Page 85 of Girl, Forgotten (Andrea Oliver 2)

Compton huffed out an exasperated breath. “Go fuck yourself, Leonard.”

“Now, Cussy—”

“Fuck off.” Compton crossed her arms. “I’m not gonna flush everything I just told you down the shitter. Your wife agrees with your goddamn boss.”

Andrea sat down on the bed. “You’re married? To each other?”

“We keep it separate from work,” Compton said. “Leonard, you’ve had barely more than one goddamn day with this woman and you’re already coaching her up on breaking the rules?”

“You sound a lot like my boss.”

“Fuck you.” Compton leaned down and slipped off her heels. “You’re making life pretty shitty for both of us right now.”

“I’m sorry for that, darling.” Bible patted his hands in the air to calm her down. “But tell me now, if you were in my boots, what would you do?”

“Well first, I’d transfer myself the hell away from this girl. She’s obviously got a bright career if you don’t fuck it up.”

Andrea tried to disappear into the pattern on the bedspread.

“Good note,” Bible said. “Appreciate it. Then what would you do?”

Compton looked at her watch. “You’ve got two and a half hours before you’re due at the Vaughn estate. Did you forget you’ve got an actual assignment, Marshal? Esther’s received credible death threats. I didn’t send you out here for a beach vacation.”

“Understood, Boss.” He smiled. “But I was asking my wife.”

“Fuck.” She seamlessly switched back into the role. “Okay, but just humoring your stupid ass here, what you need is somebody who’s willing to feed you information. Someone on the inside who will make them nervous enough to make a mistake.”

“I hear ya,” Bible said. “But none of those girls has ever squeaked a peep, and my boss just made it clear we gotta stay away from Star Bonaire.”

“We need someone who’s left the group. Someone who’s willing to talk.”

Bible shook his head. “I’m not betting on them keeping a list of ex-volunteers around.”

“I know somebody who might talk.” Andrea was as surprised as anyone that the words had come out of her mouth. And that her twenty minutes of scrolling Sussex County public records had paid off. “The woman who owns the diner, Ricky Fontaine. She was married to Bernard Fontaine. I’m assuming the divorce was acrimonious.”

“And?” Compton prompted.

“And—” Andrea wondered if they could see the lightbulbs popping on over her head. Nardo had told her that Ricky was his ex, but the county records had provided the date their divorce was finalized—August 4, 2002—which was very close to another important date in the farm’s history.

She told Compton, “I’m not sure one has anything to do with the other, but in 2002, around the same time as the Fontaines’ divorce, the farm was sued by the Department of Justice for internship violations. According to the DOJ’s affidavit of facts, the tip came from an anonymous female using a payphone located on Beach Street in Longbill Beach, Delaware.”

Bible said nothing, but his jaw had clenched.

“Well, damn,” Compton said. “Bible, you should talk to your partner more and leave your wife out of it. A woman scorned is the easiest play in the book. What’s this Ricky person doing now?”

Bible’s attention was on Andrea. “How is it that you know all that?”

Andrea shrugged. “How is it that anybody knows anything?”

“Great, Bible, she sounds just like you.” Compton was done with the teasing. She asked Andrea, “Tell me about Ricky. Do you think you can get her to turn on her ex?”

Andrea couldn’t help the panicked look she gave Bible. This wasn’t the deep end. This was the middle of the ocean. “I’m not sure Ricky is the woman who made the phone call. I mean, when I read about it on PACER, I thought maybe one of the girls on the farm called in the tip. Either way, maybe Bible should—”

“The smeller is the feller.” Bible looked at his watch. “The lunch rush should be over. I’ll call down at the diner and make sure Ricky’s there.”

Andrea didn’t get a chance to equivocate.

The door rattled from two hard knocks.