“Yes?” I said, knowing Gable was confirming, not asking.

“We’re looking for Travis Maddox.”

“He’s here. He’s in the bathroom,” I said, hoping Travis couldn’t hear us over the sound of the washer. It would be much easier to cover for him if he stayed hidden in the bedroom. I needed to prepare him. He wasn’t as good of a liar as I was because he hadn’t needed to be. I couldn’t remember him ever telling a lie in the seven months since we’d met.

“Can we step in for a moment? We need to speak with him,” Williams said.

“Is this about the fire?” I asked.

The detectives traded glances, already feeling like they were a step ahead. “Yes,” Gable said. “What can you tell me about it?”

“I saw it on the news. As soon as we unpack, we’re going to his fraternity house. He lost some of his brothers. He’s heartbroken,” I said, knowing that part wasn’t a lie.

“You’re his girlfriend?” Gable asked—again, not really asking.

“Wife,” I corrected.

Another look between the men. Williams shifted his weight, looking down at his notes. “His wife?”

“Yes, we eloped this weekend. To Vegas. We came home early because of the fire.”

Gable narrowed his eyes. “We have a few eye witnesses who said Travis was in the building at the time of the fire. They’ve made statements that he was a regular opponent in the, uh,” he looked at his notepad, “floating fight ring.” He enunciated each word as if he were speaking a foreign language.

“I mean … I guess it’s illegal to lie to you,” I said, hanging on to the edge of the door. The men leaned in, eager to hear my confession. “We’ve been to a few. There’s not a lot to do in Eakins.” I snorted, and then pretended to be uncomfortable and awkward when they didn’t find my joke funny.

Gable leaned over, noticing something behind me. “Mr. Maddox?”

I turned, seeing Travis frozen in the hallway.

“Hi, baby,” I said. “These officers were told you were at the fight this weekend. They’re asking questions.”

“May we come in?” Williams asked.

“Sure,” Travis said, stepping over the pile of clothes I’d left on the floor. He wiped his fingers on his pants and offered a firm handshake to Williams first, then Gable as they introduced themselves as detectives. “Travis Maddox.”

“Nice to meet you, sir,” Gable said, flicking his hand in reaction to the pressure Travis had used during their handshake. He stepped in, past me, noticeably wary of the man he was confronting.

“You’ve met my wife,” Travis said as I closed the door behind the detectives.

The officers nodded. Williams sniffed. “Did you drive or fly to Vegas?”

“Fly,” we said in unison, then smiled at each other. Travis took my hand and we sat on the couch.