The front two pews of the crowded church had been reserved for family members, but when Joanna and Jonathan Becker arrived, only one person was seated there-Alice Rogers’ sister, Jessie. As soon as she caught sight of Jonathan Becker, she reached out one gnarled hand to him, beaming as she did so.
“I’m so glad you came,” she said. “People have been saying such awful things, but I knew you cared too much to let Ali down.”
“Where’s Susan” Joanna asked, sliding into the pew be-side Jessie.
“She isn’t coming,” the old woman answered. “She’s up in Tucson, staying at the hospital with Ross. If he did even half the things they’re saying he did, I can’t see how she could tolerate being in the same county with the man. I wouldn’t waste another breath on him, but then Susan’s always been different. And I can see how even Susan might not have nerve enough to show up here in town and face people. I doubt I could.”
The funeral had been scheduled to start at two, but it was actually two fifteen before the ushers finished moving people around and cramming rows of extra chairs up and down the side and middle aisles. Once the service finally started, it seemed to take forever. Joanna kept sitting there, waiting for something to happen, and nothing did. It was almost an hour and a half before Alice Rogers’ friends and neighbors finished eulogizing her. By then, Joanna was convinced she had been completely wrong. No one was going to come looking for Jonathan Becker. The Kevlar vest she had lent him was probably completely unnecessary.
At last the service ended. When it came time to walk back down the aisle, Joanna tried to place herself between Jonathan Becker and Jessie Monroe. “Let me walk with him,” Jessie insisted. “If there’s any ugly talk, this should put an end to it.”
And with that, a dignified Jessie Monroe, leaning on her walker, led the procession out of the church. When they reached the door, Joanna took charge of Becker once more, leading him toward the waiting limo that would follow the hearse to the cemetery.
Once Becker was safely in the car, Joanna straightened up in the clear, cold afternoon sunlight just as Adam York moved in beside her. “Got him,” he whispered in her ear. “In fact, we’ve got them both.”
“Are you kidding?”
He smiled. “Nope. The man from Garrity’s told us how many motorcycles were supposed to show up to escort the cortege to the cemetery. As soon as an extra cycle showed up, we took that guy out and handed him over to Ernie Carpenter. Ernie said to tell you he’s got a Nevada driver’s license, two long scratches down the side of his neck, and a nine-mm automatic. He also had an accomplice with a van parked up on Tough Nut Street. As soon as the motorcycle guy did the job, they would have loaded the cycle into the van and disappeared.”
Joanna was both dumbfounded and relieved. “You mean it’s over? That’s all there is to it?” she demanded.
Adam York grinned. “Isn’t that enough?” he returned. “What were you looking for, another shoot-out à la O.K. Cor ral? From the sound of things, I’d say Cochise County has already had more than its share of excitement this week. Good work.”
“But I didn’t do anything,” Joanna objected.
“On the contrary,” Adam said. “You found the dots. All we did was connect them.”
Carried forward by the crowd behind them, Joanna and Adam York moved on into the street. Now, as people spilled toward their vehicles, Joanna caught sight of a photographer moving purposefully toward her, camera in hand. Behind the photographer stood Marliss Shackleford.
Quickly Joanna reached into her purse, grabbed her sunglasses, and slopped them on her face, deftly covering her blackened eyes.
“Sheriff Brady,” Marliss said. “I understand there’s been some police activity here this afternoon. What’s going on?”
Joanna looked up at Adam York before she answered. “No comment,” she said.
EPILOGUE
Dinner that night was at Daisy’s, too. On Friday nights the place stayed open until ten o’clock, and it was usually jammed. Nonetheless, Eva Lou had told her husband that she was tired of cooking, so the whole group-Jim Bob, Eva Lou, Jenny, Junior, Butch, and Joanna-trooped into the restaurant and waited until Moe Maxwell, Daisy’s husband, was able to clear a table for six.
While they waited for their order, Jenny and Junior-still wearing his sheriff’s badge-played tic-tac-toe, and Joanna summarized the day’s events. “So what will happen to Jonathan Becker now?” Butch asked when she finished.
“I don’t know. He has what appears to be a valid marriage license that proves he and Alice Rogers were man and wife. The fact that he used a different name doesn’t matter as long as use of that name wasn’t done to defraud anyone. Since Farley Adams is the name the Witness Protection Program as-signed to him, I guess he has a right to use it.”
“So he’s likely to inherit something then?” Jim Bob asked. “If the only will found turns out to be the one drawn up by Dena Hogan, that one won’t stand up in court, so the state of Arizona will most likely end up divvying up Alice Rogers’ estate, depending on whether or not Susan Jenkins was involved in the plot against her mother. If she was, Farley Adams could turn out to be Alice’s sole heir.”
“If he does inherit,” Butch said, “will he stay in Tombstone or not?”
“I think he’d like to,” Joanna said. “Especially if he’d be able to stay on at Outlaw Mountain. He says he’s tired of running. He wants a place he can call home, but it will depend on whether or not what happened today really clears the books on what happened up in Nevada.”
“I hope he can stay then,” Butch said.
Joanna nodded. “So do I.”
Daisy’s was busy enough that Moe Maxwell, Daisy’s husband, had been drafted into waiting tables as well as busing them. He came over to the table carrying a tray of drinks.
“All right,” he said. “I’ve got four coffees and two chocolate shakes. Who gets the shakes?”
“Me!” Junior shouted. “Me. Me. Me.”
“Me, too,” said Jenny.
Once again Junior was so excited that he needed help unwrapping his straw. Once again Butch did the honors. As Jenny and Junior slurped away on their shakes, Moe shook his head. “They’re not really going to put him in a home, are they?” he asked.
“That’s what the attorney told me,” Joanna said guardedly. “According to him, the mother is incapacitated, and there aren’t any other relatives who can step in.”
“But does it have to be relatives?” Moe asked. “Couldn’t somebody else take care of him? It’s the only thing Daisy talked about all afternoon. She says to me, ‘Moe, we’re just rattling around in this big old house. Couldn’t we take him in?’ I tried to tell her it was the wildest-haired scheme she’s ever come up with, but if that’s what the woman wants…”
“Daisy wants you two to take Junior?” Joanna asked.
“She’s determined to talk to that lawyer and see if she could convince him to let us look after Junior. I’m about to retire, you see. Two weeks from yesterday, as a matter of fact. She says to me, ‘Moe, what the hell are you going to do with all your spare time?’ And you know what? I didn’t have a good answer.”
“But you barely know him,” Joanna objected. “And you have no idea how hard it would be.”
“Daisy knows,” Moe Maxwell said. “Daisy had a baby sister once that was just like Junior here, only she died when she was just fourteen-two months after some state busybody convinced Daisy’s folks to put the girl in a state-run home. Believe me, Daisy knows exactly what we’d be up against, and that’s why she wants to do it: it’s for her little sister. Daisy and me may seem like we’re over the hill, but we’re neither one of us afraid of hard work. Besides, like I always say, ‘Whatever Daisy wants, Daisy gets.’ Once’t that woman gets some damn-fool notion in her head, I know better than to argue. So if you could see your way clear to put us in touch with that lawyer guy, we could at least talk about it. See what he has to say.”