“Goddamn, Luanne! You could suck the white off rice!”

Mari groaned and rubbed her hands over her face.

“I could never get enough of you, Bob-Ray.”

“A sad truth that’s been made abundantly clear in the last five hours,” Mari said through her teeth.

“Well, come on up here, then, darlin.’ I’ll give you all you can handle.”

Luanne squealed like a mare in heat and the banging-audio and physical-began again.

Her temper frayed down to the ragged nub, Mari grabbed the Gideon Bible from the nightstand and used it as a gavel against the wall.

“Hey, Mr. Piston!” she bellowed. “Give it a rest, will ya!”

There was a moment of taut silence, then the perpetrators burst into giggles and the bed springs started squeaking again.

Giving up on any hope of rest, she headed toward the bathroom.

She hadn’t taken in more than a glimpse of the town of New Eden on her way to Lucy’s place. Coming back after her encounter with Rafferty, she had gone no farther than the motel on the north edge of town. Now she drove down the wide main street slowly, glancing at the ornate false fronts of brick buildings that had probably witnessed cattle drives and gunfights a century before. They were mixed with clapboard storefronts and the odd, low-slung “modern” building that had gone up in the sixties, when architects had been completely devoid of taste.

New Eden had a rumpled, dusty look. Comfortable. Quiet. A curious mix of shabbiness and pride. Some of the shops were vacant and run-down, their windows staring blankly at the street. Others were being treated to cosmetic face-lifts. Painting scaffolds stood along their sides like giant Tinker Toys. Among the usual small-town businesses Mari counted four art galleries, three shops devoted to selling fly-fishing gear, and half a dozen places that advertised espresso.

In the gray early morning, a trio of dogs trotted down the sidewalk and crossed the street in front of Mari, looking up at her but not seeming at all concerned that she wouldn’t slow down for them. She chuckled as she watched them head directly for a place called the Rainbow Cafe. Trusting their judgment, she pulled her little Honda into a slot along a row of hulking, battered pickups and cut the engine.

In keeping with its name, the front of the Rainbow Cafe had been painted in stripes of five different pastel colors. The wooden sign that swung gently from a rusted iron arm was hand-lettered in a fashion that made Mari think of teenage doodling-free-form, naively artistic. It promised good food and lots of it. Her stomach growled.

A small, dark-haired waitress stood holding the front door open with one hand, letting the smell of breakfast and sound of George Strait on the jukebox drift out. The other hand was propped on a wide hip, a limp dishrag dangling from the fingertips. Her attention was on the trio of dogs that sat on the stoop. They gazed up at her with the kind of pitiful, hopeful look all dogs instinctively know people are suckers for. She frowned at them, her wide ruby mouth pulling down at the corners.

“You all go around to the back,” she said irritably. “I won’t have you stealing steaks off the customers’ plates on your way through to the kitchen.”

The leader of the pack, a black and white border collie with one blue eye and one brown eye, tipped his head to one side, ears perked, and hummed a little note that sounded for all the world like a canine version of please. The waitress narrowed her eyes at him and stood fast. After a minute, the dog gave in and led his cohorts down the narrow space between the buildings.

“Moocher,” the waitress grumbled, her lips twitching into a smile.

Someone should have captured her on film, Mari thought, her artist’s eye assessing and memorizing. The woman whose name tag identified her as Nora was pushing forty, and every day of it was etched in fine lines on her face. But that didn’t keep her from being beautiful in an earthy, real way. Beneath the dime-store makeup, hers was a face that radiated character, broken hearts, and honest hard work. It was heart-shaped with prominent cheekbones and a slim, straight nose, lean-cheeked and bony, as if the fat beneath the skin had been boiled away in the steamy heat of the diner kitchen. Her mane of dark hair was as frizzy as a Brillo pad, its thickness clamped back with a silver barrette. The pink and white polyester uniform was a holdover from the seventies. It buttoned over nonexistent breasts, nipped in on a slender waist, and hugged a set of hips that looked as if they had been specifically designed for a man to hang on to during sex.

“This must be the best restaurant in town,” Mari said, clutching an armload of Montana travel books against the front of her oversize denim jacket.

“You better believe it, honey,” the waitress said with a grin. “If there’s a line of pickups out front and dogs begging at the door, you know you’ll get a good, honest meal. No skimping here, and the coffee’s always hot and strong.”

“I’m sold.”

Nora shot a discreet glance at the brown and white polka dot dress that swirled around Mari’s calves and the paddock boots and baggy crew socks, but there was no flash of disapproval in her eyes. Mari liked her instantly.

“I love your hair,” the waitress said. “That your real color?”

Mari grinned. “Yep.”

She followed Nora inside and slid into a high-backed booth that gave her a view out the wide front window.

She deposited her books on the Formica table and forgot them as she tried to absorb everything she could about this first experience in the Rainbow. She had read every travel guide and tourist brochure there was anyway. One of her vows to herself when she had decided on a new life was not to let it speed past her while she was too busy trying to fit in. She had spent too much time with her nose to the grindstone, the world and its people hurtling past her in a blur. When she had decided to come to Montana, she had gone to the library and checked out and read every book available about the state. She had immersed herself in tales of cattle barons and copper barons and robber barons, and in descriptions of mountain ranges and meadows and high plains. But the Rainbow was the real thing, and she didn’t want to miss a sliver of it.

The air in the restaurant was warm and moist, redolent with the rich, greasy scents of bacon and sausage, and the sweet perfume of pancake syrup. Beneath it all lingered the strong aromas of coffee and men, and above it hung a pall of cigarette smoke. The tables were cheap, the chairs serviceable chrome and red vinyl that had probably been sitting there for three or four decades. Mari wondered if anyone realized the decor would have been considered trendy kitsch in the hip diners of northern California. Somehow, she didn’t think anyone at the Rainbow Cafe in New Eden, Montana, would give a good damn. The thought made her smile.

A quick reconnaissance of the customers told her she was the only woman in the place who wasn’t wearing a pink uniform. Regardless of shape or size, the men all had the look of men who worked outdoors and made their living with their hands-creased, leathery faces, narrow eyes that gave her hard, direct looks, then slid away almost shyly.

She ordered all the fat and cholesterol on the menu, not in any mood to count calories. She hadn’t had a substantial meal in weeks, and she had a long day ahead of her. Better to face it on a full stomach. While she waited for Nora to bring the food, she gazed out at the wedge of town she could see through the front window.

There was an old-fashioned hardware store across the street with a wide front porch and an old green screen door. Shiny new spades and rakes and pitchforks leaned against the weathered white clapboard. A sign in the window advertised a special on wheelbarrows. Next to the hardware store was a drugstore that had been established in 1892 according to the ornate gold lettering on the front window. Next to the drugstore, gaudy spandex in neon colors hung like pieces of indecipherable modern art in the window of Mountain Man Bike and Athletic.