Paradise Lost

 “I still think Ron Haskell had nothing to do with it,” Joanna insisted.

“Why?” Frank countered. “Because he sounded innocent when we talked to him? He sure as hell isn’t innocent of relieving his wife of her money.”

“That may be true,” Joanna agreed. “But that doesn’t make him a killer.”

“And as for Irma, just because she may have discovered her son had killed again doesn’t mean she’d put him out of his misery like a rabid dog. Not only that, her driver’s license says she’s seventy four years old. How the hell would she get the drop on him?”

“If we ever catch up with her, I guess we’ll have to ask her.”

“But I still can’t understand it,” Frank said. “How does a parent do something like that to her own child?”

“I don’t know,” Joanna said wearily. “Maybe it was self-defense. Or maybe she shot her rabid-dog son to save others.”

“Sheriff Brady?” Tica Romero’s radio voice reached them through the open window.

Finishing the last of her water, Joanna got into the Civvie and unclipped the mike. “Sheriff Brady here,” she said. “What’s up?”

“I’m in for Larry now. Doe Winfield says to ask you if you ever had a chance to speak to your mother.”

Joanna sighed. Wasn’t it enough that she was out in the desert climbing up and down cliffs and finding dead bodies? Expecting her to find time to be a dutiful daughter was asking too much.

“Tell him no,” Joanna said. “I tried calling her, but she wasn’t home.”

“He says she still isn’t home,” Tica relayed a moment later. “He says he’s really worried about her.”

“Tell him I’m worried too, but I’m on the far side of the Chiricahuas at a crime scene right now, and there isn’t a whole lot I can do about it at the moment. But Tica, once you let him know, you might also radio the cars that are out on patrol right now and ask the deputies to keep an eye out for my mother. Eleanor Lathrop Winfield drives a light blue 1999 Buick sedan. I can’t remember the license plate number right off, and don’t ask Doc Winfield for it. Get it from the DMV and put it out to everyone who’s cur­rently on duty”

“Will do, Sheriff Brady.”

“And when you finish with that, would you mind calling out to the ranch and letting Butch know that I won’t be home until later.”

“Sure thing.”

Shaking her head, Joanna went back to where Frank was stand­ing with the heel of one boot hooked on the Civvie’s rear bumper. “What was that all about?” he asked.

“My mother,” Joanna grumbled. “She and Doc Winfield must be having some kind of row. George called me this afternoon and wanted me to talk to her. I tried calling, but she wasn’t home. According to George, Eleanor was upset last night when she heard about what had happened to Dora Matthews. And that’s under­standable. I’m upset about what happened to Dora, too, but my best guess is that Eleanor is pissed at George about something else altogether. She’s decided to teach him a lesson, so she left the house early this morning without making his coffee, and she hasn’t been seen or heard from since.”

“Do you think something’s happened to her?” Frank asked.

Joanna shook her head. “It’s not the first time Eleanor’s pulled a stunt like this. She did it to my dad on occasion. It used to drive him nuts. What drives me crazy is the fact that I have to be caught in the middle of it.”

“You’re the daughter,” Frank pointed out. “Sons get off light in that department. Daughters don’t. II you don’t believe MC, ask my sisters.”

The better part of an hour passed before the first additional vehicles arrived. George Winfield was still enough of a newcomer to Cochise County that he had caravanned out to Paradise behind a van driven by one of the crime scene techs.

“So where’s the body?”