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“Could I see it? See the address it came from.”

“I suppose. Hang on, let me find it on the computer and then I’ll let you read it.”

Minnie made her way back to the other side of the desk and sat in her chair. I couldn’t see her face for a moment, which gave me a chance to let mine relax from the shock and awe she’d mainlined into me.

A bloody artifact in Wilmot’s studio? Abomination? Oaths and pacts? This was little old Black Vulture, but I supposed things like that could happen anywhere.

“Okay, come on over,” Minnie said.

Behind the desk, the space was tight. I hadn’t noticed the microphone or the stack of files from the other side. Based upon the size of the mic, a satellite along with the nice computer, Minnie had the right equipment to create a good podcast.

I crouched next to her and looked at the screen.

Minnie said, “It’s from AZBOY2435, which, of course, doesn’t have to mean a thing about where they lived, their gender, or whatever that number was supposed to tell us.”

It read:

Minnie. You have to stop. You are dipping your toes into alligator infested waters. You know what alligators do when that happens. They bite things off. They take the bones.

Minnie looked at me. “It’s even weirder than I remembered.”

“Yeah,” I said. “It doesn’t mention your Wilmot podcast. Are you sure that’s what this is about?”

“No, but it arrived three days after the podcast became live. I do a series each month. Like I said, I forgot all about it until right now. It might not have anything to do with your father or those classes.”

But I knew it did. So did she, I could tell.

I stood. “Are you calling Calloway or am I?”

“I’ll email him, then call. Call him if you want, but your coverage will be spotty on the way back to town.”

“I’ll call when I get a good signal.”

“I’ll email.”

I put my hat back on my head and hurried out to the Jeep.

He’d been watching Hazel Dylan long enough to know that she didn’t spend all day every day in her lab. Other than the one time inside, he’d peeked through one of the building’s narrow windows. He’d watched from a distance as she emerged for food or fresh air.

She often had a look on her face that wasn’t welcoming. For the most part, he didn’t think she noticed the world around her. Her mind was always working, even as she sipped coffee at the diner.

He didn’t think she’d ever noticed anyone watching her. He didn’t think anyone had really noticed him. He’d disguised himself at first. No one would have recognized him then, and he didn’t think anyone had now. He was a stranger to most, new to town to others.

That old Smoot guy sure got curious, though. He’d taken care of that. At least Jerry Smoot wouldn’t be telling anyone anything about what was going on in the desert.

After Hazel took off in her Jeep again today, he’d tried to peek in the window again. It had been covered.

Adrenaline had zipped through him. Someone had covered it. If that had happened, someone suspected that someone was looking inside.

Was it the police or Hazel?

He’d been so careful inside there. The lock on the front door was easy to pick. He’d gone in, looked around quietly, hadn’t gone upstairs. He’d worn gloves when he took put the bone under the turtle’s foot.

How had she found it so quickly? He thought he’d turned the turtle enough that she might miss it or it would take some time for her to catch on.

It didn’t much matter. No one suspected anything. They couldn’t. It would all be chalked up to something Hazel did, maybe accidentally.

It was all good, and would ultimately be done as he wanted it to be done. One step at a time.