"That's the local name for the place. Generator Flat, because there're no electric lines, and the people living in the trailers run their generators for lights and TV. They congregate there because the owner lives in Wyoming, or maybe its Colorado, and doesn't bother collecting rent. No water pipes either, so they haul in five-gallon cans to fill their tanks. Dan charges twenty-five-cents a can to fill at his back faucet, but if they watch, when the deputy goes on patrol, they can fill for free at the sheriff's station."

"I'll get dressed," she said.

"Not until full daylight," he said. "Too many irresponsible men with guns live in Generator Flat. I'm not prowling about in the twilight." She took a long drink of coffee. "You awake enough to go back to bed?"

To his relief she stepped away from the table; to his delight, when the blue robe fell open, she did not s.n.a.t.c.h it closed. He opened the front door as they went by, pushed the doorbell, marched down the hall, experienced a fleeting thought that Jenny would be appalled by such foolishness. He had Ky on the bed, was on top of her before the music ended. "Ta-dah-ta-dah, ta-dah-ta-dah, ta-ta foreeeeeeeeever!"

And at that instant he meant it.

Where the dirt track met the main road, the trailers ranged in a semblance of order, most facing the "street." But Whit noticed that the farther he drove, the more disorganized the settlement got, until the road itself disappeared in a fan of ruts, each leading to an aluminum box. He parked, got out of the truck to survey the situation, and heard Ky slam the opposite door. He hesitated to intrude on a path that some resident considered a private drive. Beside three of the trailers, laundry flapped on clothes lines, a sure indication that they were occupied.

"The farthest one," Ky said. "See, in those bushes in the gully. Rod's pickup wouldn't be visible there." She lifted her binoculars, but dropped them because at that instant a boy emerged from the thicket pushing a bicycle. "Sorry," Ky said. "Jumping to conclusions."

The boy's long hair was pulled back in a ponytail, but the tying had been done yesterday. Or even the day before yesterday, for hair straggled over his ears.

He wore jeans cut off at the knees and a dirty T-shirt.

"That's the kid I saw at the meeting for the Pollux miners," Whit said. "He came out wearing one of those gold pins."

"I don't think that's the person to make inquiries of," Ky muttered. "A bit too young -"

"Aunt Kyla?" Kyla turned so fast gravel flew from beneath her heels. Trace scrambled off his bike.

"Trace?" Kyla looked alarmed, then embarra.s.sed at being caught spying.

"Andy and I decided we'd help hunt for the lost woman," Trace said. "Is that what you're doing?"

"Yes," Kyla said with relief. "We're helping the sheriff."

"I figured, when you didn't come home last night, you were hunting for Mrs.

Chase."

"That's Andy?" Kyla asked, jerking a thumb to indicate the kid still struggling to get his bike up the rocky track.

"Andy Ferrill. He helped me get all the kids to work at the bake sale and the car wash."

"Introduce us," Whit said.

Andy had washed his face that morning, but the soap and water had stopped well short of his ears. Whit hunted for an innocuous remark to get the conversation underway.

"I'd like to meet your mother, Andy. You and Trace can leave your bikes here, and I'll drive down -- "

"Mom don't live with me."

"Your father? Has he already gone -- "

"Dad's gone job hunting."

"Andy's alone while his dad's out looking for work," Trace said, and from his expression, Whit thought he envied Andy immensely.

"Alone?" Kyla asked, alarmed. "For how long?"

"It's okay, Ky," Whit rea.s.sured her. "Out here, a day or two is no reason to go hunting the child welfare people." He returned his attention to Andy. "I suppose you get up early, Andy, to ride your bike and visit your friends before it gets too hot." Andy nodded. "We're looking for an empty house or trailer, where a man and a woman used to come early in the morning, stay for about an hour, then leave." Andy worked at the bent lever of his front brake. "We think the woman may be the one who's lost. She may be sick and alone in this place."

"Man a cowboy?" Andy addressed the rear brake lever, his voice low.

"Yes, a cowboy. He drove a white pickup with a black stripe down the side."

Andy squeezed both levers and leaned over, watching the front brake pads move.

"She's not there," he muttered.

Whit dropped to his knees and looked up into yellow-brown eyes. "You know this woman and this cowboy?"

"Don't know names."

"How would you like hotcakes and eggs and sausage at the Gold Rim Grill?" Andy's eyes sparkled.

"Throw your bike in the back. You, too, Trace. Or did you eat at home?"

"Nothing but cereal, toast, orange juice and bacon," he said.

Whit clicked the latch but held the tailgate in place, surprised. The dog, curled up on the ragged saddle blanket against the front of the bed.

"Pooch?" he said. The dog stood up, on all four feet, and wagged his tail.

"What's he doing in here?" Kyla asked.

"Whoever owned him taught him to ride in the pickup," Whit said. "Now that his foot's healed, he's back on duty. Careful with those bikes, boys. Don't scare him." But the dog showed no concern at all, in fact seemed to understand what was going on, and returned to his bed.

With four people in the track, even though two were skinny twelve-year-olds, Kyla was forced very close. Whit felt his thigh move against hers. He must keep her at the ranch one more night at least. The thought of being alone troubled him far more than Moira's disappearance.

The waitress bent over the big oblong booth at the front window of the Gold Rim, her wet cloth making wide circles on the plastic surface. Whit held the boys back until she had finished. They had barely slid across the plastic seat when she bustled up with menus and the coffee pot. Bad coffee, but stimulating. The boys turned up their noses at coffee. Andy ordered c.o.ke.

"Mom won't let me have c.o.ke for breakfast," Trace said, another envious stare at Andy.

"We'll call this brunch," Kyla said.

"c.o.ke, then."

Whit waited until forks sc.r.a.ped on the china before he faced Andy. "I saw you at the meeting where they gave the Pollux workers gold pins. You had one."

"Dad told me to collect his, and that man from New York, in the suit and tie, he told Mr. Marshall it was okay."

"I'm glad you did that for your father. Tell me about the woman and the cowboy.

If it's a secret, I promise I won't say a word to anybody, and neither will Ky...Miss Rogers."

"Aunt Kyla can keep a secret," Trace said, with a sideling glance at Ky.

Andy played with his fork, making patterns in the residual syrup. "Dad left a long time ago," he began. "Right after Easter. He got me a chocolate rabbit, half price, when we went to the grocery to stock up, so I wouldn't run out of food."

Two months! Kyla opened her mouth, Whit poked an elbow in her ribs to keep her quiet. She obeyed, but with a frown and a glare.

"Maybe Dad's found a job and had to start right away?" Andy said, hopeful and doubtful at the same time.

"Probably," Ky whispered, cutting what remained of her short stack into tiny pieces, but not putting one in her mouth.

"He left me twenty dollars, which was all he could spare from the gas money, but it's gone, and I can't haul water but a gallon at a time on my bike. That cowboy came, and he hauled the cans in his truck, and filled the tank right up to the top. He gave me ten, sometimes fifteen dollars if I let him and the woman use Dad's bed."

"Oh G.o.d!" Ky said under her breath.

Andy faced her directly, smiling a superior smile. "I know what a man's p.e.c.k.e.r's for. Don't you dare tell anyone I'm out there alone, 'cause Dad says they'll haul me off and put me living with rat-catchers who abuse kids for the money the county gives them."

"What's your water situation?" Whit asked.

"Only a bit. Got to be careful until that cowboy -- "

"He's not coming back. He's dead."

Andy slumped against the vinyl cushion, as if someone had slapped him in the face. "And that's the woman who's gone?" he said.

"Yes."

"Don't make me talk to the sheriff?" he begged, all the c.o.c.kiness gone. "Dad'll come home and find me not there. When a trailer's left empty in Generator Flat, next thing you know the door's pried open and the frig's gone."

Ky squared her shoulders, and smiled the fakest smile Whit had ever seen. "Well, then, we'd better get out to Generator Flat and load the water cans into Whit's pickup. We'll fill them at Trace's house." She fished around on the floor and drew up her little white handbag by the shoulder strap. Whit hissed before she had the purse open.

"Give a kid money, the last thing he'll buy is groceries," he whispered in her ear. He leaned around her to see Andy. "After we get the water I'll take you to the grocery, and stock the cupboards again." Andy toyed with his empty orange juice gla.s.s, tipped it high to drain the final drop. "You want another orange juice?"

"You mean I can have another?"

"Another orange juice. How about you, Trace?" Trace nodded, wide-eyed.

"When Dad takes us out for breakfast, we never get seconds on orange juice,"

Trace said.

The bell over the door tinkled, and was immediately joined by a heavier jingle of metal, the accoutrements of office hanging from the sheriff's belt. He surveyed the cafe, his eyes settled on the front booth and he walked in their direction.

"Can I have a word, Whit?" No surprise that Sheriff Neligh came looking for him.

By now Chase had told him of his early morning visit.

"Finish your breakfast," Whit said to Ky and the boys. "Outside," he muttered to the sheriff.

Neligh leaned against the used brick facing of the cafe. "Chase finally confessed, he thought his wife was with you yesterday, which was why he didn't report her missing. He wasn't worried until last night, when you sailed right through town and didn't drop her off. Moira Chase with you?"

"No, neither yesterday nor last night. Chase turned up at my door about half past four this morning, looking like he'd been on a week's bender."

Neligh nodded. "He's finally got the message. Moira's run off, or been taken off." He shifted his eyes and his chewing gum, which he had lately subst.i.tuted for tobacco at the behest of county authorities. Chewing tobacco, they had pointed out, was not a proper model to the youth of the community.

"Why should Chase think his wife's with you?"

Whit considered the question for a moment, and decided the truth could do no harm. "Twice in the past week Moira has very seriously propositioned me. Once at the barbecue, then day before yesterday, when I drove into town early on the road where she jogs."

"You stopped to talk to her?"

"I stopped because I had an appointment and I was fifteen minutes early. I stopped to watch the sun come up. I found -- find -- Moira Chase repulsive."

Neligh laughed and nodded.

"You swear you slept alone last night."

"That's none of your business." Neligh's eyes swiveled to the front window of the cafe.

"Nice looking gal, Glenda Fetterman's sister." That subtle remark let Whit know that the news had spread all over town. Now that the sheriff was in the know, he would spread it all over the county. "Chase said there was some kind of party going on at your house. Music at half past four in the morning?"

Whit laughed. "The door bell. Chase kept leaning against the b.u.t.ton and Jim already has it programmed for the Fourth of July. The Stars and Stripes Forever."

It was Neligh's turn to laugh, which he did with gusto, bending over as far as his wide belt and growing paunch allowed. "I remember first time I punched that b.u.t.ton, and the d.a.m.n house played Silent Night at me. I began to wonder what kind of beer Dan had in that cask." He pushed himself away from the used brick.

"Get in touch if you think of anything."

Silent Night. The doorbell had played Silent Night when he and Jenny looked at the house. Hardly appropriate for May, but no one had lived in the place since Christmas. Jenny hated the doorbell, thought it tacky, and said they would replace it with chimes.

Whit detoured by the truck on his way back to the cafe, leaned over the side and negligently patted the dog. He should bring what was left of the hotcakes and sausage out on a paper plate.

He had disconnected the doorbell without even bothering to figure out how it worked. But Jim said two bare wires sticking out beside the front door didn't look good on such a fancy house, so Whit had handed him the owner's manual, making it plain that if he ever heard Silent Night he'd smash the thing.

Now another memory: The Stars and Stripes Forever. A memory he would treasure for a long, long time. Or one he would rather forget? Ky must visit at Christmas. That's when Jim programmed the machine to play the birthday song. He and Ky could celebrate together, on Christmas day.

"Drive all the way into the back yard," Kyla said as he turned into the Fetterman's driveway. "There we can fill the cans with the hose without taking them out of the truck."

"Someone's truck's in the way," Whit said.

"What's Mark doing home on Monday morning?" she asked no one in particular.

"Dad said the sheriff had asked some of the miners to help in the hunt," Trace said.

Whit left the truck with the hood protruding into the street; they all piled out and headed toward the sound of voices. Mark, Glenda, and their neighbors, the Marshalls, sat at the picnic table under the tree.

"I'll make another pot of coffee," Glenda said the moment she saw Kyla. "Oh, Mr.