"I would love to have a drink while I'm here," Lizzie said, "but I'll have to get back to you on the time and place. I appreciate your offering to have the warrant delivered to me. The Silver Horseshoe. I'll be there. I'm sure anyplace you recommend is top-notch. What a darling man you are."

Ted looked down at the message he was sending and was chagrined to see he'd typed in the words darling man. Maggie would raise her eyebrows at that one. He deleted the message and started over. His nose was twitching, a sure sign that something was about to pop. He said so in his message to Maggie.

Lizzie unlocked the door of the Range Rover and climbed in. At least one of Ted's questions was answered. Lizzie Fox was wearing panties.

Lizzie settled herself in a booth done up in faux cowhide. Everything in the Silver Horseshoe was cowhide—the walls, the booths, and the bar stools. She looked around. "They should have called this place the Silver Cow. I wonder why they call it the Silver Horseshoe?"

Ted pointed toward the bar area. Hanging from the ceiling on fishing wire, directly over the bar, hundreds of horseshoes dangled. "This place is known for horseshoe contests. Some famous people participated in those contests. Even a few presidents." When Lizzie looked at him with an unbelieving expression, he just shrugged his shoulders and laughed. "I keep telling you, I read a lot."

"The judge said the food here is the best," Lizzie said, flipping open the menu. She looked up at a pretty young man and gave her order. "White wine spritzer, house salad, dressing on the side, along with a wedge of goat cheese. Two eclairs for dessert."

Ted tried not to laugh when he gave his order: "A beer, steak, a loaded baked potato, skip the salad, and a piece of pumpkin pie."

While they waited for their drinks and food, Lizzie spent the time on her cell phone, and Ted continued to text message Maggie.

When a second pretty young man set down their drinks, Ted looked up. Then he looked around for a moment. "Is this a gay establishment?" he asked.

"Uh-huh."

"So does that mean Judge-whatever-his-name-is. . ."

"Uh-huh."

Ted returned to his BlackBerry.

He almost fell out of the booth ten minutes later when his food arrived. He looked down at the turkey-sized platter that held a steak almost as big. The loaded baked potato was nestled in something that looked like a soup tureen. He looked over at Lizzie's skimpy salad and the sliver of goat cheese. Even the eclairs were meager, no bigger than the holes some donut shops sold. It was obvious the male appetite was king here. He shrugged. When in Rome. . .