“Did Brad Evans remarry?” Joanna asked.

“If he did, Ted never mentioned it,” Jaime replied.

“We should probably check this out,” Joanna said. “Twenty-plus years ago Brad Evans went to prison for murdering his wife, but he still lists his dead wife’s mother as his beneficiary? That strikes me as very strange.”

“Do you want me to go talk to her tonight?” Jaime asked. “Since Ted already identified the body, we don’t need her for that, but…”

Joanna looked at the computer printout. Even across the table she could make out her father’s name, Deputy D. H. Lathrop. It was eight o’clock, and Sierra Vista was thirty miles away, but even if it meant getting home at midnight, Joanna wanted to be there when Jaime spoke to Anna Marie Crystal.

She picked up the phone and dialed home. “Hullo,” Jenny said.

“How are you?” Joanna asked.

“Okay, I guess,” Jenny mumbled unconvincingly.

“Is everything all right?”

“I suppose.”

“What did you have for dinner?”

“Noodle soup.”

“As you know, there’s been a homicide, Jenny,” Joanna told her. “We’ve just found an important lead, but it means I need to go to Sierra Vista. Will you be all right?”

“I guess. I’m watching TV, but there’s nothing good on.”

“The doors are locked?”

Jenny sighed. “Yes, Mother.”

Joanna knew that being called “Mother” was never a good sign, but still…

“It’s part of a case your grandfather investigated years ago,” Joanna continued. “I really need to be there.” Want was more like it, but that’s not what she said.

“Go ahead,” Jenny told her. “I’ll be fine.”

“You’re sure?”

“Mother!”

“Good night,” Joanna said. “I’ll see you in the morning.”

“Your car or mine?” Jaime asked as Joanna put down the phone.

“Yours,” Joanna said. “I’m just along for the ride.”

They had crossed the Divide in the Mule Mountains and had turned off Highway 80 toward Sierra Vista when Joanna’s cell phone rang.

“I tried the house,” Butch said. “Jenny told me you were still working.”

“It’s a homicide,” Joanna said. “Jaime and I are on our way to do the next-of-kin notification.”

“Didn’t Dr. Lee say you were supposed to take it easy these last couple of weeks?” Butch demanded.

“I am taking it easy,” Joanna returned. “Jaime’s doing the driving.”

“And you’re wearing your seat belt the right way?” he asked.

“Yes,” she said, a little annoyed by his fussing. “How was the panel?”

“Okay,” he said.

“You don’t sound very enthusiastic.”

“I’m wondering how much good this kind of thing does, when what I really want is to be home. I always thought writers were like hermits. This seems more like being a politician out on the stump, having to meet and greet. Carole Ann tells me I need to get used to it.”

Having just survived a bruising election campaign, Joanna knew exactly how it felt to be on the stump. She, for one, was glad to be off it.

“Jenny said this was one of your father’s old cases,” Butch said. “One of those cold-case-file deals?”

“Not really,” Joanna answered. “The homicide victim whose body was found this morning turns out to be someone my father arrested and sent to prison for murder in 1978. When we requested the record, there was my father’s name on the report. It was strange seeing his name like that, like there was some kind of weird connection between us. I don’t know how to explain it.”

“Jenny didn’t sound too thrilled to be left on her own,” Butch said. “I would have thought she’d be ecstatic. She’s always saying we baby her too much.”

“I think it’s called attention deficit,” Joanna said.

“Probably pretty typical,” Butch said. “You’ve got a lot on your plate, Joey. No wonder Jenny feels neglected at times. Occasionally, so do I. We both want your undivided attention, and there’s only so much of you to go around.”

Joanna bit back the urge to apologize. She was, after all, simply doing her job, and a new baby was going to make it worse.

“Anyway,” Butch added, “don’t stay out too late. You’ll wear yourself out. How was the shower?”

“You knew about the shower, too?” Joanna asked. It seemed that everyone had known about it.

“Who do you think sent the note to school so Eva Lou could spring Jenny?”

“The shower was great,” Joanna said. “Lots of goodies. Come to think of it, they’re still in the car.”

“Don’t worry about unpacking them,” Butch said. “Let Jenny do it. Or wait until I get home on Sunday.”

“Butch,” Joanna cautioned, “I may be pregnant, but I’m not an invalid.”

“And I don’t want you to be, either.”

“Have fun,” Joanna said.

“I will,” Butch returned. “Don’t work too hard.”

Joanna closed her phone. “He’s worried about you?” Jaime asked.

“I guess.”

“I remember how it was when Delcia was pregnant with Pepe,” Jaime said. “I kept worrying and worrying. Delcia was fine the whole time. I was a wreck.”

Joanna laughed. “Sounds familiar,” she said.

They were quiet for a few minutes before Jaime asked, “Is this what you always wanted?”

“Having a baby?” Joanna asked.

“No. Being a cop,” Jaime said with a laugh. “Because of your dad, I mean.”

“I was proud of him,” Joanna returned, after a moment’s thought. “I thought what he did was important, and I thought he treated people fairly. And I was proud of Andy, too, but I never really thought about being a cop myself, not until after Andy’s funeral when someone suggested that I run in his stead. So I guess you could say I stumbled into it. Now, though, I can’t imagine doing anything else.”

Jaime nodded. “Me, either,” he said.

Anna Marie Crystal’s house was a modest bungalow on Short Street, a block-long fragment of street a single block off Fry Boulevard, Sierra Vista‘s main drag. It was a small clapboard affair with a screened-in front porch. Tucked in behind a collection of strip malls, the house resembled some of the older houses from up in Old Bisbee. It was easy for Joanna to assume that it predated the reopening of Fort Huachuca in the early fifties. The yard, surrounded by a four-foot chain-link fence, looked clean and well tended in the glow of the security lights from the loading docks of the businesses across the street.

With Jaime walking just behind her, Joanna opened the gate and made her way up to the porch, where a single yellow light illuminated an old-fashioned buzzer-style bell. As soon as she punched it, a small dog began barking furiously inside the house.

“Fritz,” a woman’s voice ordered from behind the front door. “Quiet now. Come here!” And then a moment later, “Who is it?”

“We’re police officers,” Joanna responded. “I’m Sheriff Brady. Detective Carbajal is with me. May we come in?”

Several locks clicked before the inside door opened cautiously to reveal a gray-haired woman clutching what appeared to be a tiny silky terrier mix in one arm. A high-volume television set blared somewhere in the background.

“Police?” she asked, peering out at them. “What’s wrong? Has something happened-a robbery or something? With all the people coming and going from that 7-Eleven on the corner, you just never can tell.”

“Are you Mrs. Crystal?”

The woman nodded.

“It’s not a robbery,” Joanna assured her. “But we do need to speak to you.”

After unhooking the screen door, Anna Marie took Joanna’s proffered ID wallet and carried it back inside the house. She put the dog on the floor and then studied Joanna’s ID in the illumination from an overhead light. Meanwhile the dog raced back to the screen door and resumed barking. Joanna held the screen door shut to keep the dog from bursting outside.

“Fritz,” the woman ordered. “Stop that right now. Come here.”

Fritz, of course, paid no attention. Finally the woman returned to the porch, scooped the dog back into her arms. “He doesn’t mind very well,” she said. “Wait right here while I lock him in the kitchen.”