“There’s a phone number written on it.”

“What?” “A phone number. Written by a woman. Now tell me I’m good.”

“You’re damn good!”

I pick my way over to her and study the chunk of wood. Joe follows me and says, “Why would someone write a phone number on the top edge of a door?”

“Because no one would think to look for it there.”

“But you did.”

“Yeah, but I’m good.”

“How do you know it was written by a woman?”

“It’s distinctively feminine.”

“Maybe Agent Phillips wrote it,” I say.

Callie laughs.

Joe says, “That phone number could be ten years old.”

“It could be an old number,” I say. “But according to Jack’s toilet, the message is less than a year old.”

“You talk to toilets?” Joe says, giving Callie a wink.

There it is again. Like every man on earth, Joe finds Callie impossibly attractive. When men see good-looking women their first thought is I wonder if she might be interested in me. Joe’s testing the water. He’s thinking he and Callie are young, I’m older. Maybe that’s an angle he can exploit. Needling the boss a bit, putting me down in front of Callie makes him appear cool. He probably hopes they’ll get some banter going at my expense.

I can’t blame the kid for trying, but Callie’s way out of his league. And if he’s trying to impress her he’s going about it the wrong way, because Callie respects me. By poking fun at me, arguing with me, questioning my judgment, he’s coming dangerously close to disrespecting me. Callie would never tolerate that. It’s the sort of thing that would cause her to rise to my defense. Joe doesn’t get that, but again, he’s young. He might be skilled with conventional explosives, but in my experience nothing’s more combustible than a strong-willed woman. And Callie’s more explosive than any bomb Joe will ever create. I expect she’ll deal with his impertinence, if he crosses the line. In the meantime, maybe I can work in a little bit of teaching.

I say, “All houses talk, Joe. You just have to know how to listen. We stepped over a toilet lid a minute ago.”

“So?”

“Toilet lids are stamped with the date of manufacture.”

“Maybe it was a new toilet lid.”

Callie and I look at each other. She says, “If he’s getting on your nerves, I’ve got plenty of tape left.”

Joe looks at her with wounded surprise.

Callie and I type the phone number into our cell phones and walk to an area free from debris.

“What about Agent Phillips?” Joe says.

“He’ll be fine.”

“Won’t the FBI be pissed when they find him bound and gagged?”

“I hope so.”

I dial my research team at Sensory. Larry, the dwarf answers. I tell him to turn down the music that’s blaring in the background. When he does, I give him the number Callie found on the door and tell him to locate the signal.

Four minutes later he calls me back and says the phone in question is at or beside a hotel in Memphis, Tennessee, less than a mile from the international airport.

“How long has it been there?”

Larry puts me on hold. A few minutes later he puts me on speaker and says, “Nine hours, give or take.”

“And before that?”

“I bet the others fifty dollars you already know.”

“Willow Lake.”

“Come to papa!”

“Not so fast!” C.H.