After Mark Childers gave up the podium, several of his critics had stepped forward to voice their dismay and outrage over the fact that, with very little advance warning and with only negligible public notice, Mark Childers’ company was being allowed to tear up one of the last untouched tracts of Cochise County grassland. Childers’ critics were far more vociferous and adamant than the developer had been. As the tenor of their comments became more and more negative, so did the mood of the board. But rather than turning their wrath on Childers, the board members instead focused their ire on poor Lewis Flores. He was the one who had signed off on the Environmental Impact Statement. His was the signature on Mark Childers’ building permits.

Joanna knew Lewis Flores. He had been in Andy’s class in Bisbee High School. His wife, Carmen Rojas, was a year younger than Joanna. After graduating from Arizona State University, Lewis had worked in county government in both Pima and Pinal counties before he and Carmen had come home to Bisbee. He had accepted the job as head of the Planning and Zoning Department while Carmen taught first grade at Greenway School. The two of them had taken up residence in Carmen’s parents’ old home on O.K. Street up in Old Bisbee.

Reading through the comments made in the meeting, including an especially vituperative one from none other than Karen Brainard, was upsetting. In his discussion of the meeting, Dick Voland hadn’t gone into much detail about the verbal confrontation between the board and Lewis. Joanna suspected that Dick didn’t have nearly the eye and ear for political intrigue that Frank Montoya did. It was entirely possible that Dick had no idea that there was a romantic relationship between the developer and the lady supervisor. Thanks to Frank, Joanna did know, and the outrageousness and unfairness of Karen’s attack on Flores made Joanna see red. She picked up the phone book and paged through until she found the Flores’ home number.

Carmen answered almost immediately. “Hello.”

“Hi, Carmen,” Joanna said. “It’s Joanna Brady. May I speak to Lewis?”

“He’s not home from work yet,” Carmen said. “Have you tried his office?”

For a second or two, Joanna had no idea what to say. She remembered Kristin’s message from earlier in the day. Linda, the secretary in Planning and Zoning, had said that Mr. Flores was out sick. Sick but not at home. That was worrisome. Joanna wondered if she should tell Carmen that she had already tried reaching Lewis at the office. In the end she decided not to. Considering what had gone on the day before, Lewis Flores probably needed some space. He’d come home when he was good and ready.

“I haven’t but I will,” Joanna said. “If I miss him or if you hear from him before I reach him, have him give me a call. Here’s my cell-phone number. I’ll be leaving the office right around five. I won’t be home until later, but I’ll have my phone on and with me.”

“This sounds urgent,” Carmen said. “Is anything wrong?”

Joanna scrambled for something to say that would sound reasonable and not too alarming. “It’s about that mess out at Oak Vista. Nothing serious, but I wanted to have the benefit of some input from Lewis-from someone who saw how this whole deal came together. You know, historical perspective, cover-your-butt kind of stuff.”

Carmen laughed. “Lewis is good at that. I’ll have him give you a call.”

Joanna hung up. She finished sorting through her papers and straightened her desk until it looked half civilized. Then she packed her briefcase-including her copy of Alice Rogers’ autobiography-and walked out the door promptly at five o’clock.

She drove into town and stopped at Butch’s house. While Jenny finished gathering up her things, Butch came outside and motioned for her to roll down the window. “What’s up?” he asked. “Jenny was a little upset that Junior and I weren’t invited to dinner.”

“I need to talk to her,” Joanna said. “Alone.”

“Are you going to tell her?”

“If I don’t, you-know-who will, and Mother will put her own particular spin on the story when she does. I’d like to give Jenny my side of the story-our side-minus Eleanor’s editorializing. In the meantime, how’s Junior doing?”

“We’re fine. Jenny’s really great with him. She did her homework as soon as she came home, and the two of them have been playing video games ever since. If anything, I think Junior’s a little overstimulated. I thought later on this evening, after dinner, we’d go for a ride and stop by the cafe to pick up Daisy’s book.”

Jenny darted out of the house, followed by Junior. “Me go, too,” he said, following Jenny around to the passenger side of the Blazer.

“No,” Butch said. “We have to stay here.”

“Go with Jenny,” Junior said as his face screwed up. “Go too. Go too. Go too.”

He was so heartbroken and forlorn that Joanna started to relent. “No, you don’t,” Butch said with a smile. “If Eleanor sends the message to Garcia first, you’ll be mad as hell, and my life won’t be worth living. You and Jenny go have your pizza. Junior and I will manage just fine. Come on, Junior. Jenny and Joanna have to leave now. Let’s you and I go into the house.”

“No. Won’t.”

“Come on. I have something to show you.”

Junior stood rooted to the ground, balefully shaking his head. “No! No! No!”

“Do you like videos?” Butch asked. Junior continued to shake his head.

“Movies, then?”

The head-shaking stopped. “Movies?” Junior asked.

“Yes. I have movies. Lots of them. Have you ever seen The Lion King?”

Junior brightened a little. “Lions,” he said. “Grrrrr.”

“That’s right,” Butch said. “That’s how lions sound when they growl. Come on. Let me show you.”

Taking a now uncomplaining Junior by the hand, Butch led him into the house while Joanna backed out of the driveway. “Butch is really good with Junior, isn’t he,” Jenny observed.

“Yes, he is,” Joanna agreed.

“Did you already know that when you brought Junior here?”

“No,” Joanna said. “It turns out it was just a lucky guess.” That should have been her opening. A discussion of Butch’s strong points could have led naturally and easily to the topic she needed to bring forward, but at that moment, Joanna’s considerable courage failed her. It seemed as though it might be better to wait until they were safely ensconced in the Pizza Palace and downing slices of pepperoni-dotted pizza before she ventured into that emotional minefield.

And it almost worked. They ordered root beers and ate salad while they waited for the pizza to cook. Jenny’s chatter was all about school and her homework while, for a change, Joanna did nothing but listen. Their freshly baked pizza was out of the oven and being sliced by the Pizza Palace owner, Vince Coleman, when Joanna’s cell phone crowed its distinctive ring.

Jenny made a face. “Not again,” she grumbled.

“You go get the pizza,” Joanna told her. “This will only take a minute.”

“Joanna?” her caller said. “This is Carmen Flores.”

The undisguised anxiety in Carmen’s voice put Joanna on edge. “It’s me, Carmen. What’s wrong?”

“I just found out Lewis never went to work today. And he still isn’t home.”

Joanna felt a stab of guilt. She had already known that. Should she have told Carmen about her husband’s absence immediately, or had Joanna been right in letting the woman find out the truth in her own good time?

“He didn’t?” Joanna stammered.

“No. I just drove down to Melody Lane to check.”

“Do you have any idea where he might have gone?”

“No. Not really. But when I came home from his office, I checked the gun cabinet. His guns are both missing, Sheriff Brady. One’s a hunting rifle-a Remington thirty-ought-six. The other’s a shotgun, a twelve-gauge Browning pump action.”

Jenny, having secured the pizza, had slid one slice onto her plate and was gingerly chewing the first piping-hot bite.