believe it’s sometime on Friday afternoon. I don’t know the time exactly, but if you call Norm Higgins at Higgins Funeral Chapel and Mortuary in Bisbee, I’m sure he’ll be able to tell you.”
“What’s his name again?”
Joanna pulled out one of her cards and jotted down Norm Higgins’s name on the back of it. “I’m sorry I don’t know the number,” she said, handing the card to Christopher.
“That’s all right “ he sniffed. “I can get it from information.”
“Chris,” Amy said. “You really shouldn’t go. It just wouldn’t be right.”
“I’m going,” Christopher Bernard said fiercely. “And you can’t stop me!”
“And we should be going, too,” Joanna said, rising to her feet. “You’ve all been most helpful. And, Chris,” she added, offering him her hand, “please accept my sympathy for your loss. I know you cared deeply about Dora Matthews. She was lucky to have had you in her life.”
Out in the car, Jaime Carbajal slammed the car door and turned on Joanna in exasperation. “Why did you just quit like that?” he demanded. “I have a feeling there was a whole lot more Chris could have told us.”
“Yes,” Joanna said. “But I want it to be admissible.”
“You still think he did it?”
“No, I don’t,” Joanna replied. “When you turn around to drive out, I want you to stop as close as you can to the front of that Lexus. I want to get a peek at the front grille and see if there’s any damage.”
“But . . .” Jaime began.
“Humor me on this one, Jaime. All I want is a peek. And we’re not violating anybody’s rights here. The car isn’t locked up in the garage. It’s parked right out here in front of God and everybody.”
Hopping out of the van, Joanna made a quick pass by the vehicle. And there it was: a slight depression in both the front bumper and the hood of the LS 430; the left front headlight cover had been shattered. The Lexus had hit something and had hit it hard. Seeing the damage took Joanna’s breath away. In that moment, she knew Jenny wasn’t the target—never had been. Uttering a prayer of thanksgiving, Joanna darted back to the open door of the van. “Anybody see me?” she asked.
Jaime was staring into the rearview mirror. “Not that I could tell,” he said. “So what’s the deal?”
“Let’s get out of here,” she said. “It’s damaged, all right. It hit something hard enough to dent in the front end and shatter the headlight cover.”
“Where to now?” Jaime asked.
“Drive out of the yard, pull over into that next cul-de-sac, and stop there.”
Having said that, Joanna took her cell phone out of her purse and switched it on. She dialed Frank’s number and breathed a relieved sigh when he answered on the second ring.
“Irma’s not booked yet, but she will be,” he told her. “I suggested she call Burton Kimball.”
“Good,” Joanna said. “If anybody needs Burton Kimball’s services, it’s Irma Sorenson. Now I have a job for you, Frank. Did Ernie ever get any response on those telephone-company inquiries he made yesterday? If not, maybe you can hurry them up. We’re looking for calls going back and forth between the Bernards’ number in Tucson and Sierra Vista.”
“I’ll have to check with Ernie. Between him and Ma Bell, that may take a while. Can I get back to you?”
“Sure. If the line’s busy, leave a message. I have a couple of other calls to make.”
By then, Jaime had parked in a neighboring cul-de-sac as directed. He had put the vehicle in neutral but left the engine running. “What now?” he asked.
“We wait,” Joanna answered. “If anyone conies through the Bernards’ Irons gate driving that
