34

It was definitely not a breakfast date. She met him in the dining room precisely at eight a.m. He was finishing up his steak and eggs, which was better than the paleo-vegan mush at the Coffee Girl, but the place lacked a certain charm—that charm being Sandy. He hoped that girl stayed in school for a long time, otherwise he’d need to go farther afield for his normal breakfast.

No surprise, Agent Webb seemed miffed that he wasn’t ready to leave. She slid into the booth with a snippy greeting. They ran over what facts they had.

He paid the bill. They headed to Hickville, north of Dallas somewhere. No trees. Lots of dust. Ninety-three degrees at 9 a.m. Breathing was as laborious as sucking air through a swimming pool.

Heffelmire Distribution and Trucking was not the small, tired business on the verge of ruin Jim had expected. Not really sure why he’d thought that anyway, other than it was in a small town outside a huge metro area. He’d been dead wrong.

Instead of a shack, Heffelmire was a complex, thriving enterprise. Two office buildings and several huge warehouses sat safe inside an eight-foot fence topped with shiny new razor wire. No one was coming into this place without cutting up his ass cheeks. If Jim had bothered to spend the time counting, he was sure he’d find at least fifty tractor-trailers and half that many box trucks in and around the warehouses. Alejandra was right. Sophie had gotten a real job.

“Someone from HR is meeting us at the main building.”

“You called ahead?”

Agent Webb let the window down to show her ID to the man working the gate. He jotted her name and the plate number in a log. “Yes. It’s best to have an appointment.”

“First building on your right, ma’am.” The security guard waved her on with a sleazy grin.

“I never give people a heads up. That’s opportunity for a guy to decide what you want and how he wants to handle you. If he’s got something to hide, he’s ready to talk. Lying’s easier if you’re prepared. I like to take them off guard.”

“And if the person you want happens to be out to lunch?”

“You get what you can from the secretary or a co-worker. They’ll be back.”

She got out and leaned on the roof of the car. “Seven-year-old employment records? You really think anyone here has old information like that off the top of their heads that they want to protect?”

Anything was possible. He shrugged. No way he’d admit she might be right about that, and followed her into the building. She was still wearing a dark suit—possibly the same one, but it looked clean and pressed. Did she take the time to press it this morning? Jim checked his jeans to make sure they weren’t stained.

Webb took the lead. She was the Federal agent in charge at the moment. Why would she let a lowly PI take point? Made for a great opportunity to see how people reacted to her. How she did her job.

She flipped out the badge. “Agent Webb, here to see a Millie Stubbs. I have an appointment.”

The receptionist smiled. “I’ll call her right away.” She motioned to a clipboard with a sign-in sheet. “If you could, please.”

She called and chatted with Millie in a hushed tone as Jim and Webb left their full names, the name of the party they were visiting, and the time of arrival. The woman took the board and handed them each a visitor badge as she logged the badge number beside their printed names.

Jim eased over to the large windows overlooking the complex. A security guard walked the front of the building. Probably cameras in the parking lot too. Lots of security. With a small turn, Jim scanned the reception area. Inside, two surveillance cameras scanned the reception area.

“What kind of distribution do you do around here?” he asked.

“All kinds. Domestic. International. Land, sea, air. You need it moved, we’re your logistics experts.” The phone rang. The receptionist grabbed it as she pointed to a small seating area and mouthed Have a seat before rattling off her canned greeting.

“Bet this is the biggest employer for miles around.”

“Looks like it.” Webb was also scanning. Checking the environment. Her cool eyes assessing. “Why take off? I mean, this is a real job. One she got from an education she earned under an assumed name, as if this was going to be her long-term life. But then she abandoned it,” Webb pondered aloud.

Heels clicked sharp and snappy on the floor. Efficient. Millie Stubbs rounded a corner, but she wasn’t what he’d expected either. A Millie should be older, grayer, probably a little chunky. But this Millie was in her mid-twenties, dark blond hair with a pert nose and stick-thin figure. Her beige pinstripe suit made her look like a walking ruler. She was not smiling.

Webb stood. Extended her hand. “Special Agent Webb, FBI. Thanks for seeing us on such short notice.”

“Not sure how much I can help. I pulled Elizabeth Stanton’s file. She did work here on the dates you gave me. Almost exactly.”

“And she left why?” Jim stood. Millie looked down her nose at him. Could be his unshaved face, could be his causal attire. Either way, Millie was not impressed.

Millie put her hands behind her back, making her look even more like a talking ruler. “Afraid that’s confidential. I can’t release the circumstances around someone’s termination. It’s against privacy laws.” She tilted her head down but looked up at Agent Webb, as if she were looking over glasses. “I would think you would know that, Special Agent Webb.”

This chick was a barrel of laughs.

“Would you hire her again?” he asked.

Millie’s sour look made Jim want to smile. He knew the laws. But he didn’t want to push any more of her buttons than necessary. Yet.

“I’m afraid not.”

“So, she was canned?”

She said nothing. Just stood there looking straight and smug.

Webb let out a heavy sigh and cocked her hip slightly to the side. She clasped her hands at the fingers and impatiently tapped her thumbs together. Quick as a snake strike, her face contorted. Millie took a very small step back. Jim loved it. Special Agent Webb turned bulldog in a heartbeat.

“You can be as smug as you like, Ms. Stubbs. But I’m investigating murder cases and the body count is now over double digits. Do you think you might have something you can share from your files that could help us?”

Millie’s face paled. Her hand went to her chest. “Wow. Murders?” The word murder usually takes the starch out of the smug one’s britches. “And one of our ex-employees is involved?”

Jim decided to speak. “We’re trying to track Stanton down, follow her history. It could help us solve a series of murders and prevent any further violence. Any help you can provide would be beneficial.” He’d play the nice guy. It wouldn’t kill him this once.

“Umm. Legally, I can’t say too much.” She glanced back toward the hall she’d come down. “I looked at the file when you called. I, of course, was not here at the time. But the termination was robustly documented. Without a warrant, I’m afraid I’m only willing to say she had a rather heated personality conflict with another employee.”

“Can you tell us the employee’s name?”

Millie hesitated and glanced back again to make sure the receptionist was not listening. “No.” She bit her lip. Her little pointy-toed shoe tapped the tile. “I can suggest you stop in at Woody’s Place to have a drink. The ‘bartender’ is a great guy. He’s been around and may have stories about local history.” She actually used air quotes for the word bartender, as if they were stupid.

Agent Webb pulled out a card.

Millie took it. “Hope that helps.”

“Me too. Thanks.”

“Tell Max I said hi.” Millie turned and strolled down the hall, seemingly satisfied that she’d helped the FBI and not broken her rules.

Max the bartender was either the ex-supervisor or someone who would know what had happened. Hopefully he had something pertinent, if not …

“How long does it take the FBI to get a warrant?”

“Too long. My hope is Ms. Millie just made that unnecessary.”