“Some people may laugh to hear this, but selling those cookies marked a real watershed for me. I was scared to death. I didn’t think I’d ever have nerve enough to talk to people and to ask them to buy something from me, but I did. Some of the boxes of cookies went to people I knew, but most of them went to strangers – to people I met at the post office and the grocery store. Over the years I got better at it. The year I was in the seventh grade, I sold five hundred boxes – enough cookies be awarded the prize of two weeks of summer camp at Whispering Pines up on Mount Lemmon. Believe me, that’s a lot of Thin Mints.”

Joanna paused while the room filled with laughter. “Was that important?” she continued. “It must have been. Years later, I applied for a job with Milo Davis at the Davis Insurance Agency here in town. Milo asked me if I’d ever had any selling experience. I told him yes, Girl Scout cookies. I got the job. Last fall, when it came time to talk to strangers again the voters of Cochise County gave me this job as well.

“I suspect that there are lots of women out there who are just like me, women who, as little girls, made their first foray: into the world of work by selling Girl Scout cookies. Marketing those boxes of cookies is a very real job. It consists of deciding to do something, of setting a goal, and then making it happen.

“So when you look at this picture of a little girl with her Radio Flyer full of cookies, remember, that little red wagon is the vehicle that led to one I drive now-to the one that’s parked outside, at the far end of the parking lot. You’ll know it when you see it. It’s the big white Blazer with the light bar on top and with the insignia of the Cochise County Sheriff Department painted on the door. I see selling that wagonload of cookies as the beginning of the path that led me, inevitably to this one. And remember, too, the next time you buy a box of Thin Mints, you may be buying those cookies from a future President of the United States.”

As Joanna sat down, the women in the room rose to their feet, cheering and applauding. Gratified but feeling self-conscious, Joanna wailed for the applause to die down. II was then she caught sight of Terry Buckwalter.

A wall of smoky glass separated the dining room from the lounge area and the bar beyond it. Eleanor was right. Terry’s hair was different, but not that different. Joanna watched as Terry Buckwalter, accompanied by a man, sauntered across the room. The two of them took seats at the bar. From the hand gestures and movements that accompanied the conversation, Joanna could see that Terry was evidently enjoying her part of the animated conversation. In one short day, Terry Buckwalter had undergone a total transformation.

When the applause ended and Marianne made the official presentation, Joanna managed to stand and string together a few words of acceptance, but she did so without ever letting the two people in the other room totally out of her sight.

Once the ceremony was over, Joanna leaned over to Marianne. “Could you do me a big favor?”

“Sure,” Marianne answered. “What?”

“There’s something I have to do. Could you please give Eva Lou and my mother a ride back to town?”

“I’m in the Bug,” Marianne replied, referring to her venerable late-sixties, sea-foam-green V.W. “But since there’s only the two of them, I’m sure there’ll be plenty of room. Do you want to tell them, or should I?”

“I will,” Joanna told her. “Eva Lou probably won’t mind, but you know Eleanor.”

Marianne nodded. “What kind of car did you say your brother drives?”

“A BMW,” Joanna answered. “A five-forty-i.”

“The Bug will be a big comedown if she’s used to that, but she’ll get over it.”

Which turned out to be not entirely true. “You want me to do what?” Eleanor demanded.

“Shhh,” Joanna said. “Don’t make a fuss, please. I wan you to ride home with Marianne. There’s someone here need to talk to.”

^“So talk,” Eleanor said. “What’s the big problem?”

“It^’s police business.^”

“Come on, Eleanor,” Eva Lou said. “If Joanna has some thing to do, it won’t hurt us to ride back home with Marianne.^”

“We’ll wait,” Eleanor insisted.

“It’s confidential, Mother,” Joanna said. “And I have no idea how long it will take.”

“We’ll wait in the car.”

“No, you won’t,” Joanna said, keeping her tone level but firm. “I’m sorry, but I have a job to do here. I expect you to go home with Marianne and let me do it.”

What had worked in regard to the hair appointment didn’t work when it came to the ride back home. The corner of Eleanor’s mouth turned down.

“Well!” she exclaimed in a voice that bristled with indignation. “I never!”

It took time for the women to drain out of the dining room, especially since most of them wanted to pause for word or two with the guest of honor and to admire the photo. To Joanna’s relief, Terry and her male friend were still seated at the bar when Joanna’s last well-wisher headed for the parking lot. As Joanna walked toward them, she realized that close up, the change in Terry Buckwalter was even more remarkable.

“Terry?” Joanna asked tentatively, easing herself up on an empty stool on Terry Buckwalter’s far side.

“Joanna!” Terry exclaimed, swinging around to face her. “What are you doing here?”

Joanna held up the framed picture. “I was here for the women’s club Luncheon,” she answered. “I saw you come in and thought I’d stop by to see how you’re doing.”

Terry didn’t look particularly thrilled. Her tone of voice implied that Joanna’s interest in her well-being wasn’t much appreciated. “I’m doing fine,” she said. “I just want to be left alone.”

The man seated with Terry hurried off his barstool and came around to meet Joanna, one hand extended. Looking at him from behind, Joanna had assumed from the plentiful mop of reddish hair on his head that he was someone in his thirties or forties. Now that he stood in front of her, though, she realized he was far older than that. He was strikingly handsome-tan and fit, with aquiline good looks and an infectious grin that was both boyish and friendly. Still, he had to be pushing sixty if he was a day.

“Come on now, Terry,” the man urged. “Don’t be so standoffish. Who’s your friend? Why don’t you introduce us?”

“This is Peter,” Terry said without enthusiasm. “Peter Wilkes, my golf pro. And this is Joanna Brady.”

“Joanna Brady.” Frowning, the man repeated the name, then he snapped his fingers as if a light had been switched on in his head. “As in Sheriff Joanna Brady?”

Joanna nodded. “One and the same.”

“I remember now. Esther and Myron-Myron is my partner-mentioned something about a special luncheon today. If I’m not mistaken, you were the guest of honor. I hope everything measured up to your expectations.”

As soon as she heard Peter Wilkes’s name, Joanna recognized it as the other half of the pair of men who were responsible for the Rob Roy in the first place. The problem was, Joanna had understood that the two men were a gay couple rather than simply partners. If that was the case, what was going on between Peter Wilkes and Terry Buckwalter?

Peter politely backed away. “If you two will excuse me, I have another lesson coming up in just a few minutes. You shot a great game today, Terry. That back nine was terrific. Keep up the good work.”

“Thanks,” Terry said with a smile. “It was pretty good, wasn’t it?^”

Peter Wilkes nodded. “It was a lot better than pretty good.”

“You’ll check for me then on the other?” Terry asked.

Peter looked down at his watch. “I don’t know if I’ll be able to reach him today. But yes, I will check. You can count on it. As soon as I know anything, I’ll let you know.”

Peter Wilkes hurried off in the direction that led out to the pro shop. Joanna waited for a moment, wondering what exactly Wilkes was checking on. Then the bartender appeared. “What can I get for you?” he asked, addressing Joanna.