Joanna turned at once to the enlarged map of Cochise County that she had tacked to the wall over her living room phone. There were two forks to Skeleton Canyon. The south fork ran virtually north and south and was entirely inside Cochise County. The north fork ran east and west and crossed over into New Mexico.

“You’re sure this is our deal and not Sheriff Trotter’s over in New Mexico?” Joanna asked. She couldn’t help hoping the wrecked truck would end up being someone else’s problem instead of hers.

“It’s ours, all right,” Tica answered. “It’s the south fork, not the north. And the truck isn’t all,” she continued. “Mr. Hacker says-^”

“Mr. Hacker?” Joanna asked. “You mean Dennis Hacker, the parrot guy?”

“I don’t know anything about parrots, but that’s the name he gave. Dennis Hacker. Do you know him?”

“Yes. What does he say?”

“That one of your friends is missing up there as well. Her name is Angie Kellogg. Hacker says that in all the confusion of finding and reporting the accident, she wandered off some place by herself. He says she’s out there alone without any food or water. He’s asking for help organizing a search party.”

Angie missing?Joanna wondered. How could that be? With a sinking feeling, she remembered her conversation with Angie the night before-remembered how Angie had been concerned about going on what had essentially been a bird-watching blind date. Joanna also remembered all too clearly that she, Joanna, had been the one who had urged Angie to put her concerns aside and go.

“Tica,” Joanna said, “can you patch me through to Mr. Hacker? I want to talk to him.”

“Sure thing, Sheriff Brady. Hang on.”

“Mr. Hacker,” Joanna said seconds later, “this is Sheriff Brady. What’s happening?”

“Angie disappeared,” he said.

“How did the two of you get separated?”

“We had a little misunderstanding,” Hacker said. “She took off. I discovered the wreck while I was following her back down the mountain. I thought for sure she’d go straight back to the truck, but I’m here now, and there’s no sign of her. She isn’t here and hasn’t been, as far as I can tell. I tried to back-track up the trail. She must have missed one of the turns along the way.”

Misunderstanding, Joanna thought grimly. Right.

“So where are you now?”

“At the north entrance to Skeleton Canyon. The one off Highway 80.”

“And where’s the wrecked truck?”

“Just below the ridge between Hog Canyon and the south fork of Skeleton.”

“Can we get a wrecker to it?”

“It won’t be easy. It’s twenty yards off the nearest trail in strictly four-wheel-drive terrain. It’s going to be bad enough just getting the body out, to say nothing of the wrecked pickup. What about Angie, though? Will you notify Search and Rescue? From what Angie told me, I don’t think she’s ever been out in the mountains by herself before. I’m afraid-”

“Exactly how long has she been gone?” Joanna interrupted.

“An hour now, maybe more.”

“Just hold on, Mr. Hacker. I know Angie Kellogg personally. She’s a friend of mine, and one thing I can tell you about her is that she’s got plenty of common sense. We’ve got people on the way. There’ll be sirens and lots of noise out there. I’m sure she’ll be able to follow the sounds and find her way back down the mountain.”

“But…”

“No buts. I’m on my way myself. I’ll be there as soon as I can. You wait right where you are so you can guide us in when we get there.”

Joanna ended the call and then immediately dialed back to the department and shifted into an all-business mode. “Tica,” she said, once the dispatcher was on the phone, “who all have you called?”

“You were number one,” Tica answered. “That’s the standing order. The detectives are next, and then Dr. Winfield.” George Winfield was Cochise County’s newly appointed coroner.

“What about Dick Voland?” Joanna asked.

“I can call him, but are you sure you want me to? He’s supposed to be off today unless there’s some kind of real emergency. I think he has tickets to take his boys up to Tucson for a Toros game this afternoon.”

“Don’t bother him, then,” Joanna answered. “You notify the detectives. I’ll call Doc Winfield. I have both his home and work numbers programmed into my phone. If I call him instead of having you do it, it’ll save time.”

After punching the proper number, Joanna waited through the automated dialing sequence and two rings.

“Hello.”

Joanna had expected a male voice to answer, but the person speaking into the phone was definitely not Doc Winfield. In fact, the woman who answered sounded very much like Joanna’s mother, but that couldn’t be.

Quickly, without saying anything, Joanna disconnected the call. Of course, Eleanor’s number, along with several others, was also programmed into the phone. Maybe Joanna had simply punched the wrong button, although that seemed unlikely. She tried again, this time taking special care to punch the right one-George Winfield’s nine rather than Eleanor’s five.

“Hello,” Eleanor Lathrop answered again, a bit more forcefully this time.

“Mother?” Joanna asked. “Is that you?”

“Of course it’s me,” Eleanor said. “Who else would you be calling at this ungodly hour of the morning? The phone rang a minute or so ago, but no one was there when I answered. Was that you, too?”

“Mother,” Joanna interrupted, “I wasn’t calling you. I was trying to reach George Winfield. What are you doing at his house at seven o’clock on a Sunday morning?”

“I’m not at George’s house,” Eleanor returned stiffly. “I’m right here in my own bed trying to catch up on my beauty sleep.”

“But I dialed George’s number and got you. Twice,” Joanna pointed out.

“Oh, that,” Eleanor said. “I see. Well, he must have forwarded his calls here, then. He does that sometimes in case someone needs to get hold of him.”

Joanna took a deep breath. “I think this is one of those times. You’d better put him on.”

Dr. George Winfield was a relative newcomer to town. An attractive widower from Minnesota, he had somehow managed to hook up with Eleanor Lathrop within months of arriving in Bisbee. Joanna knew the two of them had been going out together for some time, but she couldn’t quite imagine her strait-laced mother actually allowing a man to spend the night in her home. It was hard enough for Joanna to picture George Winfield in her mother’s life. To imagine him now in Eleanor’s cozy little house on Campbell Avenue and in the double bed that had once belonged to both Joanna’s parents was unthinkable.

Still, she had no choice when George’s sleep-distorted voice came on the phone. “Hello? Joanna? What’s up?”

For a moment she couldn’t answer. Joanna had lectured her-self on the subject more than once. It shouldn’t have been that big a deal. Eleanor Lathrop had been widowed for a long time. After being left to raise a sometimes difficult and headstrong teenager, she certainly deserved to find some personal happiness. And George seemed nice enough. There was no logical reason why Eleanor’s resumption of dating should have thrown her daughter for such a loop, but it had. And, months later, it continued to do so. No matter how hard Joanna tried, she still couldn’t get over or around her own personal objections. Was it a matter of not being able to accept her mother as a sexual being? Or, on a far more basic level, was it nothing but jealousy?

“Joanna?” George repeated. “What’s going on?”

“There’s been a car wreck up in Skeleton Canyon,” Joanna said. “A pickup truck. According to the guy on the scene there’s at least one body trapped under it, maybe more.”

“Where the hell is Skeleton Canyon?” George Winfield demanded. “Is that a real place, or did you make it up?”

Joanna thought about the complications of trying to explain to a newcomer how to find the entrance to Skeleton Canyon or even howto get to the Peloncillos themselves. She also thought about what Dennis Hacker had said about the rugged terrain. The coroner’s official vehicle was nothing more than a modified hearse. That wouldn’t cut it.