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CHAPTER 19
KIMBERLY
TASKFORCES MUST BE FED. WHICH made Kimberly incredibly grateful to Franny, Sheriff Smithers’s receptionist, checklist operator, and all-round extremely tall den mother. By the time Kimberly and her crew had trudged back down the mountain, it was already nearly eight P.M. Kimberly took a much-needed shower, then headed straight to the Mosley County Sheriff’s Department for the evening debriefing, where she discovered her fellow investigators already camped out in the conference room enjoying what appeared to be an entire buffet of homemade casseroles.
“From the ladies of the First Congregational Church,” Franny said, appearing at Kimberly’s elbow. “They know how hard you people are working and wanted to show their appreciation. You must try the chocolate trifle. Patty makes it every year for the fall cook-off. It’s the best.”
Sure enough, across the room D.D. was standing over a giant glass bowl containing what appeared to be layers of chocolate pudding and whipped cream. The detective was licking a spoon, and wearing an expression that probably shouldn’t be viewed outside of a bedroom.
“Is there lasagna?” Kimberly asked. “I smell lasagna.” She’d been on her feet for fourteen hours and hiked up and down a mountain half a dozen times. If there was pasta in this room, she’d earned it.
“Third tray from the right. And don’t worry, we have more where that came from.”
Franny bustled off to shift more platters, distribute more plates. Kimberly decided this was already the best taskforce meeting she’d ever attended. Which was good, because they had a lot of ground to cover.
She ate. Shamelessly. Then went straight for the trifle, even though D.D. glared at her and made a sound suspiciously like a growl.
“Call dibs on the bowl,” the Boston detective said.
“Rock-paper-scissors.”
A fresh glare from D.D.
“Not gonna help you,” Kimberly informed her. “I have two daughters who practice that look on a daily basis. Besides, I spent the day exhuming skeletons. You?”
“Fine. I get the brownie platter.”
“Deal.”
“Why isn’t Flora eating?” Kimberly asked presently, leaning against the wall beside D.D., savoring the trifle. There were little chocolate chips. And toffee. Heath bar crunch maybe? “Or is that a symptom of PTSD?”
“She ate all day.”
“She ate all day?”
“We’ll get to it. Your day?”
“We’ll get to it.” After one more scoop of trifle, Kimberly decided.
“Where are your ERT people?” D.D. asked.
“They stayed at the hotel; they’re beat and have to be back at the site at oh dark thirty tomorrow morning. But I have the report on what we found.”
“Dr. Jackson?”
“Same deal. She’s jonesing for her lab, not a meeting where all she can say is ‘wait for my report.’ We have at least one more day of field work, then the team and Dr. Jackson will return to Atlanta. In the meantime, we have discoveries to discuss.”
“I have a new lead,” D.D. said. “She’s underaged, can’t speak, read, or write, and apparently suffers brain damage from a childhood injury. But I have a feeling about her.”
Kimberly arched a brow.
“After the meeting,” D.D. murmured. The detective had her gaze on Sheriff Smithers, sitting across the room and apparently devouring taco salad. “This town, the locals... I have some concerns.”
“You mean you’re not falling for Main Street’s quaint charms?”
“Not after learning what’s buried in the mountains.”
Kimberly couldn’t argue with that. She cleared her throat, indicating it was time to get started. And just like that, the room fell to order.
