like the works. I got everything on the pizza.”
Joshua led her down the hall into the country kitchen at the back of the house. Along the way, she rattled off about her visit to the forensics lab to clandestinely make her request to re-run the prints, and then the call she received later with the news of a hit.
Joshua flipped open the lid of the pizza box to reveal that Cameron wasn’t joking about getting everything on the pizza. It was loaded with everything from pepperoni to sausage to ham to pineapple to anchovies.
This is not a woman who worries about her waistline.
“You’re a girl after my own heart,” he told her. “I can’t remember the last time I had a pizza with everything.” He went for the plates while she pulled paper towels off the roll to use as napkins.
“You like?”
With an enthusiastic laugh, he nodded his head. “Very much so. With a big family and everyone liking and hating different stuff, I’ve given up on everything years ago.” He served the pizza on two plates while she poured the soda into glasses. “Don’t keep me waiting. Continue. Forensics ran Jane Doe’s prints through the international database this time and you finally got an ID. Who is she?”
They sat across from each other at the kitchen table. Sensing that Cameron would be an easy touch, Admiral perched next to her. The Irish Wolfhound-Great Dane’s head was above table level. Irving took a spot on the other side of her chair.
“Ilysa Ramsay,” Cameron said. “Immigrant from Scotland. You’ll never guess who she’s married to.”
“I hate guessing.” Joshua wiped his mouth with the paper towel after a string of cheese that refused to be bitten off dripped down his chin.
“So do I,” she said. “So I’ll tell you. Neal Hathaway. Big muckity-muck CEO.”
He stopped in mid-bite of his second bite, took the slice of pizza from his mouth, and asked, “Ilysa Ramsay? Was she an artist of some sort?”
“I don’t know,” Cameron shrugged. “All I know is what the AFIS database had in their report and that was from her passport. Scottish immigrant. Came over after marrying an American, Neal Hathaway in early 2003. She was killed June 2003—”
Cameron raised her voice to call after him when he jumped up and hurried down the hallway with his pizza in his hand. “—so they weren’t married long at all. My question is why didn’t he report her missing?”
Seeing that she was now talking to Admiral and Irving, who were both more interested in her food, she picked up her slice of pizza to chase after her host. The animals formed a line behind her. She found Joshua tapping away on the laptop at his antique oak desk in the study. The pizza crust was clutched between his teeth.
She asked, “Is it something I said?”
He took the pizza out to say, “Very much so. Did you look up Ilysa Ramsay?”
Cameron slipped onto the corner of his desk. Her slender legs hung next to his arm. “I only got the ID a couple of hours ago. Priscilla had to call me on the sly when Bixby wasn’t around. Why? What do you know about her?”
Joshua slid the laptop around for her to see the screen where a news website announced, “Artist Ilysa Ramsay Slain.” The date on the article read, September 7, 2004.
For the first time since Joshua had met her, Cameron was speechless. The slice of pizza lay limp in her hand while she stared at the screen. Her brow furrowed. One eye squinted. “They can’t be the same person … No way can they be the same person … We have her body and the fingerprints say she’s Ilysa Ramsay.”
Joshua sat back in his leather desk chair. He entwined his fingers across his chest. A smirk crossed his face. “You, yourself just asked why her husband didn’t report her missing. Maybe she wasn’t missing.”
Cameron hopped down from the desk. The pizza slice flapped in her hand while she gestured. “We have a body and it has Ilysa Ramsay’s fingerprints on it.” She stopped and stood up
Joshua led her down the hall into the country kitchen at the back of the house. Along the way, she rattled off about her visit to the forensics lab to clandestinely make her request to re-run the prints, and then the call she received later with the news of a hit.
Joshua flipped open the lid of the pizza box to reveal that Cameron wasn’t joking about getting everything on the pizza. It was loaded with everything from pepperoni to sausage to ham to pineapple to anchovies.
This is not a woman who worries about her waistline.
“You’re a girl after my own heart,” he told her. “I can’t remember the last time I had a pizza with everything.” He went for the plates while she pulled paper towels off the roll to use as napkins.
“You like?”
With an enthusiastic laugh, he nodded his head. “Very much so. With a big family and everyone liking and hating different stuff, I’ve given up on everything years ago.” He served the pizza on two plates while she poured the soda into glasses. “Don’t keep me waiting. Continue. Forensics ran Jane Doe’s prints through the international database this time and you finally got an ID. Who is she?”
They sat across from each other at the kitchen table. Sensing that Cameron would be an easy touch, Admiral perched next to her. The Irish Wolfhound-Great Dane’s head was above table level. Irving took a spot on the other side of her chair.
“Ilysa Ramsay,” Cameron said. “Immigrant from Scotland. You’ll never guess who she’s married to.”
“I hate guessing.” Joshua wiped his mouth with the paper towel after a string of cheese that refused to be bitten off dripped down his chin.
“So do I,” she said. “So I’ll tell you. Neal Hathaway. Big muckity-muck CEO.”
He stopped in mid-bite of his second bite, took the slice of pizza from his mouth, and asked, “Ilysa Ramsay? Was she an artist of some sort?”
“I don’t know,” Cameron shrugged. “All I know is what the AFIS database had in their report and that was from her passport. Scottish immigrant. Came over after marrying an American, Neal Hathaway in early 2003. She was killed June 2003—”
Cameron raised her voice to call after him when he jumped up and hurried down the hallway with his pizza in his hand. “—so they weren’t married long at all. My question is why didn’t he report her missing?”
Seeing that she was now talking to Admiral and Irving, who were both more interested in her food, she picked up her slice of pizza to chase after her host. The animals formed a line behind her. She found Joshua tapping away on the laptop at his antique oak desk in the study. The pizza crust was clutched between his teeth.
She asked, “Is it something I said?”
He took the pizza out to say, “Very much so. Did you look up Ilysa Ramsay?”
Cameron slipped onto the corner of his desk. Her slender legs hung next to his arm. “I only got the ID a couple of hours ago. Priscilla had to call me on the sly when Bixby wasn’t around. Why? What do you know about her?”
Joshua slid the laptop around for her to see the screen where a news website announced, “Artist Ilysa Ramsay Slain.” The date on the article read, September 7, 2004.
For the first time since Joshua had met her, Cameron was speechless. The slice of pizza lay limp in her hand while she stared at the screen. Her brow furrowed. One eye squinted. “They can’t be the same person … No way can they be the same person … We have her body and the fingerprints say she’s Ilysa Ramsay.”
Joshua sat back in his leather desk chair. He entwined his fingers across his chest. A smirk crossed his face. “You, yourself just asked why her husband didn’t report her missing. Maybe she wasn’t missing.”
Cameron hopped down from the desk. The pizza slice flapped in her hand while she gestured. “We have a body and it has Ilysa Ramsay’s fingerprints on it.” She stopped and stood up
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