Melvin Williams looked around uneasily, hoping none of his other guests would overhear. This kind of conversation wasn’t exactly good for business.

Adam York, however, didn’t seem the least concerned if the whole world listened in. “I Understand your mother may have something to tell us in that regard, but I haven’t been able to locate her. You wouldn’t happen to know where we could find her, now would you?”

Joanna studied the man, trying to assess who and what he was. What kind of secret, three-way connection had linked this man to Andy and Lefty O’Toole? Two of the three were now dead. Was Adam York also marked for death, or was he the one behind the other killings?

Either way, Joanna didn’t much want him anywhere near either Eleanor or Jenny. To keep from betraying her real feelings, Joanna dredged up her best flip answer.

“I’m not my mother’s keeper,” she said frostily and stalked on up the stairs. She listened for footsteps on the stairway behind her, but Adam York made no move to follow.

With no further difficulty, Joanna located room 412 and knocked on the door. From inside she could hear the blare of a television set. She knocked again, more firmly this time. Finally the door opened to reveal a pajama-clad middle-aged man holding a can of beer in his hand.

“Whadyya want?” he demanded.

Joanna had not expected to find a man in room 412. “I’m looking for Tammy Sue Ferris,” she stammered uncertainly. “I was told this was her room.”

“You were told wrong,” the man returned. “Nobody named Tammy’s in here,” and he slammed the door shut in Joanna’s face.

Stunned, she stepped back and stood in the corridor, staring at the closed door in front of her, unsure how to proceed. Had she remembered the number wrong? And if she went back down to the desk to check with Melvin Williams, would Adam York still be in the lobby?

Discouraged, she started back down the hall. As she walked past the next room, the door swung open and a woman stepped into the corridor. “Joanna?” Tammy Sue Ferris asked.

Joanna nodded, and Tammy pulled her in-side the room. “I was afraid someone might follow you.”

With the makeup scrubbed off her face and with her mane of blonde hair pulled back in a ponytail, Tammy Sue’s looks didn’t at all match up to Joanna’s expectations. Sandra Henning had described a regular harlot. This girl looked like someone barely out of high school.

“No one followed me,” Joanna said, “but I ran into a DEA agent on the stairs. Adam York. Did you know he was here?”

The golden tan on the woman’s face faded to white. “You didn’t tell him, did you?”

“No, I didn’t tell him,” Joanna said. “I gave you my word.”

“What’s he doing here then?”

“Actually, he’s trying to find a way to pin my husband’s murder on me. You and I both know that’s not true, so let’s get down to business. I f you want me to help work this deal, as you put it, then I’ve got to know what’s going on.”

Joanna paused, gathering her courage before she asked the next question, dreading what the answer might be. “First of all,” she said slowly, deliberately, “tell me how you knew Andy.”

The woman Joanna knew as Tammy Sue Ferris looked genuinely thunderstruck. “Your husband? I didn’t know him at all.”

Joanna crossed her arms and stared implacably at the other woman. “Look, Cora. Let’s get one thing straight. If you want me to help you, you’re going to have to tell me the truth.”

“Cora?” Angie echoed. “Who’s Cora?”

“And while we’re at it, you’d better tell me about the money as well. I want to know where it came from. Otherwise, I’m walking out the door this very minute and calling Adam York. You can work out your own deal with the DEA.”

Tammy Sue Ferris/Angie Kellogg sank down on the edge of the bed. This wasn’t the way she’d expected the meeting to go. She had thought Joanna Brady would be eager to work with her, that the woman would be eternally grateful for any kind of help in nailing her husband’s killer. But with the DEA lurking downstairs, and with Tony Vargas out there somewhere looking for her, Angie had to decide. Should she trust this angry red-haired woman standing there in front of the door asking crazy questions, or should she push her out of the way, bolt from the room, run like hell, and hope for the best?

“Where’d the money come from?” Joanna was asking.

Feeling trapped, Angie decided to quit lying. There didn’t seem to be any point. “I stole it,” she answered. “I stole it from Tony.”

“I thought you told me you had evidence, something the cops wanted.”

Angie shrugged. “I have that, too, but I took the money because I need a way to live until I can a job. If I go to the cops and they find out about it, they’ll take the money away from me the same as Tony would.”

How much did you steal?”

“Fifty thousand, I guess.”

“And why’d you give ten of that to Andy?”

“I didn’t give any of it to your husband,” Angie insisted forcefully. “How many times do I have to tell you? I never even met the man. How could I give him money? Besides, didn’t steal it until after he was already dead”

Joanna felt as though she was spinning in dizzying circles. None of this made sense. She took a step closer to the other woman. “Your name’s not really Tammy Sue anybody, is it! Tell me your real name, lady, or I swear I’m out of here.”

“Angie,” the woman replied. “My name’s Angie Kellogg.”

“Not Cora?”

“Not Cora.”

“And where does this Angie Kellogg live?” Joanna asked sarcastically.

“Tucson,” Angie replied dully. “At least that’s where I lived until yesterday.”

“You’re lying. You live somewhere in Nevada”

“I’m not. I swear to God. What good would it do me to lie? I’ve been in Nevada only once in my whole life. Tony took me to Vegas. Walt, I’ll show you.”

Angie got up, dragged a beach bag out of the closet, and rummaged through it until she found a small, worn book, a bird book. Opening it, she took out what appeared to be a post card. It was a picture of two people standing in front of a horseshoe-shaped container, the inside back wall of which was covered with money.

“That’s us,” Angie said, “Tony and me. We had our picture taken in Vegas at the Horseshoe.”

She handed the picture over, and Joanna studied it. It was sepia rather than color or black and white, so colors were difficult to judge, but the man standing next to Angie matched Eleanor’s description-middle-aged, verging on heavy set, Hispanic features, and dark wavy hair.

“May I keep this?” Joanna asked.

Angie shrugged. “I don’t care. Anyway,” she continued, “I lived with Tony in Tucson until yesterday. And now he’s after me. He would have caught me, too, if some nice truck driver hadn’t given me a ride here.”

“And why exactly did you come here? Was it just to see me?”

Angie nodded and hung her head. “I thought we could figure out a way to catch him,” she said. “A way to put him in jail without me having to testify against him. And I have this book. Sort of a record book that Tony kept. I thought maybe somebody would want II “

“Show it to to me,” Joanna ordered.

“I can’t,” Angie replied.

“Why not?”

“I left it in the safe at the desk, just in case,” Angie answered.

“I’ll go down and pick it up,” Joanna of-

Angie shook her head. “No, I told him to only give it to me. If you didn’t tell the DEA guy about me, he won’t know who I am.” She got up and reached for the beach bag.

“Oh, no,” Joanna said. “Leave that here. It’s my only guarantee that you’ll come back.”

Tony Vargas had run into a stumbling block. Following the speeding Eagle into town, he was primarily concerned with closing the distance between the two vehicles as he came around a long, flat curve by an immense, dark hole in the ground that was actually an abandoned open-pit copper mine. Tony Vargas had no way of knowing that Bisbee locals had good reason for calling this particular stretch of Highway 80 “Citation Avenue,” but he was about to find out.