Looking around at the messy kitchen, Joan was confused, but also couldn't believe their luck. No one cleaned up anything after lunch. She left the officer named Jake standing by the door and went to the front desk of the conference center. The security guard looked horrified and stressed out. She tapped the record button on her phone.

"I'm A.D.A Hannah working with the Sheriff's Department on this investigation. Where is the manager?" Joan demanded. "I need to talk to him about the kitchen staff."

The guard shook his head. "He... They took him in one of the ambulances."

"And the kitchen staff for the conference?" Joan repeated.

"It was the group's interns. They bought out the whole hotel when they booked the conference and contracted for their interns to work in place of the kitchen and cleaning staff so they wouldn't have to pay for them," he looked helpless as he answered.

"How do you know this, Security Guard Dupont?" She used the name on his ID Badge.

"My wife and sister-in-law work on the cleaning staff. They were worried about how bad things would be when they came back," he admitted. His eyes following the men rolling out another body in a body bag. "Please call me Louis."

Joan resisted the urge to turn and look. "One more question: do you know who catered the food?"

He shrugged, answering as he trembled, "Emanuel and I saw them unloading coolers from one of those yellow panel trucks. You know like the ones people moving themselves use."

She looked out toward the parking lot. "Is the truck still here?"

"Uh, yeah, in the back."

"Show me." Joan requested as Sheriff Donavon walked over to her.

"Joan, would you mind leaving the lobby for a few minutes?" his tone was gentle, and she realized they were about to bring Paul down.

She clenched the fist not holding her phone, then waved her hand toward the security guard. "Mr. Dupont was just going to show me the truck they brought everything in. Join me?"

"Yes, Ma'am." Sheriff Donavon agreed as he and Joan followed Louis.

There were several vehicles with out-of-state plates in the staff parking area. The panel truck was sitting next to a large passenger van. All were locked.

Donavon scowled as he tried several of the doors. "I'll get the warrants and a lock smith out here."

They turned as the head presenter of the conference came out the same side door, dragging a suitcase. He went to the rental truck and started to get in.

"Mr. Langston, where do you think you are taking that vehicle?" Sheriff Donavon stopped him.

"I, um, have to return it today," the man stammered. He was sweating despite the cool evening air.

"I am afraid you can't do that. It's evidence in a criminal negligence investigation," Joan announced. "Give me the keys."

"You can't look in it, I have rights," Mr. Langston insisted. "This is private property."

"It is sitting in a public place.  The parking is part of the forest preserve, only the building and golf course are private property," she bluffed then spoke the truth, "And there is a witness to the food which sickened and killed many being unloaded from it." Joan stepped up to the man and glared at him. "Give me the keys or I will add evidence tampering to your many charges."

They stood in silence for several seconds before Donavon demanded, "You can give them to the lady, or I will after I cuff you. You can go easy or hard, your choice."

"I want my lawyer. None of this was my fault."

"We shall see, Mr. Langston. Sheriff, please arrest the gentleman on for attempting to tamper with evidence pending negligent homicide charges... How many so far?" Joan asked, not letting her tears fall for Paul.

"Thirty-four, A.D.A. Hannah... Mr. Langston, have the right to remain silent." As Sheriff Donavon read him his Miranda Rights, Joan used the key to open the padlock on the truck.

Louis lifted the door only a few inches when the stench of rotting food hit them. It was so strong, Louis turned and vomited. Joan slammed it back shut.

Turning to glare at Mr. Langston, she announced, "Call the CSI, Sheriff. I think we found the start of the murder plot."

Donavon marched Langston away from her as he shouted his denial. "It wasn't my fault. They almost had an accident. The coolers fell over and the ice melted. We heated it later, it was supposed to be fine. I didn't know it would hurt anyone. It wasn't my fault. I'm not a murderer." His shouts faded away around the corner of the building.

Joan rubbed the security guard's back. "Are you okay, Louis?"

"I never eat old food or leftovers." He gagged then spat. "And seafood spoils faster than anything. What was he thinking?"

Joan shook her head. "It's my job to help the sheriff and local D.A. build a case, not assume what the suspect was thinking." But in her mind, she knew it was about greed. "Langston and his group were trying to save money by bringing in their own seafood from the coast and it cost those who came to his 'free' conference a lot more than their investment." She sneered the word 'free' angrily, not because of the suspect, but because part of her started to hate Paul for killing himself on their anniversary with his miserly avariciousness.

If he had just paid for the stupid trip instead of trying to profit from it, we would be cozying up in bed after a lovely dinner and heading home tomorrow. She trembled for a moment, then someone called out her name.

"Ms. Hannah?"

Joan waved at the taller woman. She was willowy if the term had ever applied to anyone, it applied to the woman walking toward her. She was as tall as most female basketball players. "I'm Joan, please call me Joan."

"District Attorney Magnolia Charta, call me Nolia. Sheriff Donavon said I needed to hire you on the spot to help with this investigation, something about your job in New York City?"

Nodding, Joan responded, "I work in a division of the District Attorney's Office, and I specialize in cases dealing with food born illnesses and health code violations that lead to illness and death." She scowled as she admitted, "I am not licensed to practice law in your state, but I can tell you everything to look for and how to hold all parties accountable for the thirty-four people who died."

"Thirty-seven," Nolia corrected. "They found two more and one died at the hospital." At her name called, she turned and waved a heavy-set man toward them.

Joan had never seen anyone who looked more like Colonel Sanders as he waddled like a penguin across the parking lot.

"Ms. Hannah, this is Judge Kilman. We need to know what warrants we need and exactly what to look for, so these bastards don't get away with causing all these accidental deaths," Nolia said.

"There was nothing accidental about this. The suspect tried to leave with this truck; that is intent to tamper with evidence. To start, we need a warrant covering all contents and the GPS. We need to know the location they originally rented this from. We need to find the driver for questioning. We also need subpoenas for all the interns and mentors that survive, and for records relating to where the food was purchased and any records pertaining to it before Mr. Langston had it driven here."

Judge Kilman nodded; his voice was surprisingly deep. "If you will write them up with Nolia, I will sign them. Ain't no one getting away with mass murder in my county... Nolia, make sure you hire her on as a consultant and get it cleared with her Yankee boss, I ain't letting no slick city lawyer sway the jury with some loophole."

"Yes, sir, Judge Kilman." Nolia nodded.

He held out his hand and shook Joan's with surprising gentleness; his southern drawl added a grandfatherly kindness to his words. "I am truly sorry for your loss, young lady. Ya'll are doing a fine job holding up under the pressure." He turned and waddled away.

Nolia saw Joan watching him walk and revealed quietly, "He had a double hip replacement after the accident that took his wife. A drunk driver ran them into the back of a parked logging truck. The lawyer from Boston convinced a jury that it was a reaction to seizure medication and developing diabetes, even though the man had no medical history of either. He was on a medication for back spasms that is sometime used for epilepsy. That lawyer also got the roadside sobriety test thrown out despite the fact the man blew a 0.2 half an hour after the accident."

Staring after him, Joan shook her head. "How was he even driving?"

"Covered in his own urine and vomit from what the cops on the scene said." Nolia shrugged then suggested, "Let's go inside and get this paperwork done."

"I need to get my laptop from my room, I have copies of everything a judge in New York would require for a case like this."

"Joan, would you... would you like to stay at my house tonight?" Nolia offered. "I don't feel right leaving you here."

"I can't stay here; my room is crime scene." Joan trembled slightly then admitted, "My boyfriend died in the bathtub. He refused to go to the doctor earlier... He always refused to... to go to the doctor until forty-eight hours h-had p-passed." Joan couldn't stop herself from starting to cry. Suddenly, she felt so guilty for deciding to break up with Paul because of this trip. He did bring her to the Appalachians after all.

Nolia and Louis stood helplessly until she managed to stop. Panting, Joan accepted the tissue Nolia offered. She didn't know where the tall woman found the tissue box, but Louis also offered her a cup of coffee.

"Don't worry, I made it from the pod machine behind my desk," he said.

"Thank you." Joan sipped it. It was as bitter as she felt, and the synthetic creamer didn't make it better. "I need to fill out a form to take my things from our room."

"I'm certain the sheriff would..."

"No." Joan interrupted Nolia. "Everything has to be by the book so they can't say my working as a consultant means I somehow influenced the evidence to get revenge for my loss. This isn't just about Paul. It's about all thirty-seven victims."