Ray nodded, too busy chewing on his chicken leg to answer.
Joe sipped his beer. “That’s three kids placed every two months.”
I bit into a green bean and considered how we’d missed the number of new babies in town. “And they were babies, mostly. He’s got an entire wall of photos of all the adoptions.”
“How many pictures after the Bias’s?” Ray asked.
“Two more.” I’d forgotten to put a starch on the table. I got up, pulled the French baguette from the pantry, grabbed the butter dish, and sat.
“Any relation to Kristi Bias?” Ray tore off a hunk of French bread and made a happy noise.
“Jason and Claire are distant cousins.” Joe gave a small smile. “I saw Jason last week for a sprained ankle and he told me all about the adoption. You know he plays softball with Tyler.”
Ray helped himself to more chicken and I wondered how often he got a home-cooked meal. Or, in this case, store-cooked but home-served.
“Also, before I forget, Tyler has expensive hobbies.” I recapped my discussion with Polly.
“Does he own his own plane?” Joe asked.
“He does,” Ray said. “I saw a picture of it on his desk and asked.” Ray pointed his fork at me. “Also, if Tyler really loved SCUBA he wouldn’t go to the same place to dive every time. Maybe he’s laundering money.”
Joe sat back in his chair. “Depositing cash into a foreign account. Interesting. Adoptions can bring in big bucks.”
“You think he’d risk tax evasion?” I couldn’t imagine Tyler being so brazen.
“Maybe he wanted to hide his money from his ex-wife?” Ray said.
“What?” Joe asked.
“Ray’s mom mentioned Tyler’s divorce. According to Jenny, they tried to have kids for years. I guess the stress was too much, and they divorced.” I shrugged. “Tyler’s wife remarried and has kids with her new husband.”
“Was it contentious?” Joe asked.
I turned to Ray, hoping he knew more about the divorce.
Ray wiped his hands on a napkin. “Well, according to my Mom and my sister, he loved her. And then she remarried and popped out kids before the paper was dry on their divorce decree. I doubt that was easy for Tyler.” Ray said.
Joe winced. “Yeah, that’s a kick in the pants. Has Tyler dated anyone after the divorce?”
“Not that I know of,” I said. “But then I didn’t know he owned a plane. And where is he getting all these babies for adoption?” I looked at Joe, stomach churning. “What if Oscar asked Tyler about his source for babies and it got him killed?”
Ray sat back and drummed his fingers on the table. “You said over eighty kids?” Ray stroked his beard and bread crumbs fell to his chest.
I stared at Ray’s chest, and he brushed the crumbs off. “Yes. There were eighty framed photos, and some have two children. Most of the babies are Hispanic.”
Ray scratched his chin. “You think Tyler’s got a baby farm somewhere? How would that work?”
“What’s a baby farm?” Joe asked.
Joe’s question seemed to cloud Ray’s face. “There was a story years ago about sex-trafficking in Nigeria. Women forced into prostitution got pregnant and the slavers sold the kids.”
Joe pushed his plate away. “That’s disgusting.”
That was too horrible to consider happening in Forest Forks. I grabbed my phone and searched through my gallery pictures. “Maybe Tyler’s importing babies from an orphanage in Mexico or South America.” I passed my phone to Ray. “Ingrid, at Sunnyview, said her son used Tyler for his adoption and said her grandkids came from Guatemala.”
“That’s not unusual to hire a lawyer to handle international or even local adoptions,” Joe said. “Angela and Christopher knew the birth mother, they found her through someone at church and Tyler handled the paperwork. Maybe Tyler made a name for himself and people all around the country use him.” Joe’s suggestion, although logical, didn’t settle the gnawing sensation in my gut.
“I think Oscar’s death has something to do with the adoptions,” I said.
Ray passed my phone to Joe. “Do you think there’s a chance Polly would loan you the laptop with Tyler’s schedule and client list?”
“Not likely. Why would she? But maybe Oscar downloaded Tyler’s schedule to his tablet?” I pushed back from the table and went into the dining room, searched the box with Oscar’s tablet and brought it back to the table. I plugged it in and we waited for it to charge.
Ray stroked his beard. “We could copy Polly’s laptop files.”
“How would we do that?” I asked.
“That sounds illegal.” Joe had that pinched expression like when the kids were trying to persuade him to extend their curfew.
Ray waved his hand. “Eh, it’s not as illegal as murder.” He stabbed a green bean. “If we could get Tyler’s financials and compare that with his client list and schedule we could maybe see if he’s hiding income. We might even see if he’s paying baby-finder fees.”
I slumped in my chair. “How would we get all of that?”
Ray’s eyes widened and he tossed up his hands. “I already told you, copy Polly’s laptop.”
“You say that like it’s obvious.” I turned on Oscar’s tablet and was stymied by the keypad wanting a numeric password. I punched in his birthdate, his phone number, the zip code. Nothing worked.
Ray worked on the tablet for a few minutes and gave up. “Oscar’s phone is still missing, right?”
“Yes,” I said.
“Yeah, we’re going to have to break into Tyler’s.” Ray’s matter-of-fact tone made the solution seem reasonable.
“Wait a minute.” Joe wadded up his paper towel and put it on his plate. “This sounds dangerous. And Tyler lives on the second floor.”
Ray shook his head. “Not tonight. I asked. He’s got tickets to the basketball game at the college. He’ll be gone until after nine.”
Joe’s eyes widened. “You’re serious about breaking in? Isn’t there some other way? And honestly, why should Tyler hide money? His
