Officer Carillo came back on the line almost immediately. “I’m afraid that’s impossible, sir. It’s against regulations.”

Walker thanked the officer and hung up. Minutes later, he was speeding toward town. As Jayne Peters was fond of saying, there was more than one way to skin a cat and he had to get up to Deer Creek Condos on the double.

At six-ten in the evening, it was still over ninety degrees and Paul Lindstrom’s shirt stuck to his back as he walked across the parking lot to the door of the Castle Casino. Some Vegas regulars took taxis from one casino to another, even if their destination was only a block away. Paul had always regarded this as a needless extravagance, but now, as a blast of refrigerated air transformed his shirt into a cold, clammy mess, he had to admit that stepping from one air-conditioned casino into an air-conditioned taxi that would take him to another air-conditioned casino made sense.

Walking past the blackjack tables, Paul stopped to watch an elderly lady with a blue rinse in her hair play a quarter slot machine against the far wall. Each time she put in a coin, she patted the machine four times before pulling the handle. When he’d first come to Vegas, Paul had noticed the superstitious mannerisms of slot machine players. Some talked to the machines using words that resembled incantations. Still others counted the seconds they held the handle down. There were as many rituals as there were players. When Paul had asked if these people really thought they could control an action that was specifically geared to be random, Jayne had explained what she called slot behavior. It was nothing but intermittent reinforcement, the type that was most difficult to extinguish. A laboratory rat who had received food pellets while pressing its nose against the corner of the cage would return to that position countless times in an attempt to acquire more pellets. Even when the reward was no longer forthcoming, the rat would continue to scurry for the corner every time the technician walked near. If Jayne’s theory was correct, the blue-haired lady had once hit a jackpot after patting the machine four times.

After watching for a few more moments, Paul walked on. Jayne had once written a song called “Somethin’ for Nothin’” and it was that very phenomenon which kept the casinos thriving. There were true accounts of gamblers who won enough money to retire in luxury and every player in Vegas had similar dreams.

In the lounge Paul took up a position near the doorway. It was quiet and dark inside, a welcome relief from the bright lights and noise on the floor of the casino. The lounge’s only occupants were three men with red and white name tags, obviously from a convention, sitting at a table in the back of the room. A woman with flaming red hair was seated at the piano, playing old standards to the nearly empty room. Paul was early. Grace DuPaz had promised to meet him in the lounge at six-thirty, right after rehearsal.

The pianist noticed him and gave a little wave. “Hi, honey. Why don’t you come over here and sit by me?”

“Thank you.” Paul gave a little bow and reached out to shake her hand before he took one of the seats by the piano. “I am early to meet a friend.”

“Good. You can keep me company. This place is dead right now.”

“Dead?” Paul looked puzzled for a moment, but then he smiled. “Ah, yes. There are not many people to listen.”

“That’s right, honey. Any requests?”

“There is one song I would like very much to hear.” Paul nodded. “My Stubborn Heart.”

The pianist broke into a smile. “I love it, but it’s so new I haven’t really worked it up yet. Want me to give it a whirl anyway?”

Paul smiled back. “I would be pleased. My wife wrote it.”

The pianist did a double take and her professional smile grew much warmer. “Then you must be Paul! Glad to meet you. I’m Flame Richards and I’m a big fan of Jayne’s.”

As Flame sang, Paul reflected on the song about a husband who’d left and a woman’s stubborn heart that wouldn’t let her ask him to come back. Just as she struck the ending chords, Grace walked into the bar and Paul rose to his feet.

“Hi, Paul.” Grace shook his hand and slid quickly onto a chair. After living in the same building for almost four years, she knew Paul wouldn’t sit down until she did. “I’ve never seen you in jeans before. You look good. And that blue cowboy shirt just matches your eyes. Did you ditch it for good or did you just pack it away in mothballs?”

“Pardon?”

“I’m talking about the three-piece suit you used to always wear, even up at the spa when the rest of us were sitting around in sweats. I bet Jayne would faint dead away if she saw you like this. She used to buy you all those gorgeous cowboy shirts and you’d never even try them on.”

“Yes, that is true.” Paul frowned slightly. He’d been what Jayne called a stuffed shirt about wearing anything other than proper clothing, but now he only took out his suit for business meetings and sometimes not even then. Jayne had been right. Casual clothes were much more comfortable.

Grace turned to the piano player. “How’s it going, Flame?”

“Just fine.” The pianist gave her the high sign and segued into the music from Grace’s last show. “How’s the new show coming?”

“The costumes are awful, the music stinks, the lighting’s horrid, and the girls all have two left feet. Other than that, everything’s right on schedule.”

“You always say that.” Flame laughed.

A cocktail waitress, dressed in a low-cut gold lamé minidress, leaned over the piano. “Flame? That guy in the black shirt wants you to play ‘Hey Jude.’”

“Again?” Flame raised her eyebrows. “I’ve played it three times already, but I guess I’d better keep those aging hippies happy and do my whole Beatles medley.”

As Flame started up again, Grace leaned a little closer to Paul. “What’s up? You sounded really upset on the phone.”

“I have some distressing news, Grace. There was an avalanche on the mountain.”

Grace looked alarmed. “An avalanche? When? Early this morning everything was fine, a little snow on the road, but I drove through it, no problem. Good heavens! You’d think someone would have called to tell me unless . . . Oh, my God!” Grace’s face turned pale. “Is Moira hurt?”

“I am sorry, Grace. My friend from the police could not tell me as I am not of Moira’s family. There was one serious injury which the police transported to hospital by helicopter, but that is all I know.”

“Oh, Lord!” Grace jumped up and Paul also rose to his feet. “I’d better call right away.”

Paul took Grace’s arm and guided her back down to her chair. “It is not possible, Grace. The phone lines are no longer in service and the cell tower has toppled. That is why I asked to meet with you. I must go to Jayne immediately and I thought that you also would wish to go.”

“Yes! Of course. Let’s take my Jeep, Paul. It’ll make it through anything.”

Paul shook his head. “No, Grace. My friend has told me of a solid wall of snow. The authorities will not permit anyone to attempt the road.”

“How about the police chopper?”

Paul shook his head. “Also not possible, Grace. The helicopter is reserved for emergency use only. I know we must go, but I am not sure how to accomplish this.”

“How about a snowmobile?” Flame finished “Hey Jude” and began to play the chorus of “Strawberry Fields Forever.”

Paul took a moment to think it over. “That is an excellent idea, Miss Richards. But where do we find a snowmobile in the desert?”

“You could try the Alpine Ski Shop in the mall.” Flame finished the chorus of “Strawberry Fields” and switched to “Dear Prudence.” “Use the bar phone.”

Grace went off, but came back frowning. “They don’t carry snowmobiles. And they don’t know anywhere we can get one.”