He stepped to the fridge to get one for himself. “What did you say your name was?”

“Charlotte Davidson. I’m a private in—”

“Davidson?” he asked, twisting off the cap and eyeing me with a squint of blue.

“Yes, I’m a—”

“Well, if you don’t want a beer, what do you want?”

If he’d let me finish a freaking sentence, we’d get through this much faster. “Wait,” I said, walking to the window. “Is my Jeep safe out there?”

“Honey, I could put a cup of gold out there and it’d be safe. They know not to mess with what’s mine.”

“You seemed pretty worried about me,” I countered.

He smiled, showing his disastrous collection of teeth. “You ain’t mine, unfortunately. But you’re in my house. They’ll leave your Jeep be as long as you’re out of here before dark.”

With several hours left in the day, I had every intention of being just that.

“So, you ain’t selling anything?”

“No, I’m a private investigator looking for someone you know.”

“Really?” His interest piqued, but in an amused way. “You don’t look like no dick.”

“Well, I am. And I’m looking for—” I paused and flipped through my notepad to give him a minute to let his emotions level out. I needed a clean read. “—a Mr. Earl Walker.”

He balked, both mentally and physically. “You about ten years too late, missy. You weren’t exactly his type anyway.”

I knew that. I knew Earl’s type, and it was neither female nor grown. And he wasn’t lying. He truly believed Earl Walker was dead. Hell, maybe he was.

With two scratched off the list, it looked like I was going to Corona.

“Well, thank you for your time, Mr. Gibbs.”

“Ain’t no problem. If you find him, tell him Virgil says hey.” He laughed into the bottle as he took another swig.

“I’ll do that.”

I climbed into Misery with several sets of eyes watching, including Virgil’s. He wasn’t a monster like his friend Earl, but I doubted I’d hang with him anytime soon.

I called Cook to let her know where I was headed.

“Hey, boss.”

“I struck out.”

“Oh, was he good looking?”

“No. What does that have to do with anything?”

“Well, if you asked him out and he said no.”

“Not that kind of struck out. With the guy from Reyes’s list.”

“Oh, bummer. What now?”

“I was going to head out to Corona, but I think I’ll go talk to Kim Millar first.”

“Reyes’s sister?”

“That’s the one.”

Reyes had a pseudo-sister, a girl he’d grown up with, and he cared for her deeply. While Reyes had been kidnapped from his birth parents as a small child and sold to Earl Walker, Kim had been given to the man. When she was two, her drug-addicted mother dumped her on Earl Walker’s doorstep, the man she suspected was Kim’s father, then died days later. Had Kim’s mother known what kind of monster Earl Walker was, I could only hope she would never have left her daughter with him. Walker didn’t sexually abuse her, as I’d feared. He did the next best thing. He used her to control Reyes, literally starved her to get what he wanted out of him. And while we never discussed exactly what it was he wanted from Reyes, the implications of sexual abuse were all there.

“I’ll head to Corona after I talk to her,” I said.

“It’s getting late, and it’ll take you a couple of hours to get there.”

“Yeah, but I need to get this done, and since I can’t do anything about the doctor without more info, I’ll do this.” I could hear her pressing buttons on the fax machine, then rustling a paper or two.

After a moment, she said, “Holy cow, he was there.”

“What? Who was where? The doctor?”

“Yep, just got it. A receipt from the Sand and Sun Hotel in the Cayman Islands. One Mr. Keith Jacoby checked in on the very day Ingrid Yost was found dead. Paid for one night with cash and never visited again.”

“Oh, my god, Cook. We got him.”

“You need to call your FBI agent.”

“Okay, I’ll try her in a bit. Keep digging.”

“You got it. Don’t do anything stupid,” she said.

“I resent that remark.”

“No, you don’t.”

“Well, I might. You don’t know.”

“Do, too.”

“I’ll call you when I get out to Corona.”

“’Kay. And tell me what Agent Carson says. And tell me how Reyes’s sister is. And how much coffee have you had?”

“Seventeen thousand cups.”

“Don’t fall asleep at the wheel.”

I glanced in the rearview to make sure my handy-dandy tail was doing his job. Yep. Right on my freaking ass. I hated being tailed. What if I wanted to run na**d through a wheat field? Or pick up a male prostitute?

“This guy ain’t moving.”

Startled, I turned to Angel, who’d popped into the passenger’s seat. “Angel, you little shit. What guy?”

He shrugged. “That doctor you sent me to watch. He’s all boo-hooing over his wife. Are you sure he did it? I mean, he seems really upset.”