Muggy air wrapped around Ainsley as they walked to the crime scene. Air so thick you could stir it with a spoon. She couldn’t wait to get back to the mountains in Tennessee where she’d lived for the past four years. Before that, it’d been a new park almost every year. As it was, she barely kept pace with the district ranger as they hiked to the old Methodist church. Right now Sam was a good thirty feet ahead of her and had barely broken a sweat, whereas perspiration rolled down Ainsley’s face. He stopped and waited for her. “Forgot you’re not used to the heat.” It wasn’t the heat that slowed her down. “I’ll have to get acclimated to breathing water again,” she said, catching her breath. He chuckled. “Yeah, it’s not the heat that kills you—it’s the humidity.” Standard joke in the South. “Absolutely. Has a time of death been established?” “Unofficially, the ME estimates Hannah died sometime between eleven and three. When I get the report, I’ll send it to you.” She was glad he used the girl’s name. Let her know he viewed her death on a personal level. They left the road for a narrow,…