Devil's Claw (4 page)

Sighing, Joanna Brady opened her eyes and forced herself up from the couch where she had inadvertently dozed off while waiting for Jenny to finish her bath so they could both go to bed. “Tigger,” she called. “You come here.”

But even as she said the words, she knew it was hopeless. Tigger, Jenny’s half golden retriever/half pit bull, was one of the most stubborn dogs Joanna had ever met. Simply calling to him wouldn’t do the job. Walking into the steamy bathroom, she grabbed Tigger’s collar and bodily hauled the dripping dog out of the toilet bowl. Then, closing the door to keep him out of the bathroom, she led him through the kitchen and into the laundry room.

“There,” she said, pointing at the water dish. “That’s where you’re supposed to drink.”

Except, even as Joanna said the words, she realized the water dish was empty. And not just empty, either—it was bone-dry. Reaching down, Joanna picked up the dish and filled it at the laundry-room sink. As soon as she put the dish down, Sadie, Jenny’s other dog appeared in the kitchen doorway as well. The long-legged bluetick hound and the shorter, stockier mutt stood side by side lapping eagerly from the same dish.

That’s odd,
Joanna thought.
That’s usually the first thing Clayton does when he comes over to do the chores. He lets himself into the house to feed and water the dogs.

Clayton Rhodes was Joanna’s nearest neighbor. A bow-legged, spindly octogenarian, Clayton was a hardworking widower whose 320 acres were situated just north of Joanna’s High Lonesome Ranch. For years now, ever since Joanna’s husband’s death, Clayton had come to the High Lonesome mornings and evenings six days a week to feed and water the ranch’s growing collection of animals. The man was nothing if not dependable, but now, watching the thirsty dogs, Joanna recalled the unusual attention Sadie and Tigger had focused on the dinner table that evening while she and Jenny ate.

“Did he forget to feed you guys, too?” Joanna asked. “Do you want to eat?”

At the mere mention of the magic word “eat,” Tigger left the water dish and began his frantic “feed me” dance. Shaking her head and half convinced the dogs were lying to her, Joanna collected the two individual food dishes and filled them as well. While the dogs wagged their tails and enthusiastically crunched dry dog food, Joanna went out onto the back porch to check the outside water dish. That one, too, was empty.

“Poor babies,” Joanna murmured as she filled that dish as well. “He must have forgotten about you completely.”

For Clayton Rhodes, forgetting to feed or water animals was totally out of character. Joanna wondered if something had happened that afternoon to distract him. Briefly she considered calling and checking, but a glance at her watch convinced her otherwise. It was almost nine o’clock. She knew that as soon as Clayton finished his hired-hand duties on High Lonesome Ranch, he returned home, ate his solitary dinner, and went to bed almost as soon as the sun went down.

“Early to bed, early to rise,” he had told Joanna once. “That’s the secret to living a long healthy life.” And it must have worked. Only three months earlier, at age eighty-five, Clayton Rhodes had finally sold off his last horse and given up horseback riding for good.

A few minutes later Joanna was back in the living room with the sated dogs lying contentedly at her feet when Jenny emerged from the bathroom wearing a robe and toweling dry her mop of platinum-blond hair. “Can I stay up and watch TV?” she asked. “It’s Friday. I don’t have school tomorrow.”

“You may not have school,” Joanna conceded, “but tomorrow’s going to be a busy day. We’d both better get some rest.”

Jenny made a face. “More stupid wedding stuff, I suppose,” she huffed.

Joanna’s scheduled wedding to Frederick “Butch” Dixon was a week and a day away. It wasn’t that Jenny was opposed to the match. As far as Joanna could tell, her daughter exhibited every sign of adoring Butch Dixon and of looking forward to having a stepfather. Nonetheless, within days of dealing with pre-wedding logistics—something Joanna’s mother, Eleanor Lathrop Winfield, seemed to adore—Jenny had been bored to tears with the whole tedious process. In fact, as wedding plans continued to expand exponentially, Joanna was beginning to feel the same way herself. Even now, at this late date, she was tempted to back out and settle for a nice, uncomplicated elopement, just as she had years earlier when she married Jenny’s father, Andrew Roy Brady.

Her penalty for running off to marry Andy in a hastily arranged, shotgun-style wedding had been years of unremitting recrimination from her mother. Right now, though, with Eleanor Lathrop Winfield functioning in fearsome, full-scale mother-of-the-bride mode, the idea of eloping a second time was becoming more and more appealing.

“Let your mother have her fun,” Butch had said early on. “What can it hurt?”

Famous last words. Little had Butch known that once Eleanor Lathrop Winfield took the bit in her teeth, nothing would stop her or even slow her down. Since she had missed her daughter’s first wedding, Eleanor was determined to make this second one a resounding social success. Butch had said those fateful words
before
the guest list had burgeoned to over a hundred and fifty—a crowd that would fill the sanctuary of Canyon United Methodist Church to overflowing. It would also test the considerable patience and capabilities of Myron Thomas, the man who ran the catering concession at the Rob Roy Links in Palominas, the county’s newest and most prestigious golf course and the only place in Cochise County where what Eleanor termed a “four-star reception” could be held.

By now even Butch’s easygoing good nature had been stretched to the limit. He was the one who had pointed out that Jenny’s twelfth birthday on the fifth of April would fall right in the middle of their upcoming honeymoon. He had suggested that the three of them—bride, groom, and Jenny—abandon the wedding roller coaster for a day or two in order to spend that weekend focused on Jenny and her birthday.

“Not wedding,” Joanna said in answer to her daughter’s question. “Birthday. How would you like to go up to Tucson tomorrow and do some shopping?”

Jenny brightened immediately. “Really?” she said. “Can Butch go too?”

“Since it was his idea in the first place,” Joanna replied, “I don’t think wild horses would keep him away.”

“Where are we going, Tucson Mall?”

“Maybe,” Joanna said evasively. “But maybe not.”

“Where?” Jenny asked. “Tell me.”

Joanna shook her head. “It’s a secret,” she said.

Actually, she and Butch and Jenny’s two sets of existing grandparents had already agreed on a joint gift. For some time, Jenny had made do with secondhand tack for her horse, a sorrel gelding named Kiddo. Now that she was getting ready to go barrel racing on the junior rodeo circuit, her ragtag collection of used equipment no longer quite fit the bill. As a result, the adults in Jenny’s life had agreed on a birthday purchase of a new saddle in addition to all the accompanying bells and whistles.

“Well, then,” Jenny said, “I guess I’d better go to bed.” She turned and started from the room.

“Wait a minute,” Joanna said. “Didn’t you forget something? What about my good-night kiss?”

Jenny rolled her eyes. “Mom,” she said. “I’m almost twelve. That’s too old for good-night kisses.”

“I’ll decide what’s too old for good-night kisses. Now come here!” Joanna commanded.

Shaking her head, Jenny came across the room, planted a glancing kiss on the top of Joanna’s head, and then darted away before her mother could capture her in a hug.

“You’re a brat,” Joanna told her.

“A nearly twelve-year-old brat,” Jenny agreed with a grin, then she disappeared into her bedroom and closed the door.

For some time, Joanna remained where she was, sitting on the couch and wondering how it was all going to work. In the time since Andy’s death, she had grown accustomed to having the house to herself in the evenings, to doing things her own way, without having to consult any other adult about how the place was run. She and Jenny had hit on a reasonable way for the two of them to share the house’s single bathroom. And all the while Butch had lived the same way—on his own. How would all the logistics work out when they tried to combine two separate households and lifestyles together?

Financially, they would be fine. With Butch’s income from selling his Roundhouse Bar and Grill and Joanna’s salary as sheriff, the two of them would be rich by Cochise County standards. They had talked about the possibility of selling High Lonesome Ranch and moving into a place that was neutral territory—a house where neither of them had lived before. But Joanna didn’t want to live in town, and neither did Butch.

High Lonesome Ranch was only a few miles east of the Cochise County Justice Complex where Joanna worked, but it was far enough away to offer a retreat from some of the stresses of her job. It was a place where Jenny could have a horse—more than one, if she wanted—and multiple dogs as well. As for Butch, the ranch offered a perfect hideaway for someone dealing with the tortuous process of writing his first novel. In the end, Butch and Joanna had decided that the High Lonesome was where they would stay.

The upshot of that decision had Butch moving into Joanna’s house with an eye toward doing some serious remodeling—adding another bedroom, an office, and an additional bathroom, as well as totally redoing the kitchen. He was enthusiastic about the prospect of tackling this ambitious project and confident in his ability to get the job done. Joanna had her doubts. Her misgivings stemmed from having lived seven years of her childhood in an ongoing construction project while her father had spent all his off-work hours trying to remodel the family home on Campbell Street to Eleanor Lathrop’s demanding and ever-changing specifications.

Shaking herself out of her reverie, Joanna got up and headed out to the kitchen to finish loading the dishwasher and cleaning off the counters. As she put in the soap and turned on the dishwasher, Sadie strolled over to the back door and whined to be let out.

“Time to go for a walk, girl?” Joanna asked as she went to open the door. “Come on, Tigger, you, too. Out you go so we can all come back inside and go to sleep.”

While the dogs went wandering off to relieve themselves, Joanna stood on the back porch. The blustery wind that had blown all day long had died down, but even without the wind, the thirty-degree drop between daytime and nighttime temperatures left Joanna feeling chilled. She shivered while looking off across the sparsely settled Sulphur Springs Valley to where a golden sliver of full moon was beginning to rise up over the Chiricahua Mountains.

Sadie was already back in the house and Tigger was nosing his way up the walkway when Joanna heard Kiddo neighing from his stall in the barn. Kiddo’s whinny was soon joined by a chorus of unsettled mooing from Joanna’s several head of cattle out in the corral. That struck her as odd. Usually, once the sun went down, the livestock didn’t make much noise. They lived on a schedule similar to Clayton Rhodes’ early-to-bed-and-early-to-rise credo.

Standing listening, Joanna found herself wondering if maybe the dogs weren’t the only ones who had missed out on food and water. Returning to the laundry room, she grabbed her lined denim jacket off the peg and stuffed a flashlight into her pocket. Then she hurried out through the yard and across the clearing between the fenced yard and the barn. As she passed the garage with its motion-activated light, the bare dirt clearing was brightly illuminated. She glanced down, looking for tire tracks in the fine dust. There was no sign that Clayton Rhodes’ truck had been there at all that day.
Maybe the wind blew them away,
she thought.

But once in the barn with the lights switched on, Joanna knew that wasn’t true. Kiddo was locked in a stall that clearly hadn’t been cleaned that day, and the door to his paddock, which should have been open, was closed. His water barrel was dry, his feeding trough empty. Fuming to herself, Joanna used a hose to fill the water barrel. Then she poured out a measure of oats and wrestled some hay out of a new bale.

Out in the corral, her ten head of cattle were in much the same shape, although at least the float in the stock tank allowed their water to fill automatically. She fed the cattle along with her collection of chickens and rabbits. At first she was more angry than anything. If something had happened to Clayton—if he was sick or something—the least he could have done was to call her at work or at home and leave a message saying he wouldn’t be in to work that day. But by the time Joanna finished the chores, her anger had changed to concern. Clayton Rhodes had always been totally reliable. Something serious must have happened to him. And for an elderly person living alone in the boonies, Joanna worried that whatever it was might be even more alarming.

With the animals fed and bedded down, she hurried back into the house and headed straight for the phone in the living room. She had taken messages as soon as she came home. None of those had been from Clayton. Now she scrolled through the screen on her Caller ID module. No calls from him showed there, either.

By then it was well past ten o’clock and that much later than Clayton’s usual bedtime. Nonetheless, Joanna picked up the phone and dialed his number. She listened impatiently while the phone rang seven times without any answer. Ending the call, Joanna dialed Dispatch at the Cochise County Sheriff’s Department. Tica Romero answered.

“What’s up, Sheriff Brady?” the night-shift dispatcher asked.

“Have you logged any nine-one-one calls today from my neighbor, Clayton Rhodes?” Joanna asked.

“No. How come?”

“He didn’t show up for work today,” Joanna replied. “Evidently not this morning and not this afternoon, either. Who’s patrolling this sector?”

“Nobody at the moment,” Tica replied. “Deputy Pakin is assigned there, but he just responded to a serious-injury accident on Highway eighty out east of Douglas. Deputy Howell is finishing up with a domestic over in Saint David. I could check and see how long it would take her to get here.”