“And a good one. We totally fell for it. We got all excited and arrested him, and it turned out the chick in the field wasn’t his wife and we have no actual proof of wrongdoing on his part. And his wife’s arrested in Paris for a murder, too? I don’t buy it. I think they’re being targeted. I may be wrong, but that’s where the steak comes in.”

“You better call Moreno.”

“I’m doing it right now. Right after I call Ethan. Because if we’re right, he could be in danger. We already have one dead body on our hands.”

“This is nuts, you know that.”

“I do.” She dialed Montclair’s mobile number. After six rings, it went to voice mail. She tried the house. There was no answer there, either. Her screaming gut started to hurt.

“I’m going to take a run by. I’ll call Moreno from the car.”

“Holly?”

She stopped in the door frame, hand on the knob. “Yeah?”

“Be careful. I’m looking forward to that dinner.”

She grinned at him. “Me, too.”

* * *

Holly was on her way to Montclair’s when the call came. She didn’t recognize the number on her screen but answered, anyway. A polite male voice, accented, said, “Is this Detective Graham?”

“It is. Who are you?”

“Would it be possible for me not to leave a name? I saw the drawing. I have a tip about the body in the field.”

She pulled to the side of the road, the car’s tires slipping in the scree as she skidded to a stop. She grabbed her notebook, put it on her knee.

“Go ahead.”

“I think her name might be Marita Gonzales. She has been missing for a week now.”

“How do you know this woman?”

“We’ve been cleaning houses together. There was an ad, in the paper, for a cleaning lady. She answered it. It was a full weekend job. She was supposed to do it last week. She did not come to our work last Monday and I have been very worried. She is a responsible woman.”

“Where does she live? Family, friends?”

A pause. “She lives with a few families in a house off Nolensville Road.”

The dime dropped for Holly. “Ah. Is she here illegally? It’s okay, I have no interest in jacking up her or her family. All I’m concerned with is identifying the victim we found and finding who might have hurt her.”

“The ad was in the paper,” he repeated. “Marita Gonzales.” And he hung up.

She called Jim as she pulled back onto the road, told him the story. “Can you find this ad, and call Forensic Medical and tell them we have a possible ID to work with?”

“I can. Also...” Silence for a moment, then the booming voice of Moreno.

“Graham. You’re turning into quite the detective. Update me.”