"Nah, I just collect lumber for fun." He rolls his eyes. "Yes, I'm here for firewood. In case you haven't noticed, it's cold out." Curiosity rears -- the morbid kind. He finds himself asking, "What is it you have to do here?"

The sooner the FBI agent goes, or tries to go, the better, as far as he's concerned. Especially if she'll leave the lumber yard. He's pretty sure FBI agents and murderers are natural enemies.