Hannah supposed she could understand the outlay of money if the big motor home had doubled as a hotel room, but the director of Crisis in Cherrywood was comfortably billeted in a luxury suite at the Lake Eden Inn. There was no way he needed an office this large.

Since she couldn’t stand here staring at this example of conspicuous consumption all day, Hannah looked for an entrance to the massive mobile home. There were two sets of steps. One was in the rear, but the other set, at the side near the front of the vehicle, had a sign that read, ENTRANCE—RING BELL.

Hannah did as she’d been directed and stood there shivering slightly in the frozen air. The March mornings were crisp and cold, and she hadn’t bothered zipping up her parka coat. Until someone invented a zipper that could be operated with one hand, Hannah chose to shiver rather than turn around, go back down the steps, and set her prized cheesecake in the snow in order to zip up her coat.

One of the curtains near the back of the motor home pulled back slightly and Hannah thought she heard faint voices from within. It sounded like a man’s voice, and whatever the man said was followed by female laughter. A moment later, Hannah heard the male voice again, much louder this time. “Just wait a second! I’ll be right there!”

Hannah’s curiosity shifted to high gear, especially since Ross had described his director as a womanizer. She told herself it was none of her business, that he might have been listening to television and that’s what she’d heard, but she didn’t believe it for a second. There was a woman in Dean Lawrence’s Winnebago. She was sure of it. The only thing she didn’t know was which woman it was.

A moment later, Dean pulled open the door, greeting her with a smile and a fork held high. “See, Lovey? I’ve got my fork ready. Just bring it in and set it on my desk.”

Hannah was surprised he’d invited her in, especially since the woman had to be somewhere in the immediate vicinity. She set the cake down on the polished desk that sat against the large window, and glanced down the hallway. If she remembered correctly, the motor home she’d seen had the master bedroom in the rear. But there was no way of telling if the director’s motor home shared the same design, because the door at the end of the long corridor was closed.

“I really hope you like it, Mr. Lawrence,” Hannah said setting the box down on the uncluttered surface.