Saddle’s closer, but maybe not any faster. It’s a dirt road most of the way, although, since there’s been no rain, we shouldn’t have to deal with any washouts.”
“We can make it over that even in the Civvies?” Joanna asked.
“Probably,” Frank replied.
Joanna nodded. “I choose shorter,” she said. “We’ll go up and over Onion Saddle. Did Ernie or Jaime mention who’s in charge at Pathway to Paradise?”
Frank consulted a small spiral notebook. “Someone named Amos Parker. I don’t know anything more about him than his name and that he wasn’t interested in allowing Ernie and Jaime on the premises.”
“Let’s see if we have any better luck,” Joanna told him.
More than an hour later, with the afternoon sun slipping behind the mountains, Joanna stopped beside the guard shack at the gated entrance to Pathway to Paradise. The shack came complete with an armed guard dressed in a khaki uniform who pulled on an unnecessary pair of wraparound mirrored sunglasses before strolling out-side. Joanna rolled down the window, letting in the hot, dusty smells of summer in the desert.
“Like I’ve told everyone else today,” he said. “We’re posted no hunting, no hiking, no trespassing. Just turn right around and go back the way you came.”
Joanna noted that the guard was middle-aged, tall, and lanky. A slight paunch protruded over the top of his belt. As he leaned toward Joanna’s open window, he kept one hand on the holstered pistol at his side. A black-and-white plastic name tag identified him as Rob Whipple.
“Good afternoon, Mr. Whipple,” Joanna said carefully, opening her identification wallet and holding it for him to see. “I’m Sheriff Joanna Brady,” she said. “Frank Montoya, my chief deputy, is in the next car. We’re here to see Mr. Parker.”
“Is Mr. Parker expecting you?” Rob Whipple asked. “Don’t recall seeing your names on this afternoon’s list of invited guests.”
Rob Whipple’s thinning reddish hair was combed into a sparse up-and-over style. A hot breeze blew past, causing the long strands to stand on end. The effect would have been comical if the man’s hand hadn’t been poised over his weapon.
“Chief Deputy Montoya and I don’t have an appointment,” Joanna said easily. “We’re here on urgent business. I’m sure Mr. Parker will be more than willing to see us once he knows what it is.”
Whipple’s eyes may have been invisible behind the reflective glasses, but Joanna felt them narrow. A frown wrinkled across the man’s sunburned forehead. “Does this have anything to do with those two detectives who were by here yesterday?” he asked “Like I already told them. This here’s private property. No one’s allowed inside unless Mr. Parker or his daughter gives the word. Mr. Parker’s last order to me was that no cops were to enter unless they had themselves a bona-fide court order.”
“We’re here to speak to Mr. Parker,” Joanna insisted. “And since he’s not a suspect of any kind, we don’t need a court order for that. Would you call him, please, and let him know we’re here? You can assure him in advance that we won’t take up much of his valuable time.”
“If you don’t mind, ma’am, you’d best tell me what this is in regard to,” Whipple countered.
“I do mind,” Joanna replied with an uncompromising smile. “My business with Mr. Parker is entirely confidential.”
Shaking his head, Rob Whipple sidled back into his guard shack. Joanna saw him pick up a small two-way radio and speak into it. What followed were several of what appeared to be increasingly heated exchanges. Finally, shaking his head in disgust, Rob Whipple slammed down the radio and then emerged from the shack, carrying a clipboard.
“Miss Parker says you can go in,” he growled. “Sign here.” Taking the clipboard, Joanna quickly scanned the paper. Blanks on the sheet called for date, time of entrance, time of departure, name, and firm, along with a space for a signature. Joanna noted that the first date mentioned on that sheet was May 22. Several of the listed firms were companies that delivered foodstuffs and other supplies to her department back in Bisbee, but of the names of the eighteen delivery people listed, Joanna recognized no one. Nowhere on the sheet was there any listing for Constance Marie Haskell. Ernie Carpenter’s and Jaime Carbajal’s names were also conspicuous by their absence.
“Are you going to sign
