Dead Hunt

‘‘Yes, that’s part of your job description. I take it you found something strange,’’ she said.

‘‘Well, yes. I opened this envelope.’’ Andie took a fat package out of her drawer and laid it on her desk.

‘‘What is it?’’ asked Diane.

‘‘It’s money. A lot of it.’’

Chapter 30

‘‘Money?’’ said Diane. ‘‘How much?’’

‘‘I haven’t really counted it, but there’s a bunch.’’

Andie pulled a packet of bills from the large envelope.

‘‘There’s a lot of these bundles and they’re all hundreddollar bills.’’

Diane picked up the stack of bills and fanned

through it. A lot of pictures of Ben Franklin. ‘‘Is it a contribution to the museum? Is there a letter

with it?’’ asked Diane.

‘‘Not exactly a letter.’’

Andie lifted a piece of paper from the envelope

lightly, holding it by its edge between the tips of her

thumb and index finger, and laid it on the desktop.

Diane stared at the sheet of plain white paper with

one word printed on it in large block letters. BITCH. ‘‘Well, I’m confused,’’ said Diane. ‘‘You’re right.

This is weird, even for us. Is there a return address?’’ ‘‘No,’’ said Andie. ‘‘What do I do with it? I mean,

I can’t deposit it, can I?’’

‘‘No, I wouldn’t think—’’

Diane was interrupted by the door opening. Andie

shoved the packet of money back into the envelope. ‘‘Agent Jacobs,’’ said Diane, ‘‘you’re up early.’’ He looked at his watch. ‘‘Is it early? I thought I

slept in.’’ He looked from Diane to Andie. We must both look guilty, Diane thought. ‘‘So, can I look at your accounting books?’’ he asked. Diane frowned, then picked up the package and the

note. ‘‘We need to talk first.’’

Diane’s office door was behind and to the right of

Andie’s desk. Diane led Agent Jacobs through her

own office and into her conference room, where he

had interviewed Jonas and Kendel. Her conference

room looked like a comfortable living room. It was

decorated in shades of green. The main focus was a

large round oak table with padded oak chairs. Just

beyond the table were two plush gold-green sofas at

right angles to each other. Both were very comfortable. She had slept on them overnight many times.

The walls were the same hue as the sofas. They gave

the room a golden glow. There was a full bathroom

and closet where she kept changes of clothes. It did

not look like an interrogation room.

She closed the door behind them. ‘‘Can I get you

something to drink?’’ she asked.

‘‘No, I just had breakfast. Maybe later. Great bedand-breakfast, by the way.’’ He studied her for a moment. ‘‘This looks serious,’’ he said and smiled as if it

really were not.

He and Ross Kingsley must be from the school of

FBI philosophy that says friendly is okay, she thought

as she looked at his sparkling white teeth. She wondered how much of it was his act to make people trust

him. She sighed. It didn’t really matter. She poured

the money out on the table.

He raised his eyebrows in surprise. ‘‘What’s this?’’