“Between the two of us, I think we can probably handle Dolores Mattias,” Joanna said after a moment’s consideration. “Besides, at this point all we’re going to do is ask her a couple of questions.”
“Where to, then?” Frank asked, turning the key in the ignition.
“The Triple H. Dolores and Joaquin have a place on Triple H Ranch Road.”
The Mattias place was easy enough to find. It had apparently started out as a double-wide mobile home, but with the addition of a screened front porch and a covered back patio, there was no longer anything mobile about it. The Dodge Ram Joanna had seen earlier in the day was nowhere in evidence as they drove up to the house. A dog, a shaggy black and white mutt, raced out to meet them, barking furiously. By the time Frank stopped at the front of the house, the front light had switched on and the door to the screened porch slammed open.
“What’s happened?” Dolores Mattias called before Joanna had even set foot outside the car. “Has there been an accident? Is Joaquin hurt? Where is he?”
Joanna switched gears. “Your husband is missing?” she asked.
“He was supposed to come up to the house to get me when my shift was over, but he didn’t. I had to ask the night nurse to give me a ride home.”
“Have you tried calling him?”
Dolores shook her head. “He doesn’t have a cell phone.”
“When did you see him last?”
“This morning,” Dolores said. “When he dropped me off at Aileen’s place.”
“Did your husband have plans for the afternoon?” Joanna asked. “Have you checked with his friends?”
“He said he was going to be working around here,” Dolores asserted. “At least that’s what he told me at breakfast- that he wanted to finish painting the front gate. That’s one of the reasons I’m worried. Nothing’s been done on the gate- nothing at all. It’s not like him to go off somewhere without letting me know. But if you’re not here about Joaquin, why did you come?”
“To speak to you, Mrs. Mattias,” Joanna said.
“Me?” Dolores asked. “Why me?”
“This is my chief deputy Frank Montoya. We’re investigating the homicide of someone named Bradley Evans. May we come in?”
Dolores Mattias gave no sign of recognition at hearing the murder victim’s name. Instead, she opened the door wide enough to allow them entry to the screened porch and then escorted them into the living room.
“How can I help you?” she asked, seating herself and motioning for Joanna and Frank to do the same.
“We understand you purchased some automobile paint primer a week or so ago,” Joanna ventured.
Dolores nodded. “Yes, I did.” She made the admission easily, as if it were of no consequence at all. “Joaquin had agreed to help a friend paint his car that weekend. My husband was supposed to pick up the primer, but he ran out of time. Since I was going to town any way, Joaquin asked me to pick it up, and I did.”
“What friend?” Joanna asked.
“Someone who works at the restaurant in Sonoita.”
“What’s his name?”
“I don’t know,” Dolores said. “Joaquin didn’t say. As moody as he’s been lately, I didn’t press him. He’s been so upset that he’s been almost impossible to live with.”
Being involved in a murder is upsetting, Joanna thought. “Upset about what?” she asked.
“The survey,” Dolores answered. “Ever since Joaquin found out about it, he just hasn’t been himself.”
“What survey?”
“He was going around the ranch in late January, checking fence lines. That’s one of his jobs-making sure the fences are okay. He was down at the far western corner of the ranch when he came across a survey crew. He asked them what they were doing. They told him they were working for Mr. Markham and doing preliminary survey work in advance of subdividing the ranch-this part of the ranch,” Dolores added. “The part closest to the road. It’s going to be called Whetstone Ranch Estates.”
Joanna sent Frank a questioning look. For the last several months, he’d been the one attending the board of supervisors meetings. Perhaps this proposal had come up in one of the Planning and Zoning reports. In answer to Joanna’s unspoken question, her chief deputy shrugged his shoulders and gave a slight shake to his head.
“Joaquin was very upset to hear it,” Dolores continued. “Senora Ruth promised that we’d always be able to keep our place here, no matter what. So did Aileen. Naturally, Joaquin went straight to Mr. Markham and asked him about it. He said not to worry. That he’d see to it that, no matter what happened to the Triple H, we’d be taken care of.”
Joanna thought back to what Leslie had said earlier, about her planning to give up her career in real estate in order to focus her attention on running the ranch once her mother was gone. It sounded as though she and her husband were of two different minds on the subject.
“Does Leslie know anything about this?” Joanna asked.
Dolores shook her head. “I don’t know. She’s already dealing with so much concerning her poor mother that it didn’t seem fair to ask. I told Joaquin not to worry-that we’d be fine. We’ve saved our money over the years, and we haven’t had to pay rent. Maybe we’ll be able to buy a place in town.”
“How did your husband react when you told him that?” Joanna asked.
“He was fine. At least I thought he was fine, but then last week, he was all upset again. He couldn’t eat. Couldn’t sleep. I asked him what was bothering him, but he’s a man. He told me nothing was bothering him and that I should leave him alone, so I did.”
“It sounds as though you and your husband have lived and worked here on the Triple H for a very long time,” Joanna ventured.
Dolores nodded. “The whole time we’ve been together,” she answered. “Joaquin was working here when we first got married. He wasn’t the foreman then, just a hand. He wasn’t even legal. When Leslie was about to be born and they wanted someone to help out, Joaquin suggested that I go to work for them. I’ve been working for the Houlihans ever since. I took care of the house and looked after Leslie when she was a baby. Then when first Senora Ruth and later Senora Aileen got sick, I took care of them as well, and I pray every day that the same thing won’t happen to Leslie.”
“You mean Huntington’s disease?” Joanna asked.
“It’s a terrible thing, that disease,” Dolores replied. “It’s something that passes from one generation to another, from parent to child. I would not want to live and die that way. Now that I’ve seen what’s happening with Aileen, I can see why her mother did what she did.”
“Have you ever noticed that Leslie doesn’t look very much like her mother?” Joanna asked.
“Yes,” Dolores said. “I always thought maybe she took after her father’s side of the family. Mr. Tazewell left soon after Leslie was born, though. I never knew very much about him.”
“What if I told you that perhaps Aileen Houlihan isn’t Leslie Markham’s mother?”
“It wouldn’t be true,” Dolores Mattias declared. “Couldn’t be true. She had the baby here at the ranch. Joaquin told me all about it-how Senora Ruth took Aileen and the baby to the hospital after Leslie was born.”
“You’re sure Aileen Houlihan was pregnant?” Joanna asked.
“Of course I’m sure.”
“How do you know that?”
“Because I came to the ranch with Joaquin one day and saw her,” Dolores retorted. “I knew Aileen was pregnant with Leslie the same way I know you’re pregnant-just by looking.”
“Didn’t you think it was odd that Leslie was born at home?” Joanna asked.
“Senora Ruth said the baby came too fast, that there wasn’t time enough to get to the hospital. They were up at the other house-at the house where Leslie and Mr. Markham live now. But Senora Ruth was a nurse, you know. She was able to take care of things just fine.”