“Not to mention an onslaught of pythons and boa constrictors.”
He nodded. “You have farms, you have cows. Horses. Ranch animals. And there are miles and miles of sugarcane. You’ve still got tons of predators. They don’t acknowledge the difference between nature preserves and farmland.”
“So, you think she’s smart enough to stay around here.”
“I think she’s still here somewhere. Afraid to move.”
Amy leaned back, studying his eyes. “I think you’re right,” she said at last.
He reached into his pocket; she saw he was going for his phone.
He looked at the message he had received.
“Carver. Guess he never stops working, either. He says your sketch is not of our dead girl. Federal, state and local agencies are still searching for her ID.” He paused, pursing his lips and shaking his head. “We still have nothing on our Maclamara victim.”
“Should you have...stayed up there?” she asked.
“Probably. But now I’m here. The trail is fresher.”
“So, we could be here a few days.”
“Yes.”
“I’m glad I always have a toothbrush in my bag.”
He grinned. “You do? Good.”
“And you?”
“Always.”
“Well, of course,” she said.
Her pot roast and tea arrived, along with Hunter’s pie and coffee. Ida waited for them to taste her offerings, smiling.
“Delicious,” Amy assured her.
“Best ever,” Hunter said. “You have to try this, Amy.”
Why not? She reached across the table and tasted a forkful of his pie. “Wow,” she told Ida.
Ida was pleased. “You two must come back in while you’re out here investigating this awful business. The least I can do is keep you well-fed!”
They thanked her.
“You—you really are law enforcement?” Ida asked.
Hunter produced his credentials; Amy did the same.
Ida sighed. “Can’t say as I’d know if they were fake. But Frank has a nose for bad things. He says you’re all right.”
Amy smiled. “Frank is—well, he’s got good senses. I swear we’re the real deal.”
Hunter handed Ida a business card. “We’re staying up at the motel. Here’s my phone number. Easy to reach us if you need to.”
Ida took the card and slid it into the pocket of her uniform. “Frank and I close up at ten—or as soon as we get the last customer out of here. But we live in a little house out back. You come see us any time you need to, okay?”
She smiled and left the table, sweeping up a coffeepot to refill the cup of a trucker sitting a booth or two down.
Amy looked after her, and then she looked at Hunter.
“She knows something,” she said softly.
“Yes,” he agreed.
“We need to question her, we need to—”
“No.”
“No?”
“Let her come to us,” he said softly. She was surprised when he didn’t suppress a yawn.
“The company you’re keeping?” she asked dryly.
He grinned. “The day. Eat up. Let’s go. You never do know when it might prove to be a long night, too.”
His phone buzzed again. He glanced at it, mouthing to her, “John Schultz.”
“I’m going to throttle him! He had a heart attack and he’s calling us now?” she said incredulously.
Worry struck her first; then she wondered why he had called Hunter and not her.
Hunter answered the phone, his eyes telling her he had no idea why John was calling, either.
Hunter quietly repeated what John was telling him.
“He says to keep an eye on the Unitarian church. Apparently, our charming friend Pastor Colby is close friends with multimillionaire Ethan Morrison. I’d talked to John about running a search on the donor who had supplied the money for that fantastic stained-glass window at Colby’s church. A forensic accountant who didn’t know John had had a serious health incident called him with the info—Ethan Morrison was the donor. And he’s never trusted Ethan Morrison. Especially not with all the things in the news about him.”
“It’s not illegal to be friends with a millionaire,” Amy said. “Except that...”
She let her voice trail. Ethan Morrison had faced a lot of allegations in his life—accusations of abuse from two of his ex-wives, and there had been an attempt to link him to another millionaire friend who had been known to secure the services of underage prostitutes.
He was known to have invested in private detention centers at the border. And there had been accusations that young women had disappeared from those centers.
“Not to worry,” Hunter told John. “We’ll be out there again in the morning. We’ll do everything we can. We will find out what happened.”
He ended the call.
“I don’t know why John has possession of his cell phone, but that’s interesting that Ethan Morrison is involved with Colby’s church.”
“I see,” Amy said.
“Right,” Hunter murmured. “But,” he added, “what you don’t see is why John called me instead of you.”
She shrugged. Right. She didn’t understand why John would bypass her so easily.
“He was just informed the FBI was asked in officially to take over the investigation.”
“Oh.”
“I know that doesn’t sit well with you.”
She shrugged. “Florida murders, Florida cases.”
He nodded. “I’m sorry.”
“You don’t have to be. I mean, honestly, if we can just find out who did this—and stop more horrible murders—that’s fine with me.”
“Is that sincere?” he asked her.
She laughed. “Yes, actually, it is.”
“Okay, then.” He looked at her empty plate. “You all set?”
She smiled. “Hey. You told me to finish up. I did.”
“Nice to have an agreeable partner,” he said.
“An obedient partner?”
“An agreeable partner,” he repeated.