I drove back to our motel. Was taking a peek at Bower's processing plant a smart move or simply ridiculous? Getting an up-close look at his operation could be quite revealing. Or not. Worrisome, since time was running out and I couldn't afford to spin my wheels.
En route, my phone rang. I pulled over to the side of the road.
"The cops are done with the condo," Jamila said. "I checked us out of the motel and moved our stuff back."
Her voice sounded strange. "What's the matter?"
"You'll see soon enough."
When I arrived at the condo, I couldn't believe my eyes.
I didn't know for sure what I was looking at until I climbed upstairs and saw the mess. The front of the condo had been egged. Rotten eggs.
"Jesus." I was numb with disbelief. The air was putrid with sulfurous fumes. Gasping air through my mouth to avoid gagging, I unlocked the door and hustled inside.
Jamila sat in the living room, her arms crossed, staring at the TV.
"Jesus!" I said again. "When did that happen?"
"Sometime after the cops left, I assume." Jamila spoke without looking at me. "They left this, too."
She got up and handed me an eight-and-a-half-by-eleven sheet of white paper. On it, someone had printed, "Die screaming nigger bitch!!!!" It looked like the product of a standard laser printer.
Nice. I was all out words.
"At least they didn't stick it on a rock and throw it through the window," Jamila said, with false cheerfulness.
"Have you called the police?" Talk about sounding idiotic.
"I've been sitting here for the last half-hour trying to figure out why I should. Who's going to care? What are they going to do? Nothing. We can't link this note to anyone. And, even if we could, all it would do is give the prosecution more reasons why I have an ax to grind or a motive to kill that guy."
She crossed her arms tighter and scowled.
"If it makes you feel any better, I think I've hooked up with someone who might help us." I told her about my meeting with Amber and her promise to let me tour the processing plant.
She looked appeased, but only slightly. "That's interesting, but how does it help me?"
Fair question, I thought. "It's just a hunch. Bear with me on this. Bower Farms is a small fish in a big pond. However, according to what I've read, the business has been growing by leaps and bounds. How do you suppose they've done that?"
She shrugged. "Knowing people. Greasing the wheels." She rubbed her fingers together in a way that suggested money could be changing hands.
"Could be that. Or there could be more."
"Such as?"
"What if Bower Farms was cutting costs on worker safety or hiring illegal aliens?"
Jamila snorted. "So, what else is new?"
"Well, I think OSHA and the INS might take a pretty dim view."
She narrowed her eyes. "What are you suggesting?"
I paused to gather my thoughts. "Let's suppose—hypothetically—that Bower Farms is hiring illegal aliens and making them work for slave wages in unsafe workplaces. If Billy Ray is supposed to take over the business, he'd be fully aware of these practices. For all we know, he might have been involved in smuggling migrant workers."
Jamila nodded. "Hypothetically, sure. So you think there might be murder buried among these hypotheticals?"
"Exactly."
She blew out a breath. "I sure hope you stumble across something soon. Bad enough I could be asked to plea to a crime I didn't commit. The humiliation of being scratched from the program is more than I can bear."
I gaped. "Have they canceled your presentation?"
"Not yet, but it's just a matter of time. After all, I'm supposed to be speaking on ethics. In three days."
I know. I read the program, too.
"I realize it seems like a longshot, Jamila, but Amber is the closest I've come to finding an ally." I kept mum about my meeting with Jinx. "It's at least worth a visit to a Bower Farms facility."
Jamila grunted and shrugged assent.
"Besides," I added. "Your arrest hit the papers early. Most of the attendees haven't even arrived."
"Right. Well, now they're arriving and calling me."
"Oh, no."
Her lips twisted in a grimace. "Oh, yes. Why do you think I've turned this off?" She pointed to her cell phone on the side table. "I don't even want to think about how many messages I have or who they're from."
I thought of the partners at her firm. This news couldn't be buying her any good will with them.
The creak of the front screen door and a brisk knock turned our heads.
"Who could that be?" I muttered.
I crept up to the door and checked the peephole. A well-groomed woman loomed into view, lips puckered, nose wrinkled. Behind her, a man stood, holding something on his shoulder. Apparently the rotten egg stench wasn't putting them off.
"Good grief," I whispered.
"What?"
I put my finger to my lips and padded away from the door. "I'm not sure, but I think there's a reporter out there," I said. "With a cameraman."
Jamila threw her hands up and fell back against the sofa. "Wonderful. What next?"
"Have you told anyone where we're staying?" I asked.
"I told Rudy, of course." Her husband was a man sensible enough not to talk to the press.
"I haven't told anyone." Then I thought of the rotten eggs.
Jamila must have read my mind. "I think we know who told them."
The knocking resumed. Would I have to act as Jamila's press agent now?