"Smart-ass." I used my knee to bump his.

Kate and I inherited buckets of money along with a still-profitable computer company when our daddy died, money that I use to help unwed mothers like my own biological mother had been. The money also helps support my PI business—a business I started to help adoptees locate their birth families. Bottom lines aren't important to me; reunions are.

"Business would be a logical explanation for Verna Mae showing up," I said. "The CompuCan CEO is always calling Kate or me to approve or sign stuff."

"Okay, she may have been in Houston for reasons unrelated to your case," he said. "But from what you've told me, seeing Will Knight the other day might have brought her here, too. Does he live in town?"

"He does. Bellaire. You want me to call him? See if he saw her today?"

Jeff didn't get a chance to answer.

A man wearing a dark suit came in with a uniformed cop trailing on his heels.

"Who's in charge here?" the man said.

Jeff pushed back his chair and slowly rose. "That would be me, sir. How can I help you?"

"What the hell happened?" The man was red-faced, and his bulbous nose bore evidence of more than coffee drinking.

Jeff walked the short distance separating us from the newcomer and stopped within inches of the guy's face. "Who's asking?"

"Jack Brown. I own this place," the man said.

"Sergeant Kline. HPD Homicide. A woman was murdered out back, Mr. Brown, then buried in a pile of coffee grounds. Those grounds your own special gift to the environment, maybe?"

Brown's bluster disappeared. "Wet grounds are heavy. Expensive to have hauled off."

"Yeah. That's what I figured. You cooperate, and maybe the city won't be too pissed off about how you handled your garbage problem." Jeff turned to the cop standing next to the clearly agitated owner. "Show Mr. Brown to a table, and I'll be with him in a minute. Maybe he'd like some coffee."