Coral Lee Pine had indeed owned a house with a carport, and it was located in the mountains of north Georgia. It was maybe half an hour north of Funtime, which made him glad Gabrielle was working that angle. Coral must know it, well. She’d sold her house for thirty-five thousand in cash about five months ago. Then she’d closed out her bank account and disappeared. This was just after her diagnosis.

Cancer, according to Tiana Weaver’s emailed report, which included copies of Coral Lee Pine’s medical records. Started in the ovaries, but it was everywhere before they found it. Lung fluid. Intestines. Liver. And brain.

That one paused him. He’d heard that brain-cancer patients could suffer personality changes. Some even became aggressive, lost their social inhibitions. And she was stage four.

She had no insurance, and her doctors had given her nine months, if she was lucky, without treatment. She hadn’t lied to Bree about the seriousness of her illness. She was definitely on her way out. He didn’t ask, and James Weaver didn’t tell him how Tiana had gotten this private information. He Venmo’d their hefty fee and got back to work.

Then the lab called.

“You owe me that shrimp dinner.” It was the cute tech, Jenna, again, flirty and exulting. There was no reason not to flirt back. Gain goodwill. He might need her help again, and he’d already decided he should keep the date he’d accidentally made. But he found he absolutely could not flirt with her in front of Bree.

Who would not care.

And yet.

“Good,” he said. Curt. Professional. He felt confusion in her silence. “My boss is right here, waiting for these results. So. Perfect timing.” He was rewarded both by Bree’s quick sideways smile at being called his boss and Jenna’s soft laughter.

“Gotcha. We can discuss your crustacean-based debt later,” she said, then told him they’d found fingerprints that were not Bree’s. A full thumb and a partial index.

He thanked her and asked her to send everything to Gabrielle at the firm ASAP and got off the phone. He had the names already, but the fingerprints might be useful as confirmation. Or defense exhibits if Bree was ever prosecuted.

The next step was tracing Lexie Pine’s known associates. Not hard. They all had records.

Two were in prison and one was dead, shot during a drug deal gone bad. But Toby Leland, her on-and-off boyfriend and maybe pimp, was on probation and had so far been compliant. That would make him very easy to find. When Marshall checked Leland’s registered address, he heard the cold interior click he’d always loved in an investigation. The sound of a case coming together.

It was the same as Lexie Pine’s last known address.