“Yes, I am talking about our relationship.”

He gripped the wheel and braced himself. “Okay. You want to discuss that instead of the missing logbook?”

“No.”

He drew a deep breath. He should be feeling relieved, he thought. But for some reason, he was vaguely disappointed.

“Well, that simplifies matters,” he said. “Let’s get back to the logbook.”

“Why bother? There’s nothing we can do until Arizona finds her copy.”

He flexed his hands on the wheel. “Whatever you say. I need gas.”

“So? Get some.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

He drove past the library and the small park next to it, then turned the corner into the town’s main shopping area. Chamberlain College and the institute had had an impact here. For years the post office, together with the hardware, drugstore, and grocery store had formed the core of Eclipse Bay’s tiny business district. But lately a smattering of new shops, including a bookstore and a restaurant, had appeared to cater to students and faculty.

He pulled into the Eclipse Bay Gas and Go, stopped at the first pump, and switched off the engine. He realized that his own temper was starting to fray.

“I wish you’d stop that,” he said.

“Stop what?”

“Stop fuming. You’re starting to make Winston and me tense.”

“I’m angry. I’ve got a right to be angry. I intend to stay angry for as long as it suits me.”

That did it. He turned halfway around and flung his arm over the back of the seat. “What the hell is going on here, anyway? I don’t know why you’re letting a simple crack about us shacking up together upset you like this.”

“I hate that term.”

“Shacking up?” He shrugged. “You’ve got to make allowances for the older generation.”

“Now you’re starting to say it, too. For the last time, we are not ‘shacking up.’ ”

“Okay, okay, take it easy.” Rafe watched a vaguely familiar figure garbed in grease-stained coveralls emerge from the garage and amble toward the car. “Son of a gun. Is that Sandy Hickson?”

The question got Hannah’s attention for a moment. She peered through the windshield. “Yes, I think so.”

Rafe popped the door. “He sure hasn’t changed much, has he?”

“No.” Hannah’s mouth thinned. “He still looks like the kind of guy who checks out rest room walls for the names of potential dates.”

“A man has to use whatever resources are available.” Rafe climbed out from behind the wheel and closed the door. He braced one hand against the roof of the Porsche and leaned down to look at Hannah through the open window. “Better stop glaring at me like that. Sandy might come to the conclusion that we’ve having a lovers’ spat. If you think the gossip is unpleasant now, just imagine what it will be like if word gets out that we’re fighting.”

Hannah chose to ignore him.

“Hey, Rafe.”

Rafe straightened and nodded at Sandy. “Sandy.”

“Heard you were back in town. How’s it hangin’?” Sandy leaned down to speak through the open window. “Hi there, Hannah.”

“Hello, Sandy.”

Sandy gave Rafe a keenly interested glance. “What can I do for you?”

“I just need gas.” Rafe pushed himself away from the car. “What have you been up to, Sandy?”

“Doin’ okay.” Sandy beamed proudly. He hoisted a rubber-bladed scraper out of a bucket of dirty water and went to work on the front window of the Porsche. “Bought the station from old man Carpenter a couple years ago.”

“No kidding?” Rafe noticed the sign that pointed customers toward the rest rooms. He thought about what Hannah had said a moment earlier. “That’s gotta be convenient.”

“What’s that?”

“I said, Congratulations. I’ll bet you do pretty good during the summer months.”

“You can say that again.” Sandy winked. “Looks like you’re doin’ all right for yourself, too.”

“Getting by.” A dark cloud of premonition settled on Rafe. Maybe stopping for gas had not been such a swell idea.

But it was too late to change course. Sandy’s grin was only a decimal point away from a leer. He dropped the wiper back into the bucket and moved closer to Rafe. He lowered his voice to a conspiratorial whisper.

“Heard you and Hannah were having yourselves some good times together out there at Dreamscape.”

“I heard that, Sandy Hickson,” Hannah shouted through the open window. “It’s not true. Furthermore, if you repeat that one more time I will wrap one of those gas hoses around your throat. Do you hear me?”

Sandy blinked and took a quick, startled step away from the fender. “Hey, Hannah, I didn’t mean nothin’, honest. Just passin’ the time of day.”

“Bull,” she said. “Just because you own your very own rest rooms now and have access to an unlimited source of phone numbers, don’t think that everyone else gets involved in the same kind of limited, one-dimensional relationships you apparently prefer.”

“Sure, sure.” Sandy threw Rafe a desperate look.

“I’m finished here,” Rafe said quickly. “What do I owe you, Sandy?”

“Uh, eleven-fifty,” Sandy said.

A classic finned Cadillac pulled into the neighboring aisle. A petite woman with a helmet of steel-gray curls got out. “Is that you, Rafe Madison?”

“Yes, ma’am, Mrs. Seaton.” Rafe grabbed his wallet. Speed was of the essence.

Edith Seaton examined him from head to toe with an expression of frank feminine admiration. “My, my, you did fill out nicely, didn’t you?”

Rafe could feel the sudden heat in his face. He had a nasty feeling that he was turning a dull red. There wasn’t much that could make him blush, but Mrs. Seaton had managed the trick.

“Nice to see you again, Mrs. Seaton.” Damn. He didn’t have fifty cents in change. He concentrated on plucking a ten and two ones from his wallet. “I see you’ve still got the antique shop on the corner.”

“Oh, yes. Wouldn’t know what to do with myself if I didn’t have the shop.” Mrs. Seaton glanced into the car. “Is that you, Hannah?”

“Yes, Mrs. Seaton.” Hannah’s voice sounded strained and slightly muffled.