“I don’t know,” Joanna said wearily. “Maybe it was self-defense. Or maybe she shot her rabid-dog son to save others.”
“Sheriff Brady?” Tica Romero’s radio voice reached them through the open window.
Finishing the last of her water, Joanna got into the Civvie and unclipped the mike. “Sheriff Brady here,” she said. “What’s up?”
“I’m in for Larry now. Doe Winfield says to ask you if you ever had a chance to speak to your mother.”
Joanna sighed. Wasn’t it enough that she was out in the desert climbing up and down cliffs and finding dead bodies? Expecting her to find time to be a dutiful daughter was asking too much.
“Tell him no,” Joanna said. “I tried calling her, but she wasn’t home.”
“He says she still isn’t home,” Tica relayed a moment later. “He says he’s really worried about her.”
“Tell him I’m worried too, but I’m on the far side of the Chiricahuas at a crime scene right now, and there isn’t a whole lot I can do about it at the moment. But Tica, once you let him know, you might also radio the cars that are out on patrol right now and ask the deputies to keep an eye out for my mother. Eleanor Lathrop Winfield drives a light blue 1999 Buick sedan. I can’t remember the license plate number right off, and don’t ask Doc Winfield for it. Get it from the DMV and put it out to everyone who’s currently on duty”
“Will do, Sheriff Brady.”
“And when you finish with that, would you mind calling out to the ranch and letting Butch know that I won’t be home until later.”
“Sure thing.”
Shaking her head, Joanna went back to where Frank was standing with the heel of one boot hooked on the Civvie’s rear bumper. “What was that all about?” he asked.
“My mother,” Joanna grumbled. “She and Doc Winfield must be having some kind of row. George called me this afternoon and wanted me to talk to her. I tried calling, but she wasn’t home. According to George, Eleanor was upset last night when she heard about what had happened to Dora Matthews. And that’s understandable. I’m upset about what happened to Dora, too, but my best guess is that Eleanor is pissed at George about something else altogether. She’s decided to teach him a lesson, so she left the house early this morning without making his coffee, and she hasn’t been seen or heard from since.”
“Do you think something’s happened to her?” Frank asked.
Joanna shook her head. “It’s not the first time Eleanor’s pulled a stunt like this. She did it to my dad on occasion. It used to drive him nuts. What drives me crazy is the fact that I have to be caught in the middle of it.”
“You’re the daughter,” Frank pointed out. “Sons get off light in that department. Daughters don’t. II you don’t believe MC, ask my sisters.”
The better part of an hour passed before the first additional vehicles arrived. George Winfield was still enough of a newcomer to Cochise County that he had caravanned out to Paradise behind a van driven by one of the crime scene techs.
“So where’s the body?” he demanded as soon as he caught sight of Joanna.
She pointed. “About a mile and a little bit that way and at the bottom of a cliff.”
“Who’s driving?” George asked.
“Nobody’s driving.”
“You mean we have to walk?”
Joanna nodded. “Until Deputy Hollicker has finished taking plaster casts, nobody’s driving in or out.”
“Great,” George Winfield said with a sigh. “When I signed on to be medical examiner around here, I never realized how many bodies we’d have to haul in from out in the boonies. And I sure didn’t understand about the hours. Couldn’t you get your murderers to do their deeds in places that are a little more on the beaten path, Joanna? And it would be nice if it wasn’t almost always the middle of the night when it happens. How about instituting a rule that says all bodies are to be found and investigated during normal office hours only?”
Despite her own weariness, Joanna couldn’t restrain a chuckle. “Stop griping, George,” she said. “Come on. I’ll show you where the body is. Frank, didn’t I see Dave Hollicker again just a minute ago?”
“Yeah. He carne back for more plaster.”
“As long as he’s here, ask him to help carry the Doc’s equipment.”
Using a battery-powered lanterns to light the way, Joanna retraced the path she and Frank had followed earlier. George Winfield trudged along behind her. He was a good thirty years older than Joanna, but he had no apparent difficulty in keeping up with her.
“I can’t imagine what’s happened to your mother,” he groused as they walked. “Maybe she’s been in an accident.”
Joanna chose not to go into the details of Eleanor and D. H. Lathrop’s history of marital discord. “I’m sure Mother’s fine, George,” Joanna said reassuringly. “Did the two of you have a fight?”
“Not really.”
“Look, George,” she said. “If anyone’s an expert on fighting with my mother, I’m it. How not really did you fight?”
“I told her about Dora last night after I came home. I do that—talk to her about my cases. Most of the time it’s okay, but this time, she just went off the deep end about it. I’ve never seen her upset like that before, Joanna. Your mother isn’t what I’d call an hysterical woman, but she was hysterical last night. I did my best to calm her down. I told her she was overreacting, that she was being far more emotional than the situation warranted. I told her she shouldn’t blame herself for what happened. That there was no way anyone could possibly think that Dora Matthews’s death was her fault. That’s when she really lit into me, Joanna. She told me I didn’t understand anything about her. That’s when she took that sleeping pill and went to bed, without even staying up to watch the news, which she usually does every night.
“Maybe Ellie was right,” George Winfield added miserably. “Maybe I don’t understand her.” He paused for a moment before continuing. “Ellie was never particularly good friends with Dora’s grandmother, was she?”
“No,” Joanna answered. “She wasn’t.”
“When she found Dora was at your place,” George continued, “she was just livid about that—about the camp-out and the cigarettes and the girls’ being sent home. It sounded to me as though she thought everything that had happened out there was Dora’s fault. So why should she fall apart the moment she hears Dora Matthews is dead? It’s more than I can understand.
“But still, that’s no excuse for her disappearing without saying a word to me about where she was going or when she’d he back. This morning I checked the house to see if she had left me a note. She hadn’t. All day long, I kept calling in for messages. She never called. The whole thing beats me all to hell. And now, just when she might finally show up at home, where am I? Out here hiking to God knows where trying to track down another body. So if Ellie finally gets over being mad at me because of the business with Dora Matthews, by the time I get home she’ll be mad all over again because I’ve been out late one more time.”
He stopped walking and talking both. When Joanna turned to look at him, he shook his head. “Oh, hell, Joanna. I’m just rambling on and on. Why don’t you tell me to shut up?”
“Because I thought you needed to talk.”
He sighed. “I suppose you’re right there. But tell me about this case now, and how much farther do we have to walk?”
They had already passed the clearing containing the deserted house. “It’s only another quarter of a mile or so, but then we have to climb down a cliff. The car’s at the bottom of that.”
“And what’s this all about?”
“The victim is a guy named Rob Whipple. Just this afternoon, he_ turned into a suspect in the Connie Haskell homicide. Frank and I were on our way to talk to him when we found him dead.”