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refill the gas tank, he gave up on his search. He was hot, tired, and dehydrated. He was done for the day. He would start over the next day with a wider search. He turned the car around and aimed it back toward Edenville.
    His head was pounding and his mouth was so dry his tongue had glued itself to the roof of his mouth. Stuck in the car for hours, he’d boiled, even with the air-conditioning going full blast. He needed to get some liquid into him, but when he wanted a fast-food franchise, there wasn’t one to be seen. Theonly beacon on the horizon was a sign poking high above the walnut groves proclaiming THE GOLD RUSH ARCADE in black text on a gold background. It was punctuated by wagon wheels at either end, and followed by MINIGOLF AND AMUSEMENTS. FUN TIMES FOR ALL AGES . Just to illustrate the point, the rigging for an ancient mine peeked above the fields of walnut trees. The place was bound to have something, even if it was a vending machine.
    He parked and went inside. Pinball machines clanged and the latest shoot-’em-up video games wailed at him, which did nothing for his headache. But for all its noise, the Gold Rush wasn’t packed with people. It was a school day, and most of the arcade machines were busy playing themselves on demo cycles. He couldn’t see the place getting busy until after five. Still, a few teenagers putting the machines through their paces managed to give the Gold Rush an air of respectability.
    Terry weaved between the air hockey tables and a bank of NASCAR simulators to get to the combined ticket booth and snack bar. A friendly looking man in his late forties spotted Terry’s approach and put down his soda. He wasn’t fat, but he carried a hefty paunch, probably from too much soda and too little minigolfing. He looked down at Terry through half-moon glasses.
    “Can I get you something?” he asked with a smile.
    “The biggest Sprite you can pour and if you’ve got any headache medicine, that would be fantastic.”
    The attendant smiled at him in sympathy. “Rough day, huh? Tylenol do?”
    “Anything.”
    The attendant produced a bottle of pills from under the counter. “Working in a place like this, you need them.”
    By the time Terry had uncapped the bottle and shaken two pills from it, the attendant had placed the giant cup of Sprite on the counter. He tossed the pills back and washed them down withthe soft drink. The pills would take their time dulling the pain, but the first taste of Sprite doused the throbbing in his skull.
    “Wanna add a round of minigolf?”
    “No, I don’t think so.”
    “C’mon, it’ll do you good.”
    Despite the guy pushing the upsell, Terry decided he could do with some light relief. From the moment he’d stepped off the plane, circumstances had thrown him into a conflict. He’d done all he could for the moment, and he needed to take a step back and clear his head. A mindless round of minigolf would give him the opportunity to put his thoughts in order and plan his next move.
    “Why not? Sign me up.”
    “Good decision.” The attendant put a golf ball and a putter on the counter. “Ten bucks for the soda and game. The first hole is down the stairs next to the restrooms.”
    Terry paid.
    The Gold Rush had a neat gimmick. The first three holes were subterranean. Rough stucco, pickaxes, and shovels fixed to the walls, and lanterns hanging from the ceiling, helped create the look of a mine. All the aboveground holes possessed a mining motif to maintain the theme.
    The final hole was a test of skill, which required the player to strike the ball over an undulating course and into a tube not much wider than the ball. Terry lined up the ball and struck it solidly. The ball rode the undulations and carried enough momentum to fly down the tube. A bell rang and the red light flashed, but instead of Terry’s ball staying in the tube, it rolled back out of the tube and into the gutter trap.
    “When you’re on a streak, you’re on a streak,” he