Chapter 2

What the hell do you think you're doing?

The girl detective squawked as I dropped the flaming paper into the oversized ash tree on my desk.

The answer to that felt pretty self-evidence, so I didn't say a word,

but watched the letter burn and took a certain grim satisfaction from it.

She was rattling around near the coffee pot, and my natural territorial hackles were raised at once,

but she was only filling a tall glass of water, with which she seemed to intend to fight the raging

inferno.

"'Leave it alone,' I said flatly.

"'What is wrong with you?' she sputtered.

"'Do you have any idea what a Tinderbox we're sitting in?

"'This entire room is made of dry paper and whiskey fumes.'

"'It's out,' I said calmly, hoping that it was contagious.

"'What's out?' she said crossly,

"'whipping around and spilling a generous portion of her firefighting capacity on the floor

"'behind my desk in the process.

"'The fire, hot pants, I said the fire is out.

She paused for a moment, flustered.

Okay, first of all, my pants and anything in or near them that may or may not be hot

are none of your concern.

I cannot stress this point strongly enough.

I concede, I said, looking around vainly for anything else to mop up the water that was not

...