Panicked and sobbing, Lucy fled back into the desert. How did he find me? she wondered. How did he know I was here?

CHAPTER 9

Sheltered by a wall of Texas Canyon house-sized boulders and huddled in her sleeping bag, Lucy tried to sleep. It was far colder than she had thought it would be, but she didn’t dare start a fire. She was too close to the rest area. Someone might notice and come looking. The rocks in the ground beneath her-sharp-edged rocks that had seemed insignificant when she was choosing a place to put her bedroll-now cut into her back and legs.

Lucy was still shaken by what had happened earlier. She had gone down to the rest area to use the phone again, and her mother’s killer was still there-waiting. Stunned, she had melted back into the desert before he or any of the half dozen truckers stopped there noticed her. The rest of the afternoon and evening and far into the night she had struggled to find answers. He must have known she was there, but how? What he wanted she didn’t need to ask. He was looking for her-for Lucy-and for his computer disk. Once he found them, there was no doubt in Lucy’s mind about what he would do-take the diskette and kill her, the same way he had killed Lucy’s mother.

At last, as the sky gradually grew lighter in the east, Lucy slept. She was still sleeping hours later, when Big Red’s warning screech issued an alarm. He had made that peculiar noise other times when they had been together on their solitary Cochise Stronghold adventures. And always that particular sound meant the same thing-a warning that someone was coming.

Panicked into full wakefulness, Lucy scrambled out of the bedroll. Standing shaking in the full morning sun, she looked skyward. Outlined against the blue sky, Big Red flew in frantic circles, pinpointing the position of something or someone who was coming toward Lucy’s camping place from the south, from the direction of the rest area.

In a futile effort to keep warm overnight, Lucy had stayed dressed. Not only was she still wearing her jacket, she was also wearing her sneakers. Now she was glad she was. Grabbing only her backpack, she fled uphill and away from whoever it was who was coming-as if she didn’t know.

In Cochise Stronghold, she had often tried to teach herself the things her ancestor, the Apache chief, Eskiminzin, must always have known. With careful practice she had taught herself to run long distances over rough terrain, leaving behind little or no trail. She did this now. Leaping from rock to rock, she sprinted for nearly a mile, leaving no discernible footprints to mark her passage. At last, gasping for breath, she squirreled herself into a cleft between two huge boulders, and there she stayed-listening, waiting, and wondering how long it would be before he somehow tracked her there as well.

Joanna Brady awakened Sunday morning as Jenny eased herself onto the side of the bed. “Where’s Butch?” Jenny asked.

“He went home,” Joanna mumbled sleepily. She would have liked nothing better than to roll back over and sleep a little longer, but Jenny was fully rested and ready for conversation.

“How come?”

“How come what?”

“Why’d he go home?”

“Because that’s where he lives.”

Opening her eyes, Joanna studied her daughter. Jenny was perched on the edge of the bed with her blond frizz of hair backlit by morning sun. In that light, she looked more like a haloed angel than a little girl. Joanna felt a sudden surge of thanksgiving that, despite Andy’s death, Jenny seemed to be doing more than merely coping. She gave every appearance of being a well-adjusted, sweet, and relatively innocent child. When Lucinda Ridder’s father was killed, Lucy had been almost the same age Jenny was when Andy died. Now, as a fifteen-year-old, Lucy Ridder was at best a runaway and at worst a homicide suspect.

Joanna reached over, grabbed Jenny by the shoulders, and wrestled her into a smothering bear hug.

“What was that all about?” Jenny demanded once she had wriggled loose.

“I love you is all,” Joanna said, clambering out of bed. “Now that I’m awake, I suppose we’d better get out and feed those animals. They’re probably hungry. Compared to the schedule Clayton Rhodes kept, you and I are a couple of slugabeds.”

Butch showed up while Jenny and Joanna were out in the barn doing chores. By the time they finished and returned to the house, breakfast was ready. There were glasses of fresh-squeezed orange juice and bowls of steaming Malt-o-meal waiting on the table.

“We’re a team,” Butch said cheerfully when Joanna kissed him good morning. “A well-oiled machine.”

The phone rang just as they were slipping into their places in the breakfast nook. Jenny scampered off to collect the phone and brought it back to the kitchen.

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

Jenny merely shrugged and rolled her eyes. “How would I know?” she returned.

“Hello?” Joanna said.

“Joanna,” Burton Kimball said. “Glad you’re there. Sorry to bother you so early on a Sunday morning, but I tried to reach you several times yesterday. When you didn’t return my calls, I was afraid you were out of town.”

Burton Kimball was a Bisbee-area attorney. His practice included a good deal of criminal defense work, and Joanna wondered which of his clients was in such dire straits that Kimball would be working this early on a Sunday morning.

“Sorry about that,” Joanna said. “I was out of town most of the day. Then, when we came back, I was called out on a case and didn’t get home until it was too late to return anybody’s calls. What’s up?”

“It’s about Clayton Rhodes,” Burton Kimball said.

“Clayton Rhodes!” Joanna exclaimed. “How can you already have a client, since my investigators aren’t close to having a suspect?”

“Mr. Rhodes was my client,” Burton returned. “I did some estate planning for him. His daughter showed up on her broom yesterday afternoon. The funeral is tentatively scheduled for Monday. Even so, Reba Singleton insisted on having the will opened and read yesterday evening. I tried contacting you beforehand so you could be here when it was read, but-”

“Why would I need to be there?” Joanna asked. “As far as I know, Clayton’s death resulted from natural causes. In any event-even in the case of an apparent homicide-there’s no need for a sheriff’s department representative to attend the reading of a will.”

“Not as a representative of the sheriff’s department,” Kimball responded. “You. Joanna Brady. The reason I wanted you in attendance is that you’re a major beneficiary.”

That stopped Joanna cold. “Me?” she asked dazedly. “I’m a beneficiary?”

“Yes. Clayton rewrote his will a year and a half ago. He left Rhodes Ranch to you-all three hundred and twenty acres of it. It’s free and clear, house and all.”

Joanna could barely believe her ears. “I don’t get it. Clayton Rhodes left his place to me?” she stammered. “That’s impossible! A ridiculous joke! You mean to say he left Reba out of his will entirely, that he disowned his own daughter in favor of me?”

“Not entirely. He and Molly had tons of savings bonds, as well as a whole bunch of certificates of deposit. There will be plenty of cash to pay final expenses, including all applicable income and estate taxes. Whatever money is left after taxes goes to Reba, but you’re to have the property and whatever personal effects Reba doesn’t want. You’re to deal with those as you see fit. No strings attached.”

Stunned, Joanna felt the blood drain from her face, causing both Butch and Jenny to cast worried looks in her direction. “What is it, Mom?” Jenny asked. “What’s wrong?”

“Clayton left two letters-one for you and one for Reba,” Burton Kimball continued. “I gave Reba hers last night. I was wondering if I shouldn’t bring yours out to you this morning. I want you to be aware of everything that’s going on because of Reba, you see. I’m concerned about her reaction. She and her father had been estranged for years-ever since her mother’s death-but I’m afraid this still hit her pretty hard. I wouldn’t be surprised if she didn’t try to make trouble, if she hasn’t already, that is.”