“Sure,” Joanna said. “That won’t be a problem. Junior’s staying with a friend of mine right now-Butch Dixon. He won’t mind keeping him for a few days longer.” I hope.

As soon as Joanna had finished that call and put down the phone, it rang. That was the story of her life. It seemed she spent most of her waking hours with a phone held to her ear.

“Joanna? Ernie.”

“What’s up?”

“A couple of things. Have you talked to Hank Lazier?”

“I hadn’t gotten around to calling him. I’ve been too busy.”

“And I guess he couldn’t wait any longer. He called to let us know that one of the search warrants paid off. They found a television set and a VCR that match the makes and models missing from Alice Rogers’ house. They also found a paper bag stuffed with jewelry and savings bonds made out in Alice Rogers’ name.”

“Where did they find them?” Joanna asked.

“You’ll never guess. In Joaquin Morales’ mother’s garage.”

“Joaquin Morales?” Joanna repeated. “The guy the Pima prosecutor cut a deal with?”

“That’s the one.”

“What’s Hank Lazier going to do about that?” Joanna asked.

“Beats me,” Ernie replied. “That’s his problem.”

“Is that all?” Joanna asked.

“Not quite. I just talked to Doc Winfield about Clete Rogers’ autopsy. According to the doe, Clete put up quite a fight. He’s got flesh and fiber scrapings from under Clete’s fingernails. That means that if we ever find the guy, we may not have any fingerprints, but we should have DNA.”

“That’s good news, Ernie,” Joanna told him. “As far as it goes. Now what?”

“Jaime and I are about to head over to Tombstone to meet up with Adam York’s guys from DEA. I just heard Frank’s already there. You’re bringing Becker?”

“That’s right. He’s still up at the hotel. The funeral starts at two. I told him I’d pick him up around one.”

“All right,” Ernie said. “See you there. I hope this works.”

So do I, Joanna thought.

A few minutes later, when Joanna’s private line rang, she wasn’t at all surprised to hear Butch on the phone.

“Am I forgiven about last night?” he asked.

“Pretty much,” Joanna conceded.

“Lunch, then?”

Joanna had planned to tell Butch about Junior right away and ask if he’d mind keeping his charge a little longer. On second thought that request seemed like something best discussed in person.

“As long as it’s soon,” Joanna said. “I’m famished.”

They met at Daisy’s. “Beautiful pair of shiners,” Daisy announced as Joanna slid into the booth where Butch was already seated.

“Thanks,” Joanna said. “I forgot and left my sunglasses in the car. From now on, I’m keeping them in my purse. For the next few days, I’m going to be wearing them inside and outside both. Now, what’s for lunch?”

“Fresh Welsh pasties today,” Daisy replied. “Just out of the oven ten minutes ago. Big, though. I’d think about splitting one if I were you. “

“Good idea,” Joanna said. “Sold.”

Butch grinned as Daisy reached into her apron pocket and pulled out a one-dollar bill which she slapped down on the table in front of him.

“What’s that all about?” Joanna asked.

“I told her that’s what you’d say,” Butch said. “And she bet you wouldn’t.”

Daisy, after writing down their order, stuck her pencil back into her beehive hairdo and picked up their menus. “If I were you, honey,” she advised Joanna, “I’d try not to be so predictable. If he already knows you this well and you’ve only been engaged for two days, think what’ll happen after you’ve been married twenty years. It’s better to keep ‘em guessing.”

“I’ll see what I can do about that,” Joanna said.

“And where’s Junior today?” Daisy continued. “I didn’t see him at all yesterday. Isn’t he about due for another chocolate shake? Have you done anything about finding his people yet?”

“We’ve found them all right,” Joanna said. “Butch here is the one who located his mother in a nursing home in Rapid City, South Dakota. I just talked to her attorney a little while ago. The news isn’t good.”

There were other noontime customers coming into the restaurant, but Daisy Maxwell didn’t leave Joanna and Butch’s booth until she had heard the whole story. “Don’t that just beat all,” she said, shaking her head. “Some people are such low-down worms they don’t hardly deserve to live!” With that, an irate Daisy stalked off to the kitchen.

“So do you mind?” Joanna said to Butch after Daisy left.

“Mind what, keeping Junior a few days longer?” Butch asked. “No. Not at all. I suppose we could think about offering to take him permanently. I mean, if the only other alternative is to put him into a home…”

Butch’s voice trailed off. Joanna heard the plaintive tone in his voice and knew they were in real danger. Neither one of them could resist a needy stray, human or otherwise. But Joanna was living a life that was already filled to capacity.

She shook her head. “No,” she said firmly. “Absolutely not. Our world is complicated enough already. Besides, we’re not even married.”

“That could be fixed,” Butch suggested with a grin. “No,” Joanna said. “We’re not going to bring that up. Period.”

They ate lunch. “So what’s going to happen then?” Daisy asked, as they stood in front of the cash register after lunch, paying their bill. “Is Junior going to end up being put in a home somewhere?”

“That’s how it looks,” Joanna said, avoiding Butch’s eye. “According to Drew Gunderson, there’s no other alternative.”

Daisy shook her head. “That’s what I call criminal,” she said. “Plain and simple.”

Butch reached for the door and held it open. Before Joanna had a chance to step outside, Marliss Shackleford walked in, followed by none other than Dick Voland.

“Why, Sheriff Brady,” Marliss said brightly. “Imagine running into you this way! Whatever happened to your face?”

“I ran into a door,” Joanna said. Nodding curtly in Dick’s direction, she and Butch stepped outside, where Dick’s old Bronco was parked next to the door.

“What the hell is that all about?”

“I don’t know,” Joanna said. “If those two have their heads together, you can bet it isn’t good. Right this minute, though, I don’t have time to think about it. I need to get uptown and pick up Jonathan Becker.”

Butch leaned inside the car window and gave Joanna a peck on the cheek. “You’ll be careful?”

“I’ll be careful,” Joanna said, “as long as you promise to stay home where you belong.”

“In other words, I’m not quite forgiven.”

Joanna smiled. “Close,” she said, “but not completely.” The death of the mayor’s mother, followed days later by that of the mayor himself, was more excitement than Tomb-stone had seen since the gunfight at O.K. Corral. The street outside Tombstone’s Episcopal Church-billed as the oldest Protestant church in Arizona still operating in its original location-was filled to capacity, with excess mourners spilling out onto the street where people from Garrity’s Funeral Home were busy erecting a bank of temporary speakers.

Adam York and Butch both had suggested that someone besides Joanna escort Jonathan Becker to the funeral, but she had insisted otherwise. This had been her harebrained idea, and now she was going to see it through to its inevitable conclusion.

With Joanna holding tightly to Jonathan Becker’s arm, the two of them were escorted down the aisle. She heard a few whispers as they passed-noticed a few discreet coughs and knowing nods-but nothing out of the ordinary. With each wary step, Joanna glanced from side to side, trying to sort out who was who. Adam York himself stood by the guest book, but if his men were there, they blended in with the locals well enough to be completely invisible. That also went for the killers. If they were there in what was fast becoming an over-heated oven of a sanctuary, they too had melted invisibly into the congregation.