“Jeez. Hello to you, too.”

“Doc Rutledge wanted to know why you never come see him.”

“Bullshit.”

“I told him you prefer keyboards to weighing organs.”

“Damn right. Like any normal person would.”

“So . . . fingerprints?”

“Let me check.”

Nora listened to him tap keys. “I bought my own coffee this morning, so you owe me an extra day this month.”

“That’s not how it works. I only have to buy when we’re together.”

“Then you should have come with me.”

“One of us had to actually get some work done. Here it is.” The tapping stopped, and she heard him mumble under his breath as he scanned the document. Not only did Henry move his lips when he read, he mumbled. She’d learned to tune it out.

“No match from either to Gianna’s break-in.”

“Damn it!”

“But there was a match to the Hispanic John Doe inside the burned cabin. They found it on the underside of the refrigerator handle.”

“I’m stunned they were able to lift anything in that place. It was covered in ash.”

“They know where to look. But why would he get into the fridge? Was he hungry after dumping a dead body in there?”

“The fire started in the kitchen area. Maybe he did that while starting it.”

“Could he have been in their place before starting the fire? Maybe before they even arrived?”

Nora let her brain travel down the new thread Henry had started. “Crap. Gianna speculated that she’d been drugged. But we never had her tested and now I’m kicking myself for it. I wonder if she still has some sort of drug in her system. He could have entered their place at any time and slipped something into her food.”

“But the daughter didn’t have any effects.”

“She might have eaten or drunk something the daughter didn’t. Did we pull the fridge’s contents for testing?”

“We will now. But discovering what type of drug she ingested doesn’t find us our killer.”

“Very true.” Nora grimaced, knowing the testing would be a low priority. “But it offers an explanation for why his prints are on the fridge.”

“Someone had this planned for a while,” said Henry. “That shows some forethought.”

“But it’s so sloppy,” Nora pointed out. “Dr. Trask is fine. Her daughter is fine. We’ve got a fire that didn’t hurt anyone and two dead bodies left behind for us to investigate. It doesn’t add up.”

“Are you arguing that criminals are supposed to be smart?”

She snorted. “No. But usually there’s a bit of logic to their madness. I’m not seeing it with this guy yet.”

“This guy . . . you think we’re looking for a single person?”

Nora was quiet. “I don’t know. My gut says the Hispanic John Doe was kicked off the team for some reason. His manner of death suggests someone was pissed off.”

“Can we call him Juan Doe to keep them straight?”

She rolled her eyes. “No.”

“By that logic, the older John Doe could have been part of a team focused on one of the Trask women. He was eliminated in the same way. Maybe the leader of the group has little patience for people who screw up.”

“So someone targeted the Trask women and hired some people to go after them? Their hiring standards suck. Two of their team are dead and the women are fine.”

“Could someone be looking out for the women?”

“A double-crosser inside their group?” She enjoyed her brainstorming sessions with Henry, but wondered if this suggestion had just gone over the top. She didn’t shoot down his idea; it could lead to something worth investigating. She and Henry made a good team. Their brains fed off each other’s ideas, taking the two of them in directions they wouldn’t have come up with on their own.

“Maybe someone on the inside doesn’t want them dead. He’s taken it upon himself to make certain they survive.”

“Then he has to answer to someone about losing two of his group. And explain why the women are still alive.”

“That’s assuming anyone else knows. We’ve managed to keep most of this out of the media. They’ve been totally wrapped up with the snow-and-ice stories. A cabin fire and a break-in haven’t caught their notice.”

“Good. But if someone from a newspaper or news station decides to look into Gianna’s or Chris’s background because this story caught their eye, we’ll have a media circus on our hands. Individually these two are ratings grabbers. Together they’re a media hot fudge sundae. With whipped cream.”

“Warm peach pie,” Henry countered. “With vanilla ice cream.”

“You win,” Nora admitted. “We need to keep this as low-key as possible. At least both of their personal stories are pretty old. I don’t think their names will trigger any immediate attention. Although Chris Jacobs’s story was refreshed in the media when the remains of the other victims were discovered two years ago.”

“I think it’ll stay quiet.”

Nora said a silent prayer that the media would stay away. Chris’s brother would do what he could in that area. Michael Brody had no interest in putting his family in the media spotlight. Again.

“No identifications from the fingerprints?”