“I haven’t had a chance to call anyone,” Joanna lied. “It’s been a zoo around here.”

“Well,” Eleanor returned, “it hasn’t been any too pleasant for me, either.”

Joanna closed her eyes and steeled herself for one of Eleanor Lathrop^’s infamous tirades. It didn’t come. “I’ve been afraid to call you,” Eleanor continued, her voice sounding suddenly tentative and tremulous. “I didn’t know if you’d even be willing to speak to me.”

Joanna’s eyes popped open in astonishment. “You were afraid to call me?” she asked.

“Well, yes,” Eleanor allowed. “I was worried about what you’d think. Of George and me. Of what we’ve done. I was afraid you’d be furious.”

Now that Eleanor had brought up the topic, Joanna’s emotions came to a swift boil. Of course Joanna was furious! Why wouldn’t she be? How could Eleanor get married, for God’s sake, without even letting her own daughter know? Once again, though, the very fact that Eleanor expected anger and recrimination was enough to force Joanna into sweetness and light.

“Furious?” Joanna repeated innocently. “Why on earth would I be furious?”

It was Eleanor’s turn to sound surprised. “You mean you’re not? George said you were fine about it, but I didn’t believe…”

“I’m disappointed maybe,” Joanna conceded. “Hurt that you didn’t trust me enough to share the good news, but I’m certainly not furious. You’ve lived alone for a long time. You’ve more than earned whatever share of happiness you can find.”

Eleanor gave an audible sigh of relief. “You don’t mind, then?”

“George Winfield’s a nice man,” Joanna said, remembering the compassionate way he had dealt with Katherine O’Brien. “A considerate man. Not half bad, for a snowbird.”

“A snowbird,” Eleanor replied. “Why, I don’t know what you mean-” She stopped. “Joanna Lee Lathrop Brady,” she added indignantly. “I believe you’re teasing me, aren’t you?”

Joanna laughed. “By virtue of being newlyweds, you and George automatically leave yourselves wide open to teasing. Now tell me, when are you two going to let this cat out of the hag in public? George told me you’re going on an Alaskan cruise in August. If you haven’t made an official announcement by then, people are going to talk.”

“I don’t know,” Eleanor said. “George was talking about doing something in September. I’ve been thinking more about that long Fourth of July weekend. With four days, maybe your brother and Marcie could come out from D.C.”

Joanna’s brother. If Bob Brundage came out for the celebration, it would mark only the third time Joanna had ever seen the man. It seemed somehow appropriate, however, that he would show up now as a grown man to help celebrate his biological mother’s second marriage.

“What kind of party were you thinking of?” Joanna asked.

“I don’t know,” Eleanor said, sounding uncertain again. “I just wanted to have a little reception of some kind. Something small and tasteful. George seems to think we should do the whole thing. Have a ceremony, repeat our vows, cut a cake, and everything. What do you think, Joanna? Doesn’t that seem a bit much? What would someone like Marliss Shackleford think about such a thing? And besides, at this late date, where would we ever find a place to have it?”

The very idea of Eleanor Lathrop’s flying in the face of small-town convention somehow tickled Joanna’s fancy. As for Marliss Shackleford, she could mind her own damn business.

“You could have it at my place,” Joanna heard herself offering. “We could hold the ceremony out in the yard and follow it up with an old-fashioned barbecue.”

Once again Eleanor was taken aback. “You’d do that?” she asked. “For me? You mean you wouldn’t mind going to all that trouble?”

“It’s no trouble, and of course I wouldn’t mind,” Joanna said. “If a daughter won’t lend a hand when her mother gets married, who will?”

Eleanor swallowed. When she spoke again, she seemed near tears. “Nothing would please me more, but you understand, I’ll have to talk all this over with George first.”

“Certainly,” Joanna said. “And if you’re looking around for someone to do the ceremony, you might give Marianne Maculyea a call.”

There was a sudden flurry of activity out in the lobby. Even through the closed door Joanna heard the sound of raised voices. “She’s on the phone,” Kristin was saying. “You can’t go in there.”

“But the Fourth of July is a holiday,” Eleanor objected. “Wouldn’t Marianne mind having to work that day?” “Call her up and find out,” Joanna said.

Just then Joanna’s door burst open and a distraught Angie Kellogg appeared in the doorway. Her blond hair was drip-ping wet. Her face was flushed. She was still wearing the striped, oversized blue-and-white apron she generally wore while working the bar of the Blue Moon. Behind her trailed an indignant Kristin Marsten accompanied by Chief Deputy Voland.

“Joanna,” Angie blurted, wrenching her upper arm away from Dick’s restraining hand. “Please, I’ve got to talk to you.”

Startled by all the activity, Joanna had taken the phone from her ear. “Mother,” she said hastily back into the phone. “Someone’s here. I have to go.” She turned back to the melee in the doorway just as Dick Voland grabbed hold of Angie again and started leading her back into the reception area.

“Look,” he was saying, “I don’t care who you are. You can’t just barge in here-”

“Dick,” Joanna interrupted, “it’s all right. Let her be. Come in, Angie. What’s wrong?”

Angie darted away from Dick Voland and came dripping across the carpet to Joanna’s desk. “It’s Dennis,” she gasped. “Something terrible has happened to him.”

“Dennis?” Joanna asked. “What’s going on?”

“I don’t know. Not for sure. I was talking to him on the phone when someone broke into his trailer. It sounded like whoever it was had a gun. I tried calling back, but there was no answer.”

Dick Voland let go of Angie’s arm and backed off a little. “Dennis who?^” he asked.

“Dennis Hacker,” Joanna told him. “The parrot guy.” She turned back to Angie. “Tell us what’s going on. Where did this happen, and when?”

“Out in the mountains. Right around five.”

Joanna shook her head. “There are lots of mountains around here, Angie. Which ones? The Huachucas? The Chiricahuas?”

Angie shook her head. “I don’t remember exactly. It’s someplace around where the body was, I think.”

“In the Peloncillos?”

Angie’s face brightened. “Yes,” she said. “That’s it.”

Joanna knew that the Peloncillos wandered back and forth across the Arizona/New Mexico line from the far southeastern corner of the state all the way north to Graham County. “Do you know where in the Peloncillos?” she asked, hoping to narrow the scope of the problem.

“Not exactly,” Angie said. “I can show you, but I can’t tell you how to get there. It was near a cemetery, though-a cemetery with a wall around it.”

“That would have to be Cottonwood Creek Cemetery,” Dick Voland supplied. “That’s the only one I know of in the area that fits that description. Sheriff Brady’s busy right now. Why don’t you come out to the desk sergeant and give your information to him?”

The bedraggled young woman shot the chief deputy a baleful look. With the notable exception of Joanna Brady, Angie Kellogg had no use for cops. She seldom came near the Cochise County Justice Center because it brought back too many painful memories. In Angie’s past life, working the streets of L.A., there had been lots of crooked cops who, in exchange for certain services rendered, had been willing to forget making an arrest. Joanna knew nothing short of sheer desperation would have driven Angie this far into enemy territory.

“Dick,” Joanna said, “is Deputy Carbajal back from Ben-son yet?”

“I believe so. He drove into the sally port a few minutes ago. He’s probably over in the booking room right now.”