's burgers and put them on their wrappers. By the time Spencer had extracted his own Big Mac from its container and had taken a single bite, Rocky had wolfed down the meat patties that he'd been given and most of one bun, which was all the bread he wanted. He gazed yearningly at Spencer's sandwich, and he whined.
        "Mine," Spencer said.
        Rocky whined again. Not a frightened whine. Not a whine of pain.
        It was a whine that said oh-look-at-poor-cute-me-and-realize-how-muchI'd-like-that-hamburger-and cheese-and-special-sauce-and-maybeeven-the-pickles.
        "Do you understand the meaning of mine?"
        Rocky looked at the bag of french fries in Spencer's lap.
        "Mine."
        The dog looked dubious.
        "Yours," Spencer said, pointing to the uneaten hamburger bun.
        Rocky sorrowfully regarded the dry bun-then the juicy Big Mac.
        After taking another bite and washing it down with some vanilla milkshake, Spencer checked his watch. "We'll gas up and be back on the interstate by nine o'clock. It's about a hundred and sixty miles to Las Vegas.
        Even without pushing hard, we can make it by midnight." a in.
        Spencer relented and dropped four of them onto one of the burger wrappers. "You ever been to Vegas?" he asked.
        The four fries had vanished. Rocky stared longingly at the others that bristled from the bag in his master's lap.
        "It's a tough town. And I've got a bad feeling that things