jail. Our guests come and go. So many of them have two vehicles—their motor home and then something smaller so they can get around more easily and take short trips without having to move their big rigs. Not that Irma would move hers. Her husband parked it. Once he died, Irma said she wasn’t driving that thing another foot.”
“Her husband died?”
Brent Hardy nodded. “Last December. About three weeks after they arrived. They turned up the last week in November. Originally they planned to stay through the middle of March. But then, when Kurt—that’s Irma’s husband—died of a massive heart attack, Irma asked Tom and me if she could stay on permanently. She said Kurt had sold their farm in South Dakota to buy that ‘damned motor home,’ as she put it. She said he was the one who was supposed to drive it and she didn’t have anyplace else she wanted to go. I guess their son lives somewhere around here, but I’m not sure where.
“This son,” Joanna said. “Have you ever met him? Do you know his name?”
Brent Hardy shook his head. “I’ve never seen him. She talked about going to see him a time or two, but I don’t know it she did or not. As far as I know, he never came here.”
Brent paused and looked from Joanna to Frank. “It’s hot as blue blazes today,” he said. “I need something to drink after working on that pool. Could I get you something?” he asked. “Iced tea, lemonade, sodas?”
“Iced tea would be wonderful,” Joanna said. “No sugar, but lemon if you have it.”
“I’ll have the same,” Frank said.
Brent disappeared into the house. “I think we’ve found our Alice Miller,” Frank said.
Joanna nodded, but before she could say anything more, a late-model Cadillac drove into the yard and stopped next to Frank Montoya’s Crown Victoria. A silver-haired man in his early to mid-sixties stepped out of the car. He hurried up the walkway and onto the porch.
“That’s a police car out there,” he announced. “Is something wrong? Has something happened to Brent?”
“Brent’s fine,” Joanna said, standing up. “He went inside to get something to drink. I’m Sheriff Joanna Brady, and this is my chief deputy, Frank Montoya. We’re here asking some questions about a woman who may be a guest here. Who are you?”
“Tom Lowrey,” the man returned. “My partner and I own this place. What guest?” he added. “And what’s going on?”
Just then Brent came out through the front door carrying a wooden tray on which was a hastily assembled collection of glasses and spoons, a plateful of lemon slices, and a full pitcher of iced tea.
“Tom,” he said upon seeing the new arrival. “I’m glad you’re back. These officers are here asking about Irma. Do you know her son’s name?”
Tom Lowrey shook his head. “All I know is that whenever she talked about him she called him Bobby.”
“Bobby Sorenson?”
“No. I think Sorenson was Irma’s name, but not his,” Tom Lowrey replied. “As I understand it, Bobby was from her first marriage. In talking to her, I’ve gathered Kurt and the son didn’t get along very well. In fact, after the funeral, I remember Irma’s feelings were hurt because her son didn’t bother to come to the service.
“That was held here in Bowie?” Joanna asked.
Lowrey shook his head. “Oh, no. The funeral was in South Dakota. I forget the name of the town. We took Irma into Tucson so she could fly home for the funeral. When she came back, we picked her up and brought her home. That’s when she asked if she could stay on permanently. That’s not as uncommon as you might think. The men buy the big RVs so they can see the USA. Then, when they croak out, the women are left with three hundred thousand dollars’ worth of something they’re scared to death to drive, but they can’t get their money back, either. That’s hers over there, by the way,” he added, pointing. “The big bronze-and-black Marathon jobby. I didn’t blame Irma in the least for not wanting to drive it herself, so we told her she could stay.”
“What about the other rigs?” Joanna asked. “Are they occupied, too?”
Brent Hardy shook his head. “The owners decided to leave them parked rather than drive them back and forth. Irma’s our only guest in residence at the moment.”
