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me to let you know if anything happened concerning the Rachel Smith property."
    He sat up straight. “Yes."
    "This morning a young woman brought in a deed to be filed on the property, transferring title from Rachel Smith to Jamey Schyler."
    "Did the woman give her name?"
    "No, just said a friend asked her to drop it off. She flew in and out in just a matter of minutes."
    "What'd she look like?"
    "Very attractive, long brown hair pulled back into a French braid, very distinct green eyes and dressed like a million dollars."
    "How long will it take to get the deed filed and on record?"
    "She asked the same thing, and I told her probably a few days to a week."
    "What did she say?"
    "It didn't make her happy and she wanted to know if there would be any way to hurry it along. I told her I'd do what I could."
    "Hmm, thanks, Sheila. Appreciate it."
    Hawkman's hand rested on the receiver for a few seconds after hanging up. “Brown hair and green eyes,” he mumbled. Jamey had blond hair and big brown eyes. It might very well be an acquaintance, but probably no one from this area. He didn't recall Jamey having any friendships except her relationship with Mark. Medford seemed out of the way for anyone to drop off a deed when the mail service could do it much easier.
    He fingered his new mustache. When Jamey disappeared over a year ago, she'd obviously flew out of here incognito. They'd circulated her picture at the airport and rental car agencies, but no one recalled seeing her.
    She could very well try a disguise again. And dyed hair with green contact lenses would definitely change her looks. Also, with all the money she and her accomplice had acquired from the stolen jewels, he imagined her taste in clothes had dramatically changed.
    Hawkman suspected Jamey had returned. If so, where had she holed up and for how long? And what would be her next move? Since Charley hadn't mentioned a price on the property, one probably hadn't been set. No sense in talking to the rental company as they didn't get involved with sales.
    More than likely, she'd contact Charley to work out a deal, or hire a real estate agent. But if she did that, she'd have to give up a percentage of the sale price. Knowing Jamey, Hawkman figured she'd do it on her own. Her staying in the area long enough for the deed to get recorded didn't appear likely. She'd work something out with Charley, hop a plane back to South America, and do the rest by mail. Hawkman stared into space, drumming his fingers on the desk.
    Normally, Hawkman didn't mind talking to people about their personal affairs if it involved his work. However, he felt uneasy asking Charley a bunch of questions. Maybe if he explained a little more about Jamey and her role in the diamond heist, the old farmer wouldn't think him nosy.
    He dialed Charley's number. The answering machine picked up and Hawkman left a message to call him on his cell phone. He pictured the old farmer working in the garden.

CHAPTER SEVEN
    Hawkman continued working for several hours on a couple of new cases he'd acquired the past week. Even though nasty divorces left a sour taste in his mouth, those had to be dealt with too.
    He glanced at his watch and noted the time. Why hadn't Charley returned his call? Surely the man took a break from gardening to go inside and eat once in awhile. Hawkman smiled to himself as he closed the folder. The old farmer didn't like new fangled gadgets. He'd told Hawkman his daughter had forced him to purchase that danged answering machine contraption. “Don't even know how to use the thing,” he complained. Hawkman doubted the man even understood why the red light blinked.
    Locking the office, he decided to visit Charley personally and it gave him the opportunity to check on the progress of the garden. When he turned the corner, he spotted the farmer's pickup pulling in at the back of the house. He parked in the front and walked around just as Charley, dressed in a starched shirt, a pair of new jeans and