Devil's Claw (15 page)

Joanna felt a sudden fury wash through her. “I know his number,” she stormed. “And if it was that damned important, he could have called me on my cell phone. He knows
my
numbers, too. I sure as hell haven’t changed them! He just wanted to come by, hassle me, and nose around in my business.”

“Come on, Joey,” Butch said, using the private nickname he had bestowed on her. “Don’t be upset. He didn’t cause any trouble, and he didn’t say anything out of line.”

“He should have told you what he wanted,” Joanna insisted. “That was rude, treating you as if you’re incapable of passing along a simple message.”

Butch laughed aloud at that. “You don’t understand very much about men, do you?”

Joanna frowned. “What’s so funny? And what do you mean by that?”

“I mean Dick Voland and I were in a contest, and I won. Dick’s the big loser here. I’ve got you, and he doesn’t. Believe me, Dick Voland isn’t ever going to sit down and have a long, heart-to-heart discussion with me. He hates my guts, and he’s going to do his best to pretend I don’t exist.”

“What about you?” Joanna asked.

“I feel sorry for him, but not that sorry.”

“Regardless,” Joanna said. “It’s late, and I’m not calling him back tonight. Whatever the big secret is, it’s going to have to wait until morning.”

“Good enough,” Butch said. “Now, did you have any dinner?”

“No,” Joanna answered, noticing for the first time that she was hungry.

“After that big, late lunch, all Jenny and I had were a couple of scrambled eggs and toast. Would you like me to make you some?”

“Please.”

While Butch scrambled eggs, Joanna undressed and locked her weapons away. Then, wearing her nightgown and robe, she returned to the kitchen to make toast and pour a glass of milk while she told Butch about the situation with Catherine Yates, her dead daughter, Sandra, and her missing granddaughter, Lucy.

“Not a very happy story,” Joanna concluded. “Here I should have been spending the weekend enjoying Jenny’s birthday celebration with you and getting ready for our wedding. Instead, I’m busy worrying about who’s killing whom and why.”

“Which reminds me,” Butch said, getting up to clear the table. “George called, too. Just a little while ago. He said it was something to do with Clayton Rhodes, but he also said that he and your mother were going to bed as soon as the news was over. He said he’d talk to you about it in the morning.”

Joanna looked down at her watch. By then it was close to midnight. “It’s almost morning right now,” she observed. “If we’re going to church tomorrow, we’d better get to bed.”

“You go on, if you want to,” Butch said. “I’ll clean up the kitchen and then shove off for home.”

“You mean you’re not staying?”

“Waking up naked this morning with Jenny right there in the room made a believer of me,” Butch said with a rueful smile. “No more sleep-overs for us until after the wedding. I don’t want people to talk any more than they already do. But don’t worry. I’ll come out first thing in the morning and help with the animals.”

“It’s all right. Jenny and I can feed the animals.”

“Well, I’ll come fix you breakfast, then. We have to build up our strength so we’ll be ready to clean that oven tomorrow afternoon.”

Joanna laughed aloud at that. She came across the kitchen and hugged him close. “I love you, Butch Dixon,” she said. “Thank you for caring about what Jenny thinks and about what people say.”

Firmly Butch moved her away from him, leaving her standing in the middle of the room and safely out of arm’s reach. “And I love you, but no more thanks like that,” he said. “If you’re not careful, I’ll end up changing my mind and I’ll stay over after all.”

It was late in the afternoon before Lucy once more ventured out of her hiding place among the gigantic boulders scattered across the Texas Canyon landscape. Emotionally and physically exhausted, she had slept most of the day. Now chilly, lonely, and longing for the comfort of a soda or candy bar from a vending machine, she approached the fenced freeway rest area.

There were half a dozen eighteen-wheelers parked in the designated truck parking area, but there was only one car—an SUV—parked near the entrance to the rest rooms and the vending machines. There was a man standing leaning against it, talking on a cell phone. When Lucy was close enough to distinguish his features, she gave a gasp of dismay. It was the same man she had seen the night before—the man who had shot her mother.

Panicked and sobbing, Lucy fled back into the desert.
How did he find me?
she wondered.
How did he know I was here?

CHAPTER 9

Lucy was still shaken by what had happened earlier. She had gone down to the rest area to use the phone again, and her mother’s killer was still there—waiting. Stunned, she had melted back into the desert before he or any of the half dozen truckers stopped there noticed her. The rest of the afternoon and evening and far into the night she had struggled to find answers. He must have known she was there, but how? What he wanted she didn’t need to ask. He was looking for her—for Lucy—and for his computer disk. Once he found them, there was no doubt in Lucy’s mind about what he would do—take the diskette and kill her, the same way he had killed Lucy’s mother.

At last, as the sky gradually grew lighter in the east, Lucy slept. She was still sleeping hours later, when Big Red’s warning screech issued an alarm. He had made that peculiar noise other times when they had been together on their solitary Cochise Stronghold adventures. And always that particular sound meant the same thing—a warning that someone was coming.

Panicked into full wakefulness, Lucy scrambled out of the bedroll. Standing shaking in the full morning sun, she looked skyward. Outlined against the blue sky, Big Red flew in frantic circles, pinpointing the position of something or someone who was coming toward Lucy’s camping place from the south, from the direction of the rest area.

In a futile effort to keep warm overnight, Lucy had stayed dressed. Not only was she still wearing her jacket, she was also wearing her sneakers. Now she was glad she was. Grabbing only her backpack, she fled uphill and away from whoever it was who was coming—as if she didn’t know.

In Cochise Stronghold, she had often tried to teach herself the things her ancestor, the Apache chief, Eskiminzin, must always have known. With careful practice she had taught herself to run long distances over rough terrain, leaving behind little or no trail. She did this now. Leaping from rock to rock, she sprinted for nearly a mile, leaving no discernible footprints to mark her passage. At last, gasping for breath, she squirreled herself into a cleft between two huge boulders, and there she stayed—listening, waiting, and wondering how long it would be before he somehow tracked her there as well.

Joanna Brady awakened Sunday morning as Jenny eased herself onto the side of the bed. “Where’s Butch?” Jenny asked.

“He went home,” Joanna mumbled sleepily. She would have liked nothing better than to roll back over and sleep a little longer, but Jenny was fully rested and ready for conversation.

“How come?”

“How come what?”

“Why’d he go home?”

“Because that’s where he lives.”

Opening her eyes, Joanna studied her daughter. Jenny was perched on the edge of the bed with her blond frizz of hair backlit by morning sun. In that light, she looked more like a haloed angel than a little girl. Joanna felt a sudden surge of thanksgiving that, despite Andy’s death, Jenny seemed to be doing more than merely coping. She gave every appearance of being a well-adjusted, sweet, and relatively innocent child. When Lucinda Ridder’s father was killed, Lucy had been almost the same age Jenny was when Andy died. Now, as a fifteen-year-old, Lucy Ridder was at best a runaway and at worst a homicide suspect.

Joanna reached over, grabbed Jenny by the shoulders, and wrestled her into a smothering bear hug.

“What was that all about?” Jenny demanded once she had wriggled loose.

“I love you is all,” Joanna said, clambering out of bed. “Now that I’m awake, I suppose we’d better get out and feed those animals. They’re probably hungry. Compared to the schedule Clayton Rhodes kept, you and I are a couple of slugabeds.”

Butch showed up while Jenny and Joanna were out in the barn doing chores. By the time they finished and returned to the house, breakfast was ready. There were glasses of fresh-squeezed orange juice and bowls of steaming Malt-o-meal waiting on the table.

“We’re a team,” Butch said cheerfully when Joanna kissed him good morning. “A well-oiled machine.”

The phone rang just as they were slipping into their places in the breakfast nook. Jenny scampered off to collect the phone and brought it back to the kitchen.

“Who is it?” Joanna mouthed as Jenny handed her the phone.

Jenny merely shrugged and rolled her eyes. “How would I know?” she returned.

“Hello?” Joanna said.

“Joanna,” Burton Kimball said. “Glad you’re there. Sorry to bother you so early on a Sunday morning, but I tried to reach you several times yesterday. When you didn’t return my calls, I was afraid you were out of town.”

Burton Kimball was a Bisbee-area attorney. His practice included a good deal of criminal defense work, and Joanna wondered which of his clients was in such dire straits that Kimball would be working this early on a Sunday morning.

“Sorry about that,” Joanna said. “I was out of town most of the day. Then, when we came back, I was called out on a case and didn’t get home until it was too late to return anybody’s calls. What’s up?”

“It’s about Clayton Rhodes,” Burton Kimball said.

“Clayton Rhodes!” Joanna exclaimed. “How can you already have a client, since my investigators aren’t close to having a suspect?”

“Mr. Rhodes
was
my client,” Burton returned. “I did some estate planning for him. His daughter showed up on her broom yesterday afternoon. The funeral is tentatively scheduled for Monday. Even so, Reba Singleton insisted on having the will opened and read yesterday evening. I tried contacting you beforehand so you could be here when it was read, but—”

“Why would I need to be there?” Joanna asked. “As far as I know, Clayton’s death resulted from natural causes. In any event—even in the case of an apparent homicide—there’s no need for a sheriff’s department representative to attend the reading of a will.”

“Not as a representative of the sheriff’s department,” Kimball responded. “You. Joanna Brady. The reason I wanted you in attendance is that you’re a major beneficiary.”

That stopped Joanna cold. “Me?” she asked dazedly. “I’m a beneficiary?”

“Yes. Clayton rewrote his will a year and a half ago. He left Rhodes Ranch to you—all three hundred and twenty acres of it. It’s free and clear, house and all.”

Joanna could barely believe her ears. “I don’t get it. Clayton Rhodes left his place to me?” she stammered. “That’s impossible! A ridiculous joke! You mean to say he left Reba out of his will entirely, that he disowned his own daughter in favor of me?”

“Not entirely. He and Molly had tons of savings bonds, as well as a whole bunch of certificates of deposit. There will be plenty of cash to pay final expenses, including all applicable income and estate taxes. Whatever money is left after taxes goes to Reba, but you’re to have the property and whatever personal effects Reba doesn’t want. You’re to deal with those as you see fit. No strings attached.”

Stunned, Joanna felt the blood drain from her face, causing both Butch and Jenny to cast worried looks in her direction. “What is it, Mom?” Jenny asked. “What’s wrong?”

“Clayton left two letters—one for you and one for Reba,” Burton Kimball continued. “I gave Reba hers last night. I was wondering if I shouldn’t bring yours out to you this morning. I want you to be aware of everything that’s going on because of Reba, you see. I’m concerned about her reaction. She and her father had been estranged for years—ever since her mother’s death—but I’m afraid this still hit her pretty hard. I wouldn’t be surprised if she didn’t try to make trouble, if she hasn’t already, that is.”

“When did you read the will?” Joanna asked.

“Yesterday evening. She came to see me around noon, about as soon as she got to town, I guess. I don’t think she even bothered to go to the funeral home before she showed up at my house—in a limo, no less—demanding to see the will right then. In all my years in practice, I’ve never seen anything like it. I tried to stall; told her there were other people involved who should be present as well, but when I couldn’t reach you, I finally went ahead without you. She insisted. Have you seen her yet?”