Devil’s Claw

Halfway up the winding road that led to the house, Joanna had to slow to negotiate the wash. A tow truck had removed Reba Singleton’s stranded limo, but in the process the well-worn track across the dry creek bed had been obliterated. Boulders that hadn’t been there before had been churned to the surface, while wheel-swallowing pits had been left behind in the sand. Using the Blazer’s four-wheel drive to negotiate this new obstacle path was the only thing that kept Joanna herself from becoming stuck in her own driveway. As a result, Joanna wasn’t thinking fond thoughts about tow-truck drivers, limo drivers, or Reba Rhodes Singleton by the time she finally pulled into her own yard.

She was relieved to see Butch’s Subaru was still parked near the gate. Knowing Jenny had been looked after in the meantime was the only thing that made being gone so long possible or bearable.

The lights were on in the living room as she parked the Blazer, but as soon as she opened the car door, the back porch light came on and Sadie and Tigger came tumbling out of the house. Behind the two dogs walked Butch, in stocking feet, gingerly picking his way across the yard.

“You shouldn’t be out here without shoes,” she scolded. “Don’t you know there are sandburs in the yard?”

“I do now,” he said, hopping gingerly on one foot. “How are things?”

“It’s late, and I’m tired,” she told him. “How are things with you?”

Butch wrapped one arm around her shoulders and gently pulled her against his chest. “We had some company,” he said, leading her toward the house.

“Not your parents!” Joanna exclaimed. “Don’t tell me they turned up early.”

“Not my parents.”

“Who then?”

Butch waited until they were all the way inside the house before he answered. “Dick Voland,” he said.

Joanna blinked. Dick Voland had been a long-term deputy with the Cochise County Sheriff’s Department. He had served as chief deputy in the administration of Joanna’s predecessor, Walter V. McFadden, and had continued in that capacity, sharing responsibility with Frank Montoya, once Joanna was elected. She had been able to deal with the man in the beginning, when he was simply gruff and overbearing. The situation had become much more complicated when Joanna discovered that he had developed a serious middle-aged crush on her. Voland had mostly pined in silence, but Joanna’s betrothal to Butch had pushed him over the edge. The morning after her engagement was made public, Voland had turned up on High Lonesome Ranch, drunk and belligerent. He had handed in his resignation on the spot. Under the circumstances, Joanna had been only too happy to accept it.

Since then, Joanna had seen little of the man. She had heard that he was in the process of hanging out his shingle as a private investigator. She had also heard that he and Marliss Shackleford were now an item. Marliss, a columnist for a local rag called The Bisbee Bee, wasn’t one of Joanna’s favorite people either. When she heard Marliss and Dick were dating, Joanna figured that the two of them deserved each other.

“Dick wasn’t drunk, was he?” Joanna asked carefully.

At six-four, Voland was a massive bear of a man who outweighed Butch by a good fifty pounds. “Not that I could tell.”

“What did he want?”

“He didn’t say. I offered to take a message, but he said he needed to talk to you. He wanted you to call as soon as you got home tonight. I left the number there on the table.”

Joanna felt a sudden fury wash through her. “I know his number,” she stormed. “And if it was that damned important, he could have called me on my cell phone. He knows my numbers, too. I sure as hell haven’t changed them! He just wanted to come by, hassle me, and nose around in my business.”

“Come on, Joey,” Butch said, using the private nickname he had bestowed on her. “Don’t be upset. He didn’t cause any trouble, and he didn’t say anything out of line.”

“He should have told you what he wanted,” Joanna insisted. “That was rude, treating you as if you’re incapable of passing along a simple message.”

Butch laughed aloud at that. “You don’t understand very much about men, do you?”

Joanna frowned. “What’s so funny? And what do you mean by that?”

“I mean Dick Voland and I were in a contest, and I won. Dick’s the big loser here. I’ve got you, and he doesn’t. Believe me, Dick Voland isn’t ever going to sit down and have a long, heart-to-heart discussion with me. He hates my guts, and he’s going to do his best to pretend I don’t exist.”

“What about you?” Joanna asked.

“I feel sorry for him, but not that sorry.”

“Regardless,” Joanna said. “It’s late, and I’m not calling him back tonight. Whatever the big secret is, it’s going to have to wait until morning.”

“Good enough,” Butch said. “Now, did you have any dinner?”

“No,” Joanna answered, noticing for the first time that she was hungry.

“After that big, late lunch, all Jenny and I had were a couple of scrambled eggs and toast. Would you like me to make you some?”

“Please.”

While Butch scrambled eggs, Joanna undressed and locked her weapons away. Then, wearing her nightgown and robe, she returned to the kitchen to make toast and pour a glass of milk while she told Butch about the situation with Catherine Yates, her dead daughter, Sandra, and her missing granddaughter, Lucy.

“Not a very happy story,” Joanna concluded. “Here I should have been spending the weekend enjoying Jenny’s birthday celebration with you and getting ready for our wedding. Instead, I’m busy worrying about who’s killing whom and why.”

“Which reminds me,” Butch said, getting up to clear the table. “George called, too. Just a little while ago. He said it was something to do with Clayton Rhodes, but he also said that he and your mother were going to bed as soon as the news was over. He said he’d talk to you about it in the morning.”

Joanna looked down at her watch. By then it was close to midnight. “It’s almost morning right now,” she observed. “If we’re going to church tomorrow, we’d better get to bed.”

“You go on, if you want to,” Butch said. “I’ll clean up the kitchen and then shove off for home.”

“You mean you’re not staying?”

“Waking up naked this morning with Jenny right there in the room made a believer of me,” Butch said with a rueful smile. “No more sleep-overs for us until after the wedding. I don’t want people to talk any more than they already do. But don’t worry. I’ll come out first thing in the morning and help with the animals.”

“It’s all right. Jenny and I can feed the animals.”

“Well, I’ll come fix you breakfast, then. We have to build up our strength so we’ll be ready to clean that oven tomorrow afternoon.”

Joanna laughed aloud at that. She came across the kitchen and hugged him close. “I love you, Butch Dixon,” she said. “Thank you for caring about what Jenny thinks and about what people say.”

Firmly Butch moved her away from him, leaving her standing in the middle of the room and safely out of arm’s reach. “And I love you, but no more thanks like that,” he said. “If you’re not careful, I’ll end up changing my mind and I’ll stay over after all.”

It was late in the afternoon before Lucy once more ventured out of her hiding place among the gigantic boulders scattered across the Texas Canyon landscape. Emotionally and physically exhausted, she had slept most of the day. Now chilly, lonely, and longing for the comfort of a soda or candy bar from a vending machine, she approached the fenced freeway rest area.

There were half a dozen eighteen-wheelers parked in the designated truck parking area, but there was only one car-an SUV-parked near the entrance to the rest rooms and the vending machines. There was a man standing leaning against it, talking on a cell phone. When Lucy was close enough to distinguish his features, she gave a gasp of dismay. It was the same man she had seen the night before-the man who had shot her mother.

Panicked and sobbing, Lucy fled back into the desert. How did he find me? she wondered. How did he know I was here?

CHAPTER 9