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like an apologetic shrug. “I heard about his case, but I haven’t had a chance to review the file, except for that quick glance this morning.”
    She pressed her lips tight for a moment. “I know,” she mumbled. “It’s not your fault…I …I worry, and it seems I can’t find out anything.”
    “I will, when I get back on duty. He only owned one vehicle, right?”
    “Yes.” A few seconds ticked by and he seemed to be monitoring her every facial movement. She pushed the hair off her forehead. “He only believed in owning one of everything. I’ve been over this with the cops.”
    “I understand. But, tell me about your grandfather. What kind of man is he? What does he do? Who could he have ticked off?”
    “A lot of people,” Rachel said, with a half-hearted laugh.
    “Can you be more specific?”
    “Well, he’s always getting into someone’s face about something.”
    “He’s, ah…an activist of sorts, isn’t he?”
    Rachel almost sighed. How did one explain Grandpa Henry to a stranger? She took in a deep breath, then blew it out. She moved her plate to one side, folded her hands, and leaned forward. “Grandpa loves the Salton Sea. He’s been instrumental in getting government grants to revitalize some of the area. He’s a nature lover.”
    Michael nodded, and took another bite of his food.
    “He’s a well-known black-and-white photographer, and he’s been a large part of the community for—” she said, and then shrugged. “I suppose for more than fifty years.”
    “So.” Michael tilted his head. “He spoke out against anyone who put down the place?”
    “Yes. But he’s a bit of a hermit, and an independent soul. He attracts all kinds of characters.”
    “Are you saying criminal element?”
    “No.” She thought about that for a couple of moments. “No. But he would often take in drifters, mostly artists down on their luck.” She looked away for a second. “You know, for a day or two. He’d help them get back on their feet. Or let them use the shower, and then give them a good meal. He’s an excellent cook.”
    She took a huge breath. Why be over-protective of Grandpa Henry? Everyone in these parts knew about him anyway. Michael could get this information anywhere, even the PD. They had a file on Henry as tall as her. Small stuff really: Disturbing the peace by organizing protests without a permit, or partying too hard, or for growing a marijuana plant, which he’d assured everyone he thought was a weed. But still, she loved Grandpa and didn’t want to seem disloyal.
    “He called them lost souls, and…” She shrugged off her thoughts, not wanting to dwell on who might have linked up with him with the intention of hurting him. The noise level had gone up considerably in the last ten minutes, and her head pounded. She wanted to get the heck out, go home, and be alone with her thoughts and memories. She leaned forward again, not quite catching what Michael had said. “What?”
    “Did he keep much cash in his cabin? Drugs?”
    Rachel shook her head. “Not anymore. He used to photograph for the Audubon Society, and for National Geographic .”
    “Interesting.”
    “There’s the Sonny Bono Wildlife Preserve down at the far end of the Sea. It’s almost to the Mexican border. He’d often go down there for weeks at a time.”
    A look of recognition, or interest, flashed across Michael’s face. Rachel stiffened.
    “No, forget whatever you’re thinking,” she said, and raised both hands and shook her head again. “He never went on location without telling me. Besides, he no longer trusted the truck to get him there and back. Lately I’ve been driving him.”
    “He’d never go alone?”
    “Nope. He lived by the boy scouts’ rule. You know, you always notify someone of where you’re going. If you get lost you stay put until someone finds you. Besides, he hadn’t been getting a lot of assignments in the past few years. He did a lot of walking, usually a couple of miles in