“Then she deserves a chocolate milkshake,” Tom said.

“There’s a path between the house next door and this one,” Farley explained as they ascended the stairs. “Not a paved path, but one beaten into the dirt. Lots of foot traffic between this place and the one next door. Like boxes being carried, maybe?”

“You’re thinking a grow house?” Croft asked.

Farley nodded. “I was afraid this would sprout back up. You Feds took out so many of those grow houses a few years back. The part of me that still believes in the Easter Bunny hoped that would be the end of it.”

His officers broke through this door as they had the last one, and Tom whistled from the threshold, because there was no real floor to walk on. “That is a lot of weed.”

The floors were covered in dirt, and marijuana plants grew in neat rows. A watering system hung from the ceiling and grow lights were positioned at regular intervals, bolted to the walls. Extension cords ran every which direction.

Crouching down, Farley pulled a leaf from the plant closest to the door. “Ready to harvest.” He stood up, dusting the dirt from his hands. “Not a bad haul.”

Croft stuck her head in the open door. “That’s a lot of pot to remove. This house is trashed. Let’s check it out. He might have left something behind.”

But he hadn’t. There were no beds or clothing in the bedrooms, no food in the kitchen, no appliances of any kind. There wasn’t even a refrigerator, all the power going instead to the grow lamps.

“We’re heading back to the field office,” Croft said once they’d searched the small house. “Thank you for getting in touch with us, Sergeant Farley. If your team turns anything up, please let us know.”

“Of course.” Farley looked across the lawn at Officer Garvin, the uniform left behind to protect the crime scene. “I think my officer really wants to talk to you, Agent Hunter. He’ll probably ask for an autograph, just to prepare you.”

Croft frowned. “Wait. You knew who Agent Hunter was, too?”

“Before you got here,” Farley said. “I looked you two up. Not much on you, Agent Croft—no offense—but this guy? His name gets a shit ton of hits.”

“Wonderful,” Croft grumbled. “Although I have to say, he’s pretty humble to be so famous.”

“Thank you,” Tom said graciously. “I’ll meet you at the car.” He ambled over to where Officer Garvin stood nervously. “What can I do for you, Officer?”

Garvin exhaled nervously. “My kid’s birthday’s next week. He’s a huge fan. Can’t rip him away from the TV when a game is on. Knows all the stats. He’d love an autograph from you.”

Tom gave the man his card. “E-mail me your address. I’ve got gear just cluttering a closet. I may have a few basketballs. Won’t be a game ball, but hopefully he’ll still like it.”

“Thank you,” Garvin said. “He will be over the moon.”