“I’m all right,” she answered carefully. “And I’m sure Jenny will be relieved to have a little bit of ordinariness back in her life for today at least.”

“You’re sure you’re not mad at me or anything, are you?” Butch asked.

“I’m not mad, but I am on my way to work. I’m about to be late, and I’m worried about how I’ll ever get caught up enough to be gone for a whole week. Do we have to stay away that long? Couldn’t we come back a day or two early-maybe in time for Jenny’s birthday?”

“No, we can’t, Joanna. Definitely negative on that. I’ve talked it over with Jenny, and she’s cool about us missing her actual birthday. Not only that, as your newly designated husband, I’m making it my first priority to see to it that you don’t work yourself into an early grave. I’m going to start by insisting that you actually take your vacation time as vacation. Working vacations like sheriffs‘-conference trips don’t count.”

“All right,” she said. “If you’re going to insist on taking care of me, the least I can do is stop griping about it.”

“Good decision,” he said.

Joanna made it to her desk right at eight, but when no one showed up for the morning briefing, she gathered up a collection of files and went searching for Frank Montoya and her two detectives. In the reception room outside Joanna’s office, Kristin was at her desk and sorting mail when Joanna walked in. “Where is everybody?” she asked.

“The conference room,” Kristin replied. “Chief Deputy Montoya said that since the Double Cs are coming, the conference room would be a better fit for the briefing than your office.”

Joanna grabbed a cup of coffee on her way past the corner pot and then hurried into the conference room in time to hear Frank Montoya say, “We’ll have to leave that up to Sheriff Brady.”

“What are you leaving up to me?” she asked.

“Contacting Bill Forsythe, the new sheriff up in Pima County,” Detective Carpenter replied. “If we’re going to have any kind of information sharing on Melanie Goodson’s death, OD or otherwise, we’re going to have to let them know what we’re up against on our end. What’s more, the only way it’s going to happen is from the top down, because it sure as hell isn’t going to happen from the bottom up.”

“I’ll work on it as soon as we finish up here,” Joanna said. “Now, what else have I missed?”

“Nothing much,” Frank replied. “We were just sitting around jawing and waiting for you to show up.”

Joanna took her place at the head of the table. The morning’s stack of incident reports sat in front of her. She moved that aside in favor of Frank Montoya’s Thomas Ridder file, which she had carried into the conference room along with her coffee cup.

“All right, gentlemen. Where do we stand on the Ridder murders, assuming of course that Melanie Goodson is connected? I’m guessing we still haven’t found any trace of Lucy?”

Frank shook his head. “Other than her busted-up bicycle, no. S and R, along with Terry Gregovich and Spike, spent all day yesterday combing the rest area and the adjoining part of Texas Canyon. In the hills above the rest area they found a spot where it looked as though she might have camped out for a day or so. Then they followed a trail down as far as the highway, where it disappeared. S and R offered to go back out there today, but I told them not to bother. My guess is she’s long gone.”

“She got into a vehicle,” Joanna suggested.

“Presumably, yes.”

“What about the bird? Didn’t Catherine Yates tell us that Big Red wouldn’t be caught dead riding in a car?”

Frank nodded. “She did say that,” he agreed. “But maybe Big Red is dead. After all, things do happen to hawks, especially around busy highways. And it’s not what he’s used to. Interstate Ten is a whole lot busier than the roads that lead to Cochise Stronghold.”

Nodding, Joanna turned to her detectives. “What’s happening up in Tucson?”

“I called Santa Theresa’s first thing this morning to see when we could make an appointment to see Sister Celeste,” Jaime Carbajal put in. “The lady who answered the phone told me she won’t be in all day today, either. I should try calling back tomorrow.”

“Sounds to me like you’re getting the runaround,” Joanna said.

“Sounds like it to me, too,” Jaime replied. “I tried asking if maybe she was attending a meeting somewhere, thinking we might be able to catch up with her at lunchtime, wherever she is, but the secretary clammed up on me and said I’d have to talk to her once she returns.”

“Great,” Joanna sighed. “Now what about the Pima County detectives working the Melanie Goodson case?”

Ernie Carpenter shrugged. When he frowned, his eyebrows seemed to come together, forming a solid caterpillar of hair across his broad forehead. “What about them? Like I said before, they’re not going to give us the time of day unless a specific order comes down to them from upstairs, preferably one signed in God’s own handwriting.”

Joanna scribbled Bill Forsythe’s name on the top line of her day’s to-do list. “I’ll get right on it,” she said. “Any information about when the Goodson autopsy will be completed?” she continued.

“Preliminary results today,” Ernie said, consulting his own notes. “But it’s going to boil down to toxicology reports, so you know that’s going to take time-a week or so, most likely.”

“Frank, what about you?” Joanna asked. “Do you have anything to add?”

“Fortunately, our working relationship with the City of Tucson PD is a little less troubled than our dealings are with Pima County,” Frank answered. “Consequently, I did manage to lay hands on a copy of the original case file for the Thomas Ridder shooting.”

“Complete with ballistics reports?” Joanna asked.

“Yes,” Frank said. “I think so.”

“Does it say what size bullet killed him?”

Montoya opened the thick file and thumbed through several pages before stopping to peruse one in particular. “Here it is,” he said. “Says here he died of a twenty-two-caliber bullet wound. The slug hit him in the heart, killing him instantly.”

“Was the weapon ever recovered?” Joanna asked.

Once again Frank consulted the file. “Not that it says here; why?”

“How soon can we get a ballistics report back from the DPS gun lab on the bullet that killed Sandra Ridder?”

“Today, probably, if I call up and ask them to rush it. But what’s going on?”

“What if the murder weapon is what was hidden in Sandra Ridder’s Tupperware bowl all this time?” Joanna asked. “All along I’ve been thinking that Sandra Ridder may have been killed with the gun Lucy lifted from her grandmother’s place. But what if that isn’t the case? What if she was killed with the same gun she used to shoot her husband years ago?”

“I’ll call up to Tucson and check as soon as we finish up with this meeting.”

“Would a twenty-two fit in that Tupperware container?” Jaime Carbajal asked.

“Sure,” Frank said. “One of those little featherweights would fit in a minute.”

Joanna turned to her detectives. “Ernie, what are you and Jaime doing today?”

“Paper, mostly. Then, if you can clear us to talk to those Pima County guys, I’d like to be able to shadow their investigation as closely as possible. Sandra Ridder’s funeral is scheduled for this afternoon at two over in Pearce. I don’t see any reason for both of us to go, so Jaime’s going to handle that.”

Joanna looked at the younger detective. “And here’s something else you can take care of at the same time. I’ve gone through all the Tom Ridder material Frank gave me yesterday. Nowhere does it refer to Melanie Goodson as being Sandra Ridder’s court-appointed attorney.”

“Somebody paid the bill,” Jaime said at once.

“Right,” Joanna returned. “Since you’ll be at the funeral, maybe you can ask Catherine Yates if she’s the one who paid Melanie Goodson’s fee. If it was somebody other than Sandra’s mother, let’s find out who that person was.”