"I see you're splashed all over the front page of the Republic again this morning, Beau," Delcia said with a musical laugh when I identified myself. "There are only fourteen counties in this state, and so far you've raised hell in five of them. How much longer do you plan on staying around?"
"This is serious, Delcia," I cut in. "Rhonda's missing."
"No!" Delcia sounded alarmed.
"I woke up around ten, and she was gone. So is Ralph Ames' car."
"No note?"
"Nothing."
"Any sign of a struggle?"
"No."
"These bastards don't give up easy, do they," Delcia breathed. She was leaping to the same uncomfortable conclusion that was beginning to dawn on me.
"Not very. What do you suggest?"
"Have you reported her missing?"
"No. Ralph didn't think it was necessary. He won't even report the car being gone. He's convinced she's just out running errands and that she'll be back."
"He could be right," Delcia said dubiously, "but I'm not so sure, especially considering what all's happened in this case during the last few days. But since it is his car…"
She let the end of the sentence linger in the air. After a momentary pause she asked, "What did those guys want, anyway? Why did they snatch Michelle? The newspaper story didn't shed much light on the whys."
"Money, for one thing, I guess. Money Joey had lifted from somebody and turned over to Michelle for safekeeping."
"How much money?"
"A hundred grand."
Delcia whistled through her teeth. "Sounds like big-time drug money to me. So maybe he wasn't lying about that after all."
"No," I said. "Maybe not. And since he seems to have been grabbing at money anywhere he could find it, my guess is that he got in a tight spot with his suppliers and was trying to make good on what he owed them. Either that, or to skip out altogether."
"Literally robbing Peter to pay Paul," Delcia put in.
"That's right. The creeps also said something about a paper as well as the money, but all I saw in the briefcase was green stuff, so I don't have any idea what the paper could have been."
"Maybe Michelle knows something about it," Delcia suggested. "The F.B.I. may have learned something from her about that. Do you know? Did they ask her?"
"They never got a chance to talk to Michelle, at least not while I was there. The chopper from Fort Huachuca had lifted off before the F.B.I. guys arrived on the scene. As far as I know, they still haven't interviewed either Guy or Michelle."
"Is it possible that the feds learned something from the prisoners?"
"Possible," I agreed, "but you know the F.B.I. They didn't breathe a word to anybody else."
"At least not to you," Delcia interjected good-humoredly.
My temper flared. "You're right. Not to me. You might have better luck on that score. You're a helluva lot prettier than I am, for one thing, and you're an official detective with an official connection to the case for another. Who am I? Just the poor stupid schmuck who happened to get caught in the cross fire with live bullets flying in every goddamn direction. Why the hell would I need to know anything?"
"Don't get all bent out of shape," Delcia cautioned. "I'm scheduled to call the F.B.I. this morning. If I find out something you should know, I'll tell you. As soon as I finish with them, I'm on my way to Phoenix for the funeral. Maybe Ralph Ames is right and Rhonda's out getting ready for the funeral. If she shows up in the next hour or so, have the dispatcher put you through to me in the car. Otherwise, when I get there, we'll see what other courses of action to follow."
"All right," I said grudgingly, knowing full well it was the only sensible thing to do.
I understand how missing-persons reports work. Police jurisdictions don't much like receiving them when the person in question has been missing less than twenty-four hours. It generates too much wasted paperwork.
"One more thing," Delcia added. "I did have a call for her. It came in to the department last night. The guys on duty thought it might be important and called me at home."
"A call for Rhonda?" I asked. "What kind of call? Who from?"
"A man. Gave his name as Denny Blake. Said he was neighbor of Rhonda's up in Sedona. He said he was worried because he hadn't heard from her in several days."
"Why'd he call you?"
"He read about the Joey Rothman case in the Sedona paper and knew I was working on it. He left a message with me to have Rhonda call him."
"You didn't tell him where she was staying or give him this number, did you?"
"I'm a cop, Beau," Delcia answered, a sudden chill creeping into her previously cordial voice. "And I'm not stupid."
"Sorry," I said hurriedly. "I didn't mean for it to sound that way. It's just that I'm worried, that's all. I'll see you when you get here."
"Hopefully she'll be there by the time I am," Delcia added, but she didn't sound totally convinced, and neither was I.
"So we wait?" Ames asked, peering at me over his raised coffee cup as I put down the phone.
"We wait," I told him.
But as I said before, I'm terrible at waiting. It goes against the grain. I have a compulsion to do something even if what I do may not always be right. Ten minutes later, I picked up the phone, dialed Arizona information, and asked for Denny Blake's number in Sedona. There was no problem. The phone number was there, unlisted. When I dialed it, a man's voice answered on the second ring.
"Blake's residence," he said.
I'm used to phone calls being much more difficult to make, people being harder to track down. Denny Blake answered before I had a chance to figure out what I was going to say.
"My name is Beaumont," I stammered. "J. P. Beaumont."
"Oh yes," he answered. "Rhonda mentioned you. From the sound of it, you must be some kind of he-man."
Denny Blake's sibilant s's allowed me to assume that he wasn't His words had a vaguely English cast to them that could have been real or could have been affected, I couldn't tell which, but what he said about Rhonda gave me cause for hope.
"You're talking about what happened yesterday?" I ventured.
"She told me all about it," Denny Blake declared enthusiastically. "Everything! From what she said, it must have been exciting. Too exciting for words!"
"It was exciting, all right," I muttered, but I was beginning to feel better. Obviously Rhonda had been in touch with Denny Blake sometime during the course of the morning.
"Rhonda doesn't happen to be there right now, does she?" I asked cautiously.
"She didn't come all the way here," he answered archly. "I wouldn't let her do that. Not with the funeral this afternoon. I met her at a little place in Camp Verde, J J's. They make the most marvelous biscuits and gravy."
For a moment I was speechless. "So you met her there?" I finally asked. "Why?"
"To give her the package, of course. I assumed it was important, since Joey had obviously gone to some trouble to send it. I was sure she'd want to have it. ASAP, if you know what I mean."
"Package?" I asked stupidly. "What package?"
"I didn't know it was from Joey, not for sure, but I assumed. It had the initials. J.R. penciled on it up in the left-hand corner where the return address is supposed to go, although it was post-marked Sierra Vista. I don't know how he could have gotten all the way down there to mail it, but he must have, poor thing."
"The package. How did you get it?"
"The mailman left it with me. Saturday morning, I believe it was. He does that, you know. Leaves things for Rhonda with me if she's not home and stuff for me with her if I'm not. Yes, I'm sure it was Saturday morning, but Rhonda wasn't here. That's not like her, not at all. She usually tells me well in advance if she's going to be away or calls if her plans change. We're pretty much on our own out here-the last of the Mohicans, as it were. The two of us simply have to stick together."