Jenny rolled her enormous blue eyes. “Well,” she observed, “Mr. Rhodes wouldn’t like that.”

“What do you mean?” Joanna asked.

“Grandpa George is nice and all that, but he’s still a doctor,” Jenny said. “Mr. Rhodes told me once, after he hurt his leg last year, that he never wanted to go see a doctor again. But I guess if he’s already dead, it won’t matter.”

Joanna was a little taken aback by Jenny’s unemotional, almost clinical response to news of Clayton Rhodes’ death. After all, the man had been an important part of their daily lives. As Jenny’s mother, Joanna would have preferred some show of sadness and even a few tears.

“Clayton Rhodes was a nice man,” Joanna said. “I’m sorry he’s dead. Aren’t you?”

Jenny shook her head. “I’m not,” she declared. “Mr. Rhodes told me once that he was old and ready to go anytime the good Lord was ready to take him. He said he missed his wife and could hardly wait to see her again.”

Joanna felt as if she had been left standing in the dust. “Just when did you and he have this long conversation?” she asked.

Jenny shrugged. “I don’t know,” she said. “It was one time when we were out in the barn and he was cleaning Kiddo’s stall. He told me he wished he had a granddaughter just like me. He said he had grandsons, but that he didn’t like them much. He said they were spoiled rotten. I told him I liked him, too. And I did. But now he’s in heaven with Molly and his little boy-”

“Molly and Clayton had a son?” Joanna asked. “I didn’t know that. When?”

“Oh, a long time ago,” Jenny answered. “During the war. At least I think that’s what he said. That the little boy was born and died while he was away at war and he never even got to see him.”

Joanna was nothing short of amazed to discover that Jenny had known so much about Clayton Rhodes’ life. Somehow Jenny had managed to glean details that Joanna herself had never suspected while the old man was still alive.

“When is the funeral?” Jenny asked. “Will we have to go?” The child’s blue eyes darkened as she asked the second question.

“I don’t know when it’ll be,” Joanna answered. “As of right now, I don’t even know for sure if his daughter has been notified. But whenever it is, we should probably go, don’t you think?”

Jenny nodded. “I guess,” she said after a moment’s hesitation. “I don’t like funerals, but that’s what friends are for, isn’t it?”

Joanna reached over and gave her daughter a hug. “That’s right,” she said. “That is what friends are for.”

Just then Butch emerged from the bathroom. “It’s all yours,” he said to Joanna. Then he paused, glancing first in Jenny’s direction and then in Joanna’s. “This looks like a pretty serious discussion. Should I make myself scarce?”

“No, it’s fine. Jenny and I were just talking about Clayton Rhodes’ funeral,” Joanna told him. “Jenny thinks we should go, and I agree.”

Butch nodded. Then he added, “Speaking of Clayton, I’ll head outside and get started feeding the animals.”

“Don’t bother,” Joanna said. “Jenny’s already done it.”

Butch looked at Jenny. “You did?” Jenny nodded, beaming with pride. “Good for you,” Butch added.

Joanna hurried to the bathroom to take her turn. She was just finishing applying makeup when Jenny knocked on the door. “Phone, Mom.”

“Who is it?” Joanna asked as Jenny handed her the cordless phone.

Jenny shrugged. “Somebody from work,” she said.

“Hello,” Joanna said. “Sheriff Brady here.”

“Hi, Sheriff. It’s Lisa.”

Lisa Howard was the weekend desk clerk at the Cochise County Sheriff’s Department. Joanna’s heart sank. If there was some new emergency at the department, Joanna’s planned day-trip outing with Jenny and Butch might have to be canceled or postponed.

“What’s the matter?” Joanna asked.

“Nothing. We’ve got a reported runaway out in the valley, but that’s about it. There was a message that came in for you overnight. Since it didn’t seem especially urgent, the night shift decided to let me pass it along to you when I came on duty this morning.”

“What is it?” Joanna asked. “And who’s it from?”

“Sergeant Carlin.”

“In Los Gatos,” Joanna supplied.

“Right. He wanted you to know that Mrs. Singleton has been notified.”

“Good,” Joanna said. “Anything else?”

“He did say one other thing.”

“What’s that?”

“He said, ”Good luck.“ ”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Joanna asked.

“I don’t know,” Lisa returned. “I thought maybe you’d understand what he meant.”

“Well, I don’t. But that’s all right. The point is, Clayton Rhodes’ family members have now been officially notified; you can release the news of his death to the press. And you should probably pass that word along to the medical examiner’s office as well in case anyone comes asking Doc Winfield for information.”

“Will do,” Lisa said. “Anything else?”

“Not right now. Jenny and I are on our way to Tucson to do some shopping, so if anything comes up, you may need to contact Chief Deputy Montoya. I told him about it yesterday, so he knows he’s on call.”

Hanging up the phone, Joanna headed for the kitchen. “What’s for breakfast?” she asked.

“French toast,” Jenny replied. “At Daisy’s.”

“Whose idea was that?” Joanna asked.

“Mine,” Jenny said. “Butch said that since I took care of feeding the animals, I could have whatever I wanted, and going to Daisy’s is what I chose.”

“So that’s how it’s going to be?” Joanna asked. “Whatever you want you get?” She turned to Butch. “You’re going to spoil her.”

“I know,” he said. “But it’s her birthday celebration, too. And I figure this way will be faster-if we leave right now, that is.”

They took Butch’s Outback-the newest vehicle in their stable of rolling stock-and headed for town. Daisy’s Café was already crowded with the Saturday-morning breakfast crowd. Standing just inside the door, they waited for a clean table.

“Hey, Junior,” Jenny called across the room. “How’s it going?”

Junior Dowdle was a fifty-six-year-old developmentally disabled man who had been abandoned by his court-appointed guardians and left on his own at a local arts-and-crafts fair the previous fall. The priest who had found him had turned Junior over to the care and keeping of the Cochise County Sheriff’s Department. Through Joanna’s own efforts and those of her people, not only had Junior’s mother been found, so had a new set of local, Bisbee-area guardians. Moe and Daisy Maxwell, the owners of Daisy’s Café, had taken on that demanding role.

With infinite patience, Daisy and Moe had taught Junior how to bus tables. Now he spent several hours each day helping out at the restaurant. And, for the first time in his life, Junior Dowdle was earning his own spending money. One look at Junior’s beaming countenance offered mute testimony as to how well that arrangement was working.

Grinning from ear to ear and carrying a plastic pan loaded with dirty dishes, he came hurrying toward Jenny. On the pocket of his shirt he still wore the sheriff’s badge Joanna had given him the day she had brought him home from the monastery in Saint David.

“You come,” he said, motioning for them to follow him toward a booth he had just finished clearing. “You come and eat.”

From behind the counter, Daisy Maxwell watched, nodded, and smiled her approval. She waited until the party was seated before she followed with coffee and menus. “Most of the time Junior remembers menus,” she said. “But not when he sees someone he knows. Then he gets too excited. Come to think of it, though, you guys probably don’t need menus. What’ll you have?”

Removing the stub of a pencil from her beehive hairdo, Daisy took two orders for choriso and eggs and one for French toast along with two coffees, one milk, and orange juice all around.

“I just heard about poor Mr. Rhodes,” Daisy said, once she returned her order pad to its customary place in her apron pocket. “It’s too bad. He was the one who usually did your chores for you, wasn’t he?”