The group of freelance explorers from south of the border are down to their last few ounces of water, which Cassandra is carefully consolidating into a single jug. The guy who beat up their double-crossing truck driver suggests they go in the direction of some buildings they can see on a distant hillside, but she says the trip cameras will catch them and points deeper into the hills. Where they can presumably die of exposure and dehydration in freedom.
Charlotte's going through papers and bills in her husband's office when she spots the crock that Flagman left earlier. She clearly didn't lift the lid off of it until now, because it contains no three-bean salad. Instead, there are five slim bricks of crisp hundred-dollar bills in there. Probably ten or twenty grand. Charlotte doesn't look as pleased about this as you might think. After all, that crock could have contained something nasty like a bomb, or a turd, or a finger, or three-bean salad.
Cross and Ruiz drive back out to the spot where the judge's car was found. The vehicle has since been towed and the spot marked only by a rectangle of crime scene tape. And a new addition: a freshly killed coyote, impaled through its throat on a pole. The deputy they met last week at this spot rolls up, saying he saw them driving past. He explains to a disgusted Cross that he was the one who killed the coyote and then hung it like a yard sign, in order to keep the crime scene undisturbed and scaring off other vermin. Great, now how do they keep the deputy away? He points out his additional efforts to protect the spot, including his self-assigned stakeout, which is all groundwork so he can ask for a spot on the task force. He did find the vehicle, after all, and this investigation is going to need the kind of sharp-eyed sleuth that can spot a car parked in the middle of nowhere with one of its doors hanging open. "We'll keep you in mind," Ruiz lies. The deputy suddenly comes over all migraine-y and retreats to his car, just in time for Cross to spot a tiny bead all, but embedded on top a nearby rock. So there was something there after all. Great, that ought to crack this.
Flagman is bragging to a personal injury client in his storefront office when Charlotte comes storming in with his crock, which she opens right in front of them both. "This is three-bean salad," she says, dumping it out on his desk. "And this," she adds, producing the cash from a pocket and throwing it down next to the salad, "is money, and I don't want it," She adds that she was a hostess, not a waitress. "I stand corrected, ma'am," he says mildly as she leaves, actually looking pretty sinister even with his almost complete lack of affect. Or -- as is usually the case with Lyle Lovett -- because of it. But since he now knows she wasn't a lowly server, I'm totally sure this will be the end of it. He and his shady clients will be too embarrassed at having messed up her resume to want to pursue whatever highly illegal and lucrative undertaking they have going on. Besides, who wants to wake up in the morning with a three-bean salad on the pillow next to you?