After only a momentary delay, she dialed Frank Montoya’s number at the marshal’s office in Tombstone. “How are things?” she asked.
“Pretty quiet. I guess you heard about the fingerprints they found at Outlaw Mountain,” Frank said.
“I heard,” Joanna told him. “And that’s why I’m calling.”
Over the next few minutes she explained about Casey’s call from the mysteriously nonexistent Detective Garfield. “So here’s the deal, Frank,” she finished. “I’m hoping you can tune up that hotshot computer of yours, go on the Internet, and find out anything and everything you can about someone named Jonathan Becker. Look for articles about the accident, obituaries, whatever.”
Frank Montoya, a self-taught technophile, had created a totally mobile and wonderfully high-tech office for himself that was usually based in his departmental Crown Victoria. The fact that he was always more than willing to go on-line it search of esoteric pieces of information made it unnecessary for Joanna to do so.
“I’ll get on it right away,” he said. “By the way, did you hear about Alice Rogers’ funeral?”
“What about it?”
“Clete stopped by just a few minutes ago. He said it’s going to be Friday afternoon. The funeral itself will be at the Episcopal Church, with burial afterward in Tombstone Cemetery.”
“Did he say what time?” Joanna asked, pulling out her calendar.
“Early afternoon. Two, I think.”
“I’d better plan on going.” Joanna made a note of it. In the process she saw the notation for Wednesday, November 11. “Kiwanis,” it said. “Seven A.M., Tony’s in Tintown, guest speaker.” She had almost forgotten about the speaking engagement. That would have been embarrassing.
“What’s happening out in Sierra Vista?” Frank asked, changing the subject. “Any word on the Oak Vista situation?”
“None so far,” Joanna told him. “I’m hoping that means no news is good news. It’s about quitting time, and this is when the trouble started the other day. As soon as I get off the phone with you, I’ll call and check.”
Moments later she was on the horn with Dick Voland. “Any sign of monkey wrenchers revisited?” she asked.
“None whatsoever,” he growled back at her. “Here I am with half the deputies for this shift stuck out here in the middle of nowhere with nothing happening. Meanwhile, big chunks of the county are totally without patrol coverage.”
“Any more weapons turn up among the workers?”
“No. But that’s hardly surprising. As much hell as you raised earlier, if they brought guns to work with them, they’ve stowed them out of sight. I’m guessing they’re in tool chests and glove boxes. At the moment, though, we’ve got no probable cause, so they’ll most likely stay there.”
“What happened with the snakes?” Joanna asked. “When I left, Ranger Brooks from Fish and Wildlife was just getting ready to write up a citation for hunting without a permit and taking wildlife for profit. She didn’t need to keep the snakes for evidence, did she?”
“No. She let them go.”
“Right there?”
“On the spot,” Voland answered. “Elvira had a snake stick hidden back tip in the brush behind her car. Ranger Brooks used that to remove the snakes front the trunk and put them back where they belonged, more or less. According to Brooks, snakes are real homebodies, and they don’t like to he moved around at all. Naturally, it wasn’t possible to return them to exactly the places where they had been found. Which means the construction site is going to have snakes milling around for the next few days, looking for a way to get out of the cold once the sun goes down. That should make life interesting for Childers’ work crews. I wouldn’t be surprised if one or two of the workers gets bitten.”
“I’m voting for Rob Evans,” Joanna said. “If one of those displaced snakes has to go after someone, I hope it’s him. It couldn’t happen to a nicer guy.”
“Is there anything else?” Dick Voland asked. “Deputy Pakin just radioed me that Marliss Shackleford is down by the gate on the highway. She evidently wants to talk to me about something. I told him to tell her that Frank Montoya is in charge of media relations and she should talk to him, but that had absolutely no effect. She still wants to talk to me. Any idea what it’s about?”
Joanna knew exactly what it was about-Junior. She felt a stab of regret that she hadn’t played the game better. “Remember Frank’s idea about having Marliss help find Junior’s family by writing a human-interest piece about him?” she asked.
“Right,” Voland growled. “Another one of Frank’s cock-eyed ideas. But why is she coming to see me about it? Shouldn’t she be talking to you?”
“We tried that,” Joanna said. “I threw her out of my office.”
“That’s probably not the best way to treat one of our local newsies.”
“I’m sure that’s true,” Joanna agreed. “So do me a favor, Dick. Talk to her. Try to smoothe things over.”
“I’ll see what I can do,” Voland replied. “But I’m not making any promises.”
Knowing Dick was about to be interviewed-make that grilled-by Marliss Shackleford, Joanna wasn’t at all eager to let him go. “By the way,” she asked, “did Mark Childers ever show up?”
“As a matter of fact, he didn’t,” Voland replied. “That’s what happens with high-rollers, though. They can afford to take lunches that last all afternoon, and nobody gives a damn.”
“If you do see him,” Joanna said, “let him know that we’re not going to tolerate his encouraging a range war. Pass along the message that his workers had better show up unarmed from now on.”
“I’ll spread the word,” Voland said. “First chance I get.”
Cringing at the thought of what Marliss would have to say to Dick Voland, Joanna put down the phone just as Kristin came into the office. “Jenny called,” she said.
That was the first Joanna noticed that she had used the private line for her calls to Dick and to Frank Montoya. That left Jenny no option but to call in through the switchboard. “I’ll call her right back,” Joanna said.
But she didn’t. Not right away. Instead, she sat staring at the phone and wondering how and when she was going to get around to telling Jenny what was going on with Butch. Obviously she couldn’t delay too long. If she did, Eleanor would steal a march on her and tell Jenny herself.
When Joanna finally did pick up the phone, she didn’t find it at all surprising that Jenny answered the phone at Butch Dixon’s house. “What are you up to?” Joanna asked.
“Me and Junior are playing video games.”
“Junior and I.” Joanna had tried to cut down on the reflexive grammatical corrections, but it was useless. It was one of those inevitable traits that had been passed down the DNA chain on her mother’s side.
“Well, we are,” Jenny said. “He’s pretty good. Not as good as me… I am. How are you?”
“Busy, but things are beginning to get better,” Joanna said. “How would you like to go out to the Pizza Palace for dinner tonight?”
“Do you think Junior likes pizza?” Jenny asked.
“I wasn’t asking Junior,” Joanna told her. “I was asking you.”
“You mean, just us? Not even Butch?”
“Not even.”
“How come? Am I in trouble or something?”
Joanna shook her head in exasperation. “Why would you be in trouble? And what’s the matter with just the two of us going out for pizza?”
“I guess that’ll be okay,” Jenny’s acquiescence was less than enthusiastic. “When?”
Joanna looked at her watch. “In about an hour,” she said. “I’ll come by to pick you up.”
Kristin came in again, this time bearing a stack of documents that had come through the inter-departmental mail. Topmost on the stack were the transcribed minutes from the previous day’s board of supervisors meeting. Curious about what exactly had been said concerning Oak Vista Estates, Joanna scanned through several pages. Reading the actual quotes, Joanna could see that Dick Voland had given her a pretty accurate report about what had gone on. If anything, Voland had underplayed Mark Childers’ vehement criticism over how the sheriff’s department had handled the first set of demonstrators the previous Friday afternoon. Joanna hated to think what he would say at the next meeting, when the property damage to his equipment had all been properly tallied. Idly Joanna wondered if there wasn’t some out-of-town event-a law-enforcement seminar somewhere-that would cause her to miss the next meeting, the one where her department would inevitably be stuck on the hot seat.