Laurel relaxed into her seat and chose not to explore why she felt relieved. “You have good instincts.”
“They’ve saved my life more than once.” He slowed down to drive around a chunk of ice that no doubt had fallen off a logging truck. “Although, I see the appeal. She’s gorgeous and mysterious, and definitely knows how to flirt.” Now he sounded thoughtful.
Laurel fought an extremely rare urge to punch him. She did not hit people. “I wouldn’t think you’d like tattletales.” She winced. Had she just descended into pettiness? Yes. Darn it. Was she jealous?
“I wouldn’t think you’d hide material information about this case,” he returned easily.
She ducked her head. “You’re right. I should have informed you about Abigail’s claim that she met my uncle. But she gave me his name after having had time to research my life, and I believe she’s playing some sort of game with me. I’m a challenge to her.”
Huck kept an even speed, and the river flowed by outside, lined by trees heavily laden with snow. “Because you’re both smart? Both child prodigies?”
Laurel shook her head, irritation clogging her throat for a moment. “Perhaps? She’s easily bored, narcissistic, and most likely sadistic. For some reason, she’s latched on to me, waging a battle I can’t understand.” There was a puzzle piece missing in this situation. Laurel shifted uneasily. She always found the answer, but this time, it was eluding her. “I don’t understand her motivation.” Was boredom enough? It might be for a sadistic narcissist.
“What’s her end game?” Huck asked.
Laurel turned as much as the seatbelt would allow to look at him. He was in uniform today, badge clipped to his belt, gun strapped to his thigh. He’d shaved that morning, but a shadow was already appearing on his masculine jaw. “I don’t know. Right now, the goal seems to be you.”
“Wonderful,” he muttered.
Laurel could not agree more. “I feel like she wants to beat me at some game only she understands.” Laurel watched Huck’s broad, capable hands on the steering wheel. “That would mean solving the case, but she doesn’t seem to care about the case really. This feels . . . personal.” So the personal aspect had to be Huck. “She did meet with my mother about a business opportunity.” Laurel flopped back in her seat and groaned.
Huck chuckled. “You’re not used to having trouble figuring things out, are you?”
“No,” she said shortly.
“My gut tells me it isn’t her, but is there a chance she’s the killer? That she’s murdering other blondes?” he asked.
Laurel watched as a hawk landed on a high up branch and sent snow pounding down. “I don’t believe so. She doesn’t fit the profile.”
“What if your profile is wrong?”
She chewed her lip. “I can’t answer that.”
“That’s a subject we’ll have to revisit, then.” The road wound away from the river and farmhouses began to dot the area. “Let’s switch topics. Why didn’t you tell me about Carl?”
“Because Dr. Caine didn’t mention the scars across my uncle’s face when she first told me about the man she saw. The scars are prominent, and there’s no way she could’ve missed them,” Laurel said. “Which begs the question, why is that woman messing with my head?”
“I don’t know, but she’s definitely focused on you.” He shook his head. “I’m with you on the scars, and I believe she lied. Even so, just for the moment, forget that you know Carl and profile him for me.” Huck drove between apple groves and slowed down to allow a rafter of wild turkeys to finish waddling across the road.
The request was a fair one. “All right. I did talk with him, and he denies ever seeing or speaking with Dr. Caine.” Laurel took a deep breath and tried to remove the emotion she felt regarding her family. “Carl Snow is an introvert who’s uncomfortable around most people. He’s sixty-one years old and works as a grave digger at the cemetery.”
“Grave digger?” Huck asked.
Defensiveness rose in Laurel; she recognized it and squelched it. “It’s a solitary and necessary job. Carl lives alone in an old cabin on the family acreage. Mom and Uncle Blake also live on the family farm, which encompasses miles. Carl was married in his twenties, but his wife left him.” Laurel searched her memory. “Her name was Nami Loscrom, and she wanted the big city, and a much more exciting life than he could offer. That’s all I remember hearing about her.”
Huck turned down another snowy road, this one leading back to the river. “Have you seen a picture?”
“Yes,” Laurel said. It was easy for her to call the image from her memory. “Nami was short with black hair and pretty green eyes. She was not blond.”
Huck glanced her way and then back to the road. “Has Carl ever been in trouble with the law?”
“Not that I’m aware,” Laurel said. “To profile him, he’s a loner. But he can and does interact with family, and he’s a minority owner in my mom’s company.”
“Does he participate?” Huck asked.
“No. She made him an owner to supplement his income, I think.” Laurel rubbed a hand down her face.
“What is the deal with the tea company?” Huck asked. “Does your mom grow her own tea?”
