Outlaw Mountain

all right?”

“I’m fine. I’m not so sure I’m proud to be a member of the human race at this point, but I am alive.”

“And lucky to be so, from what I’ve heard,” Butch said grimly.

“Yes,” Joanna agreed. “Very lucky. But the good news is, we’ve caught ourselves two killers.”

“I don’t believe there was any we involved,” Butch said. “People tell me you took it all on yourself-single-handed. Are you-”

“Butch, please. I did the best I could, and I kept two murderers from getting away. I’m not hurt, although I must say my clothes have seen better days. So let’s not fight. Let’s just be grateful that we’re both alive. Is that why you called me? To chew me out? Or to tell me that you love me?”

“Well, not exactly. I do love you, of course, but that’s not why I called.”

“Why did you then?”

“Ellen Dowdle,” Butch replied.

“Who?”

“Dowdle,” Butch said, then he spelled out the name. “D-O-W-D-L-E.”

“Who’s that?” Joanna asked.

“Junior’s mother,” Butch said. “She lives in a nursing home in Rapid City, South Dakota.”

“So Frank found her!” Joanna exclaimed. “We’ve both been so busy with this other deal that we haven’t had a moment to talk about it.”

“Frank, nothing,” Butch said irritably. “He may have called a few law enforcement agencies looking for a missing person, but no one back there knew Junior was missing because no one had bothered to report it. I’m the one who found her, and I demand full credit.”

“You did?” Joanna asked in amazement. “That’s wonderful. How did you do it?”

“I called the Special Olympics headquarters in Yankton. They keep track of special athletes by both first and last names. Once I got hooked up to their database, I had what I needed in less than sixty seconds.”

“But how did you even know to look there? Did Junior tell you about Special Olympics?”

“Well,” Butch said reluctantly, “I suppose I have to give some credit where it’s due. Jim Bob and Jenny came by this morning to give me a break and take Junior off my hands for a little while-which I appreciated, by the way. Anyway, Jim Bob asked if I had any other picture books they could take along, since Junior clearly got such a hoot out of that copy of America the Beautiful. All I had to offer were some old photo albums. I didn’t think anything of it, but it turns out there were some pictures of me in there with some of the Roundhouse’s Special Olympics teams from over the years. And once again, as soon as Junior saw something he recognized, he went ballistic. When that happened, Jim Bob called me, and the rest you know.”

“So have you talked to her?” Joanna asked. “Or has Junior? How soon can we make arrangements for him to go back there?”

“We can’t,” Butch said.

“What do you mean, we can’t? Maybe Junior isn’t capable of flying home by himself, but one of us could travel with him.”

“He doesn’t have a home,” Butch said.

“How can that be? You just said-”

“I said I found his mother. Ellen Dowdle is in a nursing home. She had a stroke and is totally incapacitated. Long before that happened, she sold off all her assets, including a family farm, and put them in trust so Junior would be properly taken care of. A niece and her husband, Chuck and Irene Johnson, agreed to take Junior in and look after him.”

“And where are they?”

“Supposedly in Mesa somewhere. The nursing home gave me their name, address, and phone number, but when I tried calling I found out that the phone has been disconnected with no forwarding message. They’ve skipped, Joanna. My guess is that those sons of bitches have disappeared. I’m sure they thought they could just walk off and leave him and no one-including Junior’s mother-would ever be the wiser.”

“Sort of like the people who come by and drop off baby chicks and rabbits once Easter is over.”

“Exactly!” Butch agreed. He sounded utterly outraged, and Joanna loved him for it.

“There’s a big difference, though,” Joanna said. “We can’t do much about people who abandon baby chicks, because chickens don’t have money. That’s not the case here. And, if there’s money involved-most likely including social security as well as the private funds-then my guess is the guardians have made mail-forwarding arrangements so they can continue receiving Junior’s checks. That all adds up to fraud and embezzlement. Did the nursing home have the name of the attorney who set up the trust and handled the guardianship arrangements?”

“I’m sure they do, but they wouldn’t give that information to me.”

“They’ll give it to someone with the word ‘sheriff’ in front of her name,” Joanna said. “I have to go by the hospital and get a tetanus shot. As soon as I get back to the office, though, I’ll get right on it.”

“See you at dinner then?” Butch said. “Remember, we’re all supposed to meet at the Bradys’ for dinner tonight. I believe Jim Bob was threatening to go out and buy some champagne.”

“I don’t know for sure what time I’ll get there,” Joanna said, “but I’ll show up as soon as I can.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

An hour after returning to the department, Joanna was sitting at her desk, resting her aching head in her hands. Her whole body hurt from her collection of scrapes and bruises and from being slammed against the wall of Dena Hogan’s garage. She had ditched her torn clothing in favor of some of her crime scene duds, but the denim jeans were rough and uncomfortable on her chafed knees.

Ernie and Jaime had come in to perform the interview honors with Dena Hogan and to confer with Arlee Jones. Meanwhile, Joanna had tried to deal with the Junior issue. She was right. Having the word “sheriff” connected to her name had enabled her to extract the information she needed from Ellen Dowdle’s nursing home. Armed with the name of Ellen’s attorney, Drew Gunderson, she had tried calling, only to fall victim to the time-zone difference and to the fact that Gunderson had no answering machine at his office and an unlisted number at home.

Joanna had just decided to wait until morning to call when someone tapped on her door. “Anybody home?”

She looked up to see her stepfather, Dr. George Winfield, standing in the doorway. “Come on,” he said. “Ellie just called me at the office and gave me my marching orders to come pick you up. We’re late for dinner and it sounds like we’re both in the doghouse.”

Looking at her watch, Joanna was dismayed to see that it was already after seven. She stood up and reached for her jacket. “I’ll have to run down to Motor Pool and see if they have a car I can use,” she said. “My Crown Victoria still isn’t fixed. Between a damaged windshield and a flat tire on the Blazer, that won’t really be usable until sometime tomorrow.”

“I heard rumors about that,” George said. “The word is out that you’re tough on the county’s rolling stock. First you shot the tire, and then somebody else blew out the window. Or are those just vicious rumors?”

Joanna scowled. “They’re true.”

George Winfield grinned. “I thought so. Come on. Don’t bother checking with Motor Pool right now. I’ll give you a ride over to the Bradys’ place. I’m sure someone there-” he gave Joanna a conspiratorial wink-”some certain someone-will be only too glad to give you a ride back.”

Joanna started to argue, but she was too tired to object. She realized it would be good to be driven for a change-good to be pampered. “Let’s go,” she said.

She picked up her purse and started toward the door. “You may want to fix your face,” George suggested.

“My face? What’s the matter with it?”

“A matched pair of shiners, for one thing,” George replied. “How’d you do that?”

Joanna ducked behind Kristin’s desk and examined her face in the mirror that hung there. George was right. Both eyes had distinct shadows under them, shadows that weren’t yet purple but they would be.