as a woman, blond and carrying two suitcases, exited the house.
Driving slowly and checking house numbers, Joanna stopped to watch. The woman heaved two massive bags into the open trunk of a car parked in the driveway. It was only when she turned around to reenter the house that Joanna realized she wasn’t a woman at all. The long blond locks and the missing trademark buckskin jacket had fooled her. No, the person returning to Dena Hogan’s house was none other than Ross Jenkins. The car the suitcases had been loaded into was the same Chrysler Concorde Joanna had seen Jenkins driving on Houghton Road three days earlier. In front of that was a pearlescent-white Lexus.
All at once, the threads of the two separate cases came together for Joanna like crosshairs in the sights of a rifle. She felt an eerie prickling at the back of her neck and knew that Ernie Carpenter had been dead-on right. She never should have come here alone.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
As Ross Jenkins disappeared into Dena Hogan’s house, Joanna switched off the Blazer’s engine. From a discreet distance two houses away, she grappled with what to do. Other than instinct and moral indignation, she had very little to go on. Despicable behavior wasn’t criminal. If Dena Hogan was screwing around with Susan Jenkins’ husband, that was the business of the four people most closely involved. It certainly wasn’t Joanna’s. And standing someone up for an appointment while claiming to be sick but really heading out of town couldn’t be considered criminal either.
Sure, there were clear conflicts of interest involved. Even in small-town legal circles people would frown on an attorney who, while representing one party in a divorce proceeding, was also best friends with the opposing spouse’s mistress. But that called for disciplinary action from a bar association and nothing more, especially since wife, mistress, and attorney were all long-term friends with a supposedly “close” relationship that dated all the way back to girlhood.
All those things were bothersome-worrisome, even-but not cause for involvement by a local law enforcement agency. Still, Joanna knew instinctively that whatever was going on right then was more than morally wrong. Dena Hogan had been privy to the contents of Alice Rogers’ will. More than privy, she was the attorney who had drafted the damned thing. Alice’s two children, as well as her Johnny-come-lately husband, would have benefited to some extent from Alice’s premature death. With one of those beneficiaries dead and the other among the missing, that left only one, Susan Jenkins and her husband Ross, who had just loaded a pair of suitcases-Dena’s, presumably-into his car.
The door opened once more and again Ross Jenkins emerged from the house. This time he crammed one more, smaller, suitcase into the trunk, then slammed the lid shut before he tossed a heavily loaded garment bag into the back-seat. As he returned to the house once again, Joanna realized she didn’t have much time. The car was full. When it was completely loaded, Ross and Dena would most likely drive away from the house. When that happened, Joanna wouldn’t have sufficient probable cause to pull them over.
She wanted to confront them sooner than that, without the necessity of what might later be characterized as an illegal traffic stop. The problem was, she was there by herself. Approaching a pair of suspected killers alone was downright foolhardy.
After first slipping her cell phone into the coat pocket of her blazer, she thumbed the talk button on her radio. “Dispatch,” she said. “Sheriff Brady here. I need backup.”
“Where are you?” Tica Romero asked.
“Kind Road, just south of Ramsey. It’s a residence that belongs to Rex and Dena Hogan.”
“That’s the same address I found for you a few minutes ago, isn’t it?”
“Yes. Two suspects are loading a vehicle. I want to keep them from leaving. How long before you can have another unit here?”
“We’re short-staffed in that sector right now, Sheriff Brady. The closest county unit is over at Palominas, finishing investigating a multi-car accident. Deputy Pakin can probably be there in half an hour or so. Do you want me to ask for mutual aid from Sierra Vista PD?”
“Yes,” Joanna agreed at once. “Better safe than sorry.”
The door to Dena Hogan’s house opened again. This time two people walked out and headed for the Concorde. The woman was wearing a coat and carrying a purse. That meant the loading was done. The suspects were leaving. There would be no time to wait for backup, none at all.
“I’m going to have to go in alone,” Joanna said. “But when I do, I’ll leave my cell phone turned on. That way, you’ll be able to monitor what’s happening.”
Quickly Joanna punched up Tica’s direct number and then waited for the dispatcher to answer before stowing the phone itself inside the cup of her bra. By then, Ross Jenkins and the woman were standing on either side of the Chrysler. Switching on the ignition, Joanna sent the Blazer roaring forward. Once it was astraddle the driveway and blocking the Concorde’s exit, Joanna slammed the Blazer into neutral and then stepped out onto the parking strip.
“Hi there, Ross,” Joanna said. “Do you have a minute?”
From the dismayed look that passed across his face, it was clear that Ross Jenkins was startled to see her. he recovered quickly, however.
“Well, hiya there, Sheriff Brady,” he said easily. “We were just leaving. If you don’t mind, we’re a little pressed for time at the moment.”
“I’m sure you are,” Joanna replied. “I only have a few questions. I presume this is Dena Hogan?”
“Yes, I’m Dena.” The woman’s answer was chilly and wary at the same time. “What do you want?”
Joanna wavered momentarily. She could play it cool and pretend that all she was looking for was a copy of Mark Childers’ financial records. Or she could go for broke. She could take a page from her father’s old poker-playing days and bluff like hell.
“I’m curious where you both were last Saturday night,” she said quietly. “Where you were after Alice Walker left Sierra Vista to drive back home to Tombstone?”
Glances might not be admissible in a court of law, but the dagger-filled look Dena Hogan shot across the top of the car toward Ross Jenkins spoke volumes.
“We were together,” Ross said with a dismissive shrug, as though the fact that he was sleeping around behind his wife’s back was an unimportant detail too insignificant to bother denying. “Right here. I came over after dinner and was here until late-until two or three in the morning.”
“With no witnesses, of course,” Joanna said.
Ross smiled. “I should hope not. I don’t think Susie would like it much if she found out. She’s been through so much lately. I wanted to spare her feelings.”
“We both did,” Dena said.
“How very thoughtful of you,” Joanna observed. “And I suppose you’re also sparing your husband’s feelings at the moment, Ms. Hogan? I’m assuming Rex isn’t home. Otherwise he’d be the one lugging your suitcases out to the car, not Mr. Jenkins here. And speaking of suitcases, from the size of them I’d say you’re planning on being gone for some time. Maybe even longer than next Monday morning, which is when your receptionist said you might be recovered enough to return to work.”
There was no way for Joanna to tell if her cell phone was picking up any of the conversation. It was buried under both her bra and the Kevlar material woven into her soft body armor.
Dena looked at her watch. “Come on, Ross. It’s getting late. Let’s go. She’s got no reason to hold us. If you have to drive across the grass to get around her, do it.”
Ross Jenkins made no effort to comply, and when he didn’t get in the Concorde, neither did Dena Hogan.
“Look, Sheriff Brady,” he said, turning on a gratingly wheedling tone, the persuasive one that could have been dubbed straight into one of his auto dealership’s radio commercials. “You may not be able to understand this or believe it, but Dena and I are in love. Neither one of us planned for it to happen quite this way, but it did. And yes, we are leaving town. We’re going away to try to get some perspective on things-to try to figure out what we should
