Four fifteen had been right. It wasn't long before Hotch again heard the lock being undone and the door opened to reveal a woman with long dark hair, dressed in a floral cotton dress and also wearing a white cotton mask. She was carefully carrying a tray with what appeared to be food on it.
"This is for you," she told Hotch in a soft voice as she placed the tray on the cot beside him. "It's your dinner."
"You're not going to have any?" Hotch questioned after he had taken the cover off the tray and seen that there was only one plate of food.
"It's better if I don't eat before – You know," the woman replied as she stood looking at him hesitantly.
"Why don't you sit down here with me so we can talk as I eat?" Hotch suggested as he pointed to a spot on the other side of the tray.
"If you like," the woman replied agreeably as she carefully took a seat.
"What would you like to talk about?" she asked curiously.
"Well, for a starter, did you make this?" Hotch asked as he put a forkful of food into his mouth. "It's really very good."
"I don't work in the kitchen," the woman told him. "My job is with the sewing."
"You make clothes for the people who live here?" Hotch guessed. Most of the people he had seen thus far appeared to be wearing hand-made clothes.
"No, I work with the tops that are sent off the island," was the explanation. "Right now I'm assigned to doing the initial seams, not the fancy embroidery."
"Sent off the island," Hotch repeated thoughtfully. He was slowly building a picture of what life on this island was like.
"Yes," the woman agreed. "But I'm working on the older style tops, not the newer ones with a drawstring that 586 designed. We haven't shipped any of them yet."
"Where are the tops shipped to?" Hotch asked cautiously.
"I don't know," was the reply. "The same place the crops are shipped, I guess. The owners probably handle that."
"What owners?"
"Why the owners of the island, of course."