"First, I'd better check into a room. Where's the best place to stay?"
"My house."
"I can't, Lucky," she said, shaking her head adamantly. "The reasons should be obvious."
"My mother would skin me alive if I let you check into a motel. Anybody who knows her knows she isn't going to let any extramarital hanky-panky go on beneath her roof. So you're staying with us, and that's settled," he said with finality.
"But—"
"Devon," he said sternly, staving off her protests by holding up both hands, palms out. "No arguments."
She capitulated, but didn't seem too pleased about it. "First, I think we should find out exactly how the fire started."
"Gasoline and railroad flares," he said. "Pat already told me. I had bought some flares recently. That confirmed their suspicions."
"Can we review the official crime report?"
"I don't know. I don't imagine it's a matter of public record."
"I wasn't talking about publicly. Privately. Couldn't your friend Sheriff Bush sneak us a copy?"
Lucky whistled through his teeth. "I'll ask him." She turned and reached for the phone on the desk.
Lucky snatched the receiver from her hand. "I'll ask him. Maybe he'll show us a copy of the report after business hours."
"In the meantime I'd like to see the site of the fire."
"That's easy. It's only half a mile down the road from here." He surveyed her up and down, taking in her dress, high heels, and pale stockings. "The location is only suitable for roughnecks and raccoons. You can't go dressed like that."
"I'll change."
Lucky retrieved her suitcase from her car. She went into the cubicle in the office that was home to a commode and sink. While she was in there, Chase returned. He glanced around and found only Lucky seated behind the desk, speaking into the telephone.
"Where's Devon?"
Lucky cupped his hand over the mouthpiece. "In there," he said, indicating the bathroom door, "taking off her clothes."
When the bathroom door opened, Chase swiveled his head around so fast, his neck popped. Devon emerged, fully dressed in jeans. She was rolling up the sleeves of a casual shirt.
"What's going on?" Chase demanded.
Lucky shushed him and spoke into the phone. "Come on, Pat. I know I acted like a bad boy. Yes, I deserve to be horsewhipped. Now that I've contritely admitted the error of my ways, will you do it or not?"
He listened for a moment while his eyes appreciated the slender shapeliness of Devon's legs and the soft curves of her breasts. "Great. Ten-thirty. Hell no, we won't tell anybody."
"What's going on?" Chase repeated as Lucky hung up the phone.
"Pat's making the crime report available to Devon and me tonight."
"You just promised not to tell anybody," she cried, placing her hands on her hips.
"Chase isn't anybody. Pat would expect me to tell him."
"I still don't know what's going on," Chase reminded them.
"We're going to try to find out who set the fire, so I can be cleared of the charge."
"And I can be reconciled with my husband," Devon added.