“Only about ninety-nine percent of the time.”

Pete choked out a laugh, slapped Larry’s arm, and took a long drink of beer. “Guess we’d better be good little boys and go with them.” He glanced back at the jukebox. He sighed. He shrugged. “Adios. No more music for you, old pal.”

“So much for that,” Larry said when he saw the padlocked hasp across the double doors of the Sagebrush Flat Hotel.

Pete fingered the lock. “Doesn’t look very old.”

“Maybe someone’s living here,” Barbara said.

“Hey, Sherlock, it’s locked from the outside. What does that tell you?”

“Tells me we’d be trespassing.”

“Yeah,” Jean said. “The doors are locked, the windows are boarded. Somebody’s trying to keep people out.”

“Kind of sparks my curiosity. What about you, Lar?”

“Sparks mine, too. But I don’t know about breaking in.”

“Who’s gonna find out?” Pete turned away from the doors. He stepped off the sidewalk, bent over and swept his head slowly from side to side in a broad pantomime of scanning the town’s only road. “I don’t see anyone. Do you see anyone?”

“We get the point,” Barbara told him.

“I’ll just mosey on over to the van.” He started across the pavement, walking at an angle toward Holman’s.

“What’s he got in mind?” Jean asked.

“God knows. Maybe he’s planning to ram the doors open.”

“That’d be rather drastic,” Larry said.

“It’s a matter of pride, at this point. A challenge. Pete wouldn’t be Pete if he let a little thing like a lock keep him out.”

Jean rolled her eyes upward. “I guess this means we’re going to explore the hotel whether we want to or not.”

“Just consider it an adventure,” Larry suggested.

“Yeah, right. Jail would be an adventure, too.”

Pete climbed into the rear of the van. A few seconds later he jumped down, swung the door shut, and waved a lug wrench overhead. It had a pry bar at one end. In his other hand was a flashlight.