“We’ve got a problem in Paradise,” he said.
“That sounds like the title of a bad novel.”
“I wish,” he said. “That place I told you about, `Pathway to,’ could blow up in our faces.”
“How so?”
“Ernie and Jaime went over there this morning and were met at the gate by an armed guard who wouldn’t let them inside to see anybody. In other words, if Ron Haskell is inside—which we don’t know for sure at this time—nobody’s going to be talking to him anytime soon.”
“Have them call up Cameron Moore and get a court order.”
“We tried. Judge Moore and his family are down in Guaymas, fishing. It’s Memorial Day Weekend, you know. He won’t be back from Mexico until late Tuesday.”
“Great,” Joanna said. “Did you say armed guard?”
“That’s right.”
“Shades of Waco?”
“That’s what I’m worried about,” Frank said.
Joanna sighed. “Well, there’s not much we can do about it tonight. Anything else happening that I should know about? I here were a couple of other calls from the department.”
“No. They called me after they called you. Everything is under control.”
“Any word on Dora’s mom?”
“Not so far.”
“She’s bound to surface eventually,” Joanna said.
“Who?” Butch said, coming out of the bathroom.
“Dora Matthews’s mother,” Joanna said, covering the mouthpiece of the phone. “We still haven’t found her.” She uncovered the mouthpiece and spoke to Frank once more. “Tomorrow morning we’ll have to stay in Peoria long enough to drop off Butch’s tux, then we’ll head home.”
“Have you heard that Yolanda Canedo is back in University Medical Center?” Frank asked.
“I did,” Joanna told him. “Her mother called out to the house and left a message with Eva Lou. If we have time, Butch and I will stop by the hospital on the way down. Do you have any idea how bad it is?”
“Pretty bad, I think.”
“That’s what I was afraid of. Talk to you tomorrow.” She signed off.
“What’s pretty bad?” Butch asked.
“Yolanda Canedo is back in the hospital in Tucson.”
“She’s the jail matron with cervical cancer?”
Joanna nodded. “Her mother wants us to stop by the hospital to see her if we can.”
“I don’t see why not,” Butch said.
Joanna slipped out of her dress and took off her makeup. By the time she came to bed, Butch was sitting with the first pages of the manuscript on his lap. He was reading and making notations on the pages as he went. She slipped into bed and found her spot in the manuscript. She began reading with the best of intentions, but a combination of too much champagne and not enough sleep soon overwhelmed her. She fell asleep sitting up, with the lamp still on, and with the manuscript laid out across her lap. When she awakened, it was daylight. Butch was carefully retrieving pages of the manuscript, which had slipped off both her lap and the bed and lay in a scattered heap on the carpeted floor.
Joanna stirred and
