Georgia, buoyed by enthusiasm, couldn’t wait to get home. Finally, she was making progress. She’d ferreted out information she was sure the FBI didn’t have. Now she had to figure out how it related—if it did—to her case.
A woman bought Jarvis a yurt that he intended to live in “up north.” Probably either Wisconsin or Minnesota. Again, she thought, that didn’t sound like a man on the verge of killing himself. It sounded like a man with a plan to escape and survive—albeit off the grid—once he killed Dena Baldwin. So who was the woman who bought and paid more than four grand for his yurt? A girlfriend? A partner? Was she planning to share the yurt with him? Moreover, what woman has four thousand bucks to shower on a boyfriend? Where was she now and why didn’t the police or FBI know about her? There hadn’t been even the whiff of a rumor about a girlfriend. Just Jarvis’s sister. Who might turn out to be the buyer after all.
But whoever it was wrote a check. And once Georgia had a copy of the check, a lot of those questions would be answered. Georgia pulled to the side of the road and called Paul Kelly.
His secretary answered. What was her name? Joan. That was it.
“Oh, hi, honey,” Joan said after Georgia asked for him. “He’s not here. He’s in court.”
Georgia was surprised. Paul had always seemed more of a transactional lawyer than a trial attorney. Still, even the best business lawyer had to show up in court occasionally. She asked Joan to have Paul call her.
“Is it an emergency?”
“Well, no. But it’s important that we talk today.”
“Sure, honey.”
Georgia invited Jimmy over that evening, and when he arrived, she filled him in on her day. “I’ll tell you all the details later.”
“Later?”
She went to her laptop and clicked to her favorite pizza delivery place. “I feel like celebrating. How are mushrooms and bacon?”
“Bacon is your favorite way to celebrate?” Jimmy asked.
She finished ordering and paying for it online. “Second favorite.”
“Oh? What’s the first?”
“I seem to remember an IOU you have on me.”
A smile came across his face. His eyes sparkled. “I remember.”
“Well, this woman pays her debts.” She checked the time. “We have forty-five minutes.”
When the delivery boy buzzed her apartment, Georgia threw on some sweats and a T-shirt and answered the door. She tipped the guy and inhaled deeply as he handed it over. There was nothing better than the aroma of cheese, fresh piecrust, and bacon, all mixed together. She got out a beer for Jimmy, Diet Coke for her, and carried everything into the bedroom. The sight of Jimmy, just coming out of her bathroom, almost made her drop the box. He was wearing her red satin bathrobe. It barely covered his chest and stopped at mid-thigh. Her reaction made him dive under the covers.
She giggled. “Nice try. But the color is all wrong on you.”
“In that case”—he sat up and slipped off the robe—“this is a clothing-optional pizza party.”
“I’ll go for that.” Georgia set the pizza box on the bed, stripped off her clothes, and got under the covers beside him. She opened the box, pulled off two slices, and handed one over. “Try not to spill, okay?”
“What . . . you don’t like to roll around in bed with crumbs and bacon bits?”
She leaned over and kissed him. “You’re more fun. To roll around with.”
He took a swig of beer.
She bit into her slice. Few foods were as unhealthy as pizza, but the rich, savory combination of cheese, tomato, and piecrust was addictive.
“So, here’s what I think,” Georgia said after wolfing down two pieces. “If Paul can subpoena the check that paid for the yurt, we’ll finally get some answers.”
“It shouldn’t be a problem to get a subpoena.”
“I know,” she said happily.
Jimmy reached for another slice. “You know, I’ve been thinking about something.”
Georgia slid the empty pizza box to the floor and snuggled closer. She started to lightly caress the hair on his chest, making little circles with her thumb and forefinger.
“Hey. I’m still eating,” he said.
“I know,” she murmured.
“What if ‘beef jerky’ isn’t the snack that comes in those packages?”
Georgia stopped stroking his chest hair. “What do you mean?”
“It’s always been a weird clue. Like a puzzle we’re supposed to figure out. What if ‘beef jerky’ is code for something like a weapon? Or even a person?”
Georgia sat up, all business now. “Well, Jarvis was military. He did two tours in Iraq.” She pulled the sheet up to her neck. “Is there a brand of military grenade called Beef Jerky? Or maybe a piece of equipment?”
“Never heard of anything, but that doesn’t mean it doesn’t exist.”
“You think his girlfriend might know? Maybe it has something to do with the yurt.”
“It’s possible.”
She looked over. “You know, something else has been bugging me about the yurt. Why would Jarvis want to kill himself? I mean, the guy had a brand-new yurt to look forward to. He was taking it to a remote lake up north. He doesn’t sound like a man who wanted to kill himself.”
He gulped down the rest of his beer. “So you’re thinking someone set him up? Someone by the name of ‘Beef Jerky’?”
“It’s worth pursuing. Great work, Sac. I’m on it.”
He set the empty beer bottle on the nightstand. “You don’t have to do it right away. I have other good ideas. Ones that we can do. Together.”
But Georgia climbed out of bed and headed into the living room to retrieve her laptop.
Jimmy sighed.