Diana caught her breath at the thought that maybe this was a clue, something that might lead them to Lani or at least tell them where to start looking. “Could I talk to Jessie?” Diana asked. “If we could find out what that was, maybe it would help us find her.”
Moments later, a subdued Jessica Carpenter came on the phone. “I’m sorry, Mrs. Walker. I hope Lani’s going to be okay.”
“Just tell me what you know about what Lani was doing earlier this morning.”
“What if it ruins a surprise?”
“Please,” Diana said. “That’s a risk we’ll have to take.”
“It was something about a picture. Lani said she had met a man who was going to paint a picture of her to give to you and Mr. Walker for your anniversary. When we talked last night, she was all excited and asked me what I thought she should wear.”
“Did she tell you what she decided?” Diana Walker asked.
“What she wore in February when she was one of the rodeo princesses. That pretty flowered shirt, her cowboy hat, her boots. I don’t know for sure if that’s what she wore, but she said she was going to.”
The phone trembled in Diana’s hand. She was listening to Jessie Carpenter’s voice but she was thinking about Fat Crack’s warning about the danger from
“Her rodeo clothes?” Diana managed to mumble in return. “Did she say why she chose those?”
“Something about the man, the artist, wanting her to look like an Indian.”
The doorbell rang. “I’d better go. Someone’s at the door,” Diana said hurriedly. “Thank you, Jess. I’ll pass this information along to the deputy.”
But Jessie Carpenter wasn’t quite ready to be off the phone. “You don’t think anything bad has happened to Lani, do you, Mrs. Walker?”
Hot tears stung the corners of Diana’s eyes. “I hope to God nothing has,” she said.
By the time Diana put down the phone in the kitchen and headed for the living room, Brandon was already escorting Detective Ford Myers into the house, leading him to the same couch where Deputy Garrett was already seated with his notebook in hand.
Diana’s heart fell as soon as she saw Detective Myers.
Ford Myers had gotten himself crosswise of Brandon very early in the course of their professional lives. The two of them had gone head-to-head on more than one occasion over the years, but once elected sheriff, the civil service protections Brandon himself had instituted had made getting rid of Myers tough. As a result, Myers had stayed on, growing more and more disgruntled.
During that critical election campaign, when Brandon had been running against Bill Forsythe in the aftermath of the Quentin Walker protection-racket allegations, Detective Myers had been one of several members of the department who had been openly critical of Brandon Walker’s administration.
“What seems to be the problem?” Myers was saying as Diana walked into the room.
“It’s our daughter,” Brandon answered. “Her name is Lani. Full name Dolores Lanita Walker. She’s sixteen. She left for work on her bike around six o’clock this morning and never arrived. Tonight she was supposed to go to a concert with a friend of hers from up the street. Lani didn’t show for that, either.”
“That’s the last time you saw her?” Myers asked. “This morning?”
“We didn’t actually see her then,” Brandon answered. “She left us a note. We didn’t worry about her all day because we thought she had gone to work at the Arizona Sonora Desert Museum. This evening, though, when we came back from dinner, her supervisor from work had called and left a message. Mrs. Allison said on the phone that when she was going to miss a shift like she did today that she needed to call in.”
“You’ve spoken to this Mrs. Allison?”
Brandon shook his head, but plucked the Post-it note with Lani’s handwritten message on it and handed it over to the detective. “Not yet,” Brandon said, as the detective perused the note. “As you can see, she had plans to go to a concert this evening.”
“What kind?” Myers asked. “One of those rock concerts?”
“I doubt it. She goes in more for country western. You could talk to her friend, Jessica Carpenter. She could tell you what kind of concert it was.”
“And you said Lani rides her bike to work?”
“That’s right. She could drive one of the cars, but she prefers the bike. When my wife and I came home a little while ago, though, the bike was back home, lying in the middle of the carport. Her bike was here, but Lani wasn’t. Every light in the house was on.”
The detective glanced at Deputy Garrett. “A break-in then?” Myers asked.
Garrett shook his head. “I haven’t been able to find any sign of it so far. Either the doors were left unlocked —”
“They weren’t,” Brandon interrupted.
“Or whoever it was let themselves in with a key. Other than a gun—a Colt .357—nothing else seems to be missing, although there is some glass breakage in Sheriff Walker’s study.”
“Where was the Colt?” Myers asked.
“Locked in my gun cabinet,” Brandon answered.
