Page 112 of The Deadly Shallows

“Definitely better than nothing,” Noah said. “And a list of customers as well.”

“True,” she said, slipping her braided hair behind her shoulder and slipping on her white wool cap.

“It is kind of odd that Jim worked with Dwayne on a weekly basis and yet didn’t know his last name.”

“I’d bet Dwayne worked solely in cash.”

“You think?” Noah asked.

“Sounds like a man who kept things close to the vest.”

Usually the most dangerous kind.

Noah hung up from his call, crossing the sixth number off the list Jim Larson had given him of Dwayne’s customers. Only two customers left to call and one to hear back from. Thus far, every customer had always paid cash, as apparently that’s all Dwayne took, as Brooke had correctly guessed. Several customers had a last name for him, but none were the same—Thomas, Smith, Jones—easy, simple names that drew no attention.

Noah’s cell rang. Brooke looked over from the driver’s seat as he glanced at the number. “Hey, Caleb,” he said, switching the call to Bluetooth. “How’s it going?”

“We just left Taylor & Greene Manufacturing, the second foam plant we’ve visited.”

“Any luck?” Noah asked, the wind flapping the thick plastic windows of the soft-top Jeep.

“The managers at both plants were helpful and gave us tours,” Caleb said, but he was holding an opinion back. Noah could always tell by the hitch in his voice.

“But?” Noah prodded.

“But I feel like we’re getting the same party line. Austin, you want to chime in?” he asked.

“Hi, guys,” Austin said. “Like Caleb said, we basically got the same story at both places, and the same tour. It was like both had been rehearsed, and maybe that’s the case. Sort of like any group tour you go on where things are basically verbatim.”

“Right,” Caleb said. “But we don’t imagine they give enough tours to sound so . . .”

“Similar,” Caleb and Austin said in unison.

Noah looked over at Brooke, and she smiled.

When this case was over, he was very curious where Caleb and Austin would be. Deep in the midst of a relationship if Rissi’s and Brooke’s musings were right, and he wouldn’t bet against those two.

“What party line did they give you about the chemical in question?” Noah asked, regathering his thoughts.

“Len Heisman of FoamTech said they’d lost, and I quote, ‘a pretty penny,’ properly disposing of the TCEP,” Caleb said, “and he provided us with the hazmat waste disposal company they utilized.”

“Tony Shapiro from Taylor & Greene said they saw the writing on the wall and began phasing out of TCEP before it was banned, so they only had a small quantity to dispose of.”

“Did he say who they used to dispose of it?” Noah asked as Brooke entered the traffic circle at the bottom of Main Street. Time for a much-needed coffee break at Port City Java.

“He couldn’t recall offhand,” Caleb said.

Brooke’s brows arched as she darted a glance over at him, echoing his own questioning response.

“He claimed he could locate the name of the company if required,” Caleb said with that investigative edge to his voice.

“As in, if a warrant was produced?” Noah asked.

“Not in so many words,” Austin said, “but that was clearly the point he was making.”

“So you’ll be keeping an eye on Taylor & Greene.” It wasn’t a question, as he already heard the conviction of it in both of their voices.

“I’m already digging up what I can on them while Caleb drives,” Austin said.