"Not so fast. I drove straight to the hospital after hours on the road. I haven't had my dinner yet. Wasn't that an Arby's I saw out on Main?"

"Sure, but the Quorum Inn's still open. Wouldn't you prefer a regular sit-down meal?"

"Arby's has tables. I've never had an Arby-Q. Isn't that what they're called? Now you've introduced me to fast food, I have some catching up to do."

I sat with Stacey, watching him plow through an Arby-Q, two orders of Curly Fries, and a Roast Beef sandwich, oozing a yellow sauce that was rumored to be cheese. He looked as if he'd picked up a few pounds in the days since I'd seen him last. "You do this often?"

"'Couple times a day. I found a cab company that delivers fast food, sort of like Meals on Wheels. Geez, this is great. I feel like a new man. I never would have known if you hadn't turned me on to this stuff."

"Happy to be of help. Personally, I never thought of junk food as life-affirming, but there you have it."

Stacey wiped his mouth on a napkin. "Forgot to mention this to Con. I got a call from Frankie's PO. Dench says he may be in violation. Looks like he left the county without permission."

"When was this?"

"Yesterday."

"That surprises me. To hear Frankie talk, he knew all the rules and regs and wasn't going to be caught out. Wonder what set him off?"

"Might have been your visit. Con said he seemed cool, but you never know about these things. What's on for tomorrow?"

"Let's talk to Ruel. I've got the perfect excuse. I still have Edna's quilt. We can ask him about the tarp when I take it back it to her."

Stacey leaned forward. "Kinsey, we're cops. We don't need excuses. That's for them to give us."

Sheepishly, I said, "Oh. You've got a point."

When we reached the motel again it was 10:15. The wind had kicked up and I had my arms crossed, trying to protect myself from the cold.

Stacey said, "Hang on a minute. I have your jacket in my trunk."

I stood by his rental car while he opened the trunk and extracted my bomber jacket, along with a bulky mailing pouch he handed to me. "What's this?"

"Henry sent it. He said he found it on your doorstep and didn't think you'd want to wait. What is it?"

I turned the package to the light. "Beats me. Postmark's Lompoc, which means it's probably something from my aunt Susanna."

"I didn't think you had folks."

"I don't. Well, sort of. The jury's still out."

"Got it," he said. "I'll leave you to open it. Good-night."

"'Night," I said.