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never fired a gun of any kind.”
    “Where were you at dawn this morning?”
    “Showing the cook how to scramble eggs slowly .”
    “Well, you have a motive, but no means or opportunity,” he said. “You’re officially cleared.”
    “Aw shucks. I was hoping to be more thoroughly investigated.”
    He peered at her over the rim of his glass. “I didn’t say you weren’t going to be investigated,” he said.
    She smiled a little. “Oh, good.”
     
     
    9
    KINNEY WOKE UP AT EIGHT and reached for her; she was gone, and the covers were cool. He sighed. It had been a memorable night, the kind he had not had since the first year of his marriage. He had to get moving.
    He showered, dressed, and went looking for Nancy Kimble. He found a table set for one in the dining room, settled there and waited, sipping the glass of freshly squeezed orange juice that had been left for him.
    Nancy soon came through the kitchen door with a plate heaped with scrambled eggs, bacon, and sausage and set it before him. “Good morning,” she said. She sat down and poured herself a cup of coffee from the pot on the table.
    “I appear to have taken advantage of you last night,” Kinney said.
    “On the contrary, it was I who took advantage of you. Here I was, alone in this house for the first time with a big, handsome man, and an FBI agent on top of that. I just couldn’t help myself.”
    “I guess I’m pretty much an opportunist myself,” he said. “It was the nicest night I’ve spent in living memory.”
    “You’re sweet,” she said, smiling. “What are you doing today?”
    “I have some work to do out at the senator’s lake cabin, and it will take me all day.”
    “You’ll be back for dinner?”
    “I will, but unless I get lucky and there’s another serious federal crime in the area, I’m going to have to go back to Washington tomorrow.”
    “Well, there’s always tonight,” she said.
     
    KINNEY WAS SITTING in a rocker on the front porch when the sheriff’s patrol car pulled up to the curb, followed by a deputy in an unmarked car.
    Tom Stribling got out and handed Kinney the keys. “All yours,” he said. “Need any help?”
    “Nah, this is going to be mostly repetition,” Kinney replied. “What shall I do with the car when I’m done?”
    “Leave it at the airport when you go,” Stribling replied.
    “Tom, I’ve made it clear to my people that you’re in charge of the local investigation. We’re just there to offer support—prints, lab work—anything you need.”
    “I ‘preciate that,“ Stribling said. ”I’m afraid I don’t have anything new for you.“
    “That doesn’t surprise me. This is going to be a tough one. Thanks for your help.” The two men shook hands.
    Stribling got into his patrol car with his deputy, waved, and drove away.
    Kinney started the car, drove to Main Street, and found a hardware store. He purchased some tools, then drove out to the senator’s cabin. A deputy waved him through a gate, and then he was alone in the house.
    He started with a thorough room-by-room search of every drawer and closet, every nook and cranny. That done, without success, he started on the floorboards, looking for loose ones or boards that were too short or out of place. When he found an interesting one, he used a prybar to lift it, then hammered it back into place when he was done.
    He broke for lunch, heating up the fried chicken and vegetables still in the fridge. Man, that woman could cook! He worked for another four hours in the afternoon, until he was certain that nothing of interest could possibly be hidden in the cabin. Finally, he took a walk around the perimeter of the house, looking for a tool-shed or other structure that might hide a filing cabinet. Finding nothing, he cleaned up after himself in the cabin, then drove back to Kimble House.
    Nancy met him at the door. “You look tired,” she said, “and a little disheveled. What have you been doing?”
    “Investigating,” Kinney