“Yes,” Lani said. “I am, and I’m willing to take her today. I think it’s criminal that the Escalantes would turn her away just as they turned me away.”

“Good,” Delia said. “I’m glad to hear you say that.”

“But how will all this work?” Lani asked. “I can’t just walk into the hospital and insist that they hand her over.”

“Yes, you can,” Delia said. “Right after I spoke to you I called Judge Lawrence. He’s drawing up a court order declaring you to be Angie’s temporary guardian. All you have to do is go by his place and sign it.”

Lani was taken aback to think that Delia had known in advance what her decision would be. “What about later?” she asked. “What if some other relative of Angie’s comes forward and offers to take her?”

“They won’t,” Delia declared. “They didn’t come for you, and they won’t come for Angie.”

Delia Ortiz took one last drag on the smoldering remnant of the cigarette. “Nawoj,” she said again as she passed it back.

Much to her surprise, Delia Ortiz realized that somehow the wiw had done its magic work. Through the haze of sweet-smelling smoke it seemed entirely possible that she and Lanita Dolores Walker could be friends after all, exactly as her father-in-law, Fat Crack, had intended.

Tucson, Arizona

Sunday, June 7, 2009, 12:00 p.m.

89º Fahrenheit

By the time the Aces showed up in person, Brian had typed up what he had, including the contact information for Detective Mumford in Thousand Oaks and a cell phone number for Dan Pardee. He would have been glad to hand off the paper and get the hell out, but things didn’t work out that way.

“This is all you’ve got?” Jake Abernathy asked derogatorily after scanning through the pages.

Detective Abernathy knew he was Sheriff Forsythe’s “chosen one.” He came complete with the requisite ego and attitude. He understood Brian had to be pissed about being taken off the case, and he couldn’t help rubbing Brian’s nose in it. At least he couldn’t help trying to, but Brian refused to take the bait.

“Yup,” he said. “That’s all we have so far. You’ll probably want to follow up with Detective Mumford over in Thousand Oaks. She’s working on tracking phone records.”

Making the suggestion was a deliberate ploy. Brian was reasonably sure that based on that, he could expect that the Aces wouldn’t give Alex Mumford the time of day.

“I think Rick and I can track down phone records on our own,” Jake told him. “Now what about this witness-the little girl who supposedly saw the killer. If we go out to the res to interview her, will we need to bring along a translator?”

Brian didn’t call the Tohono O’odham Nation “the res” ever.

“No,” he said. “Her name is Angelina Enos and she speaks English.” A lot better than you speak Tohono O’odham, he thought.

“Where is she?”

“The last I heard she was in the hospital at Sells. But you have Dan Pardee’s number. He can probably tell you where she ended up going.”

Abernathy frowned. “According to this, he’s the Border Patrol guy who found her along with the bodies. Why would this jerk know where she is? Is he a relative of some kind?”

No relation, Brian thought, and no jerk, either.

“I had my hands full, and he was willing to look after the kid,” Brian said aloud.

“Okay, okay. We’ll track him down and see what he has to say,” Jake said. Then he turned to his partner. “We should probably check with Border Patrol and take a look at his statement, too.”

He turned back to Brian. “You’re pretty sure that Jonathan Southard is the guy?”

Brian nodded.

“Any leads on where he went?”

“Since he came here to take out his mother, there’s some concern that his next stop might be Ohio. That’s where his father lives. I spoke to Hank Southard a little while ago. He says there’s some mistake. His son wouldn’t hurt a fly.”

“Right,” Abernathy said. “That’s what relatives always say.”

Brian had made a stack of copies of Jonathan Southard’s driver’s license photo. Jake Abernathy noticed them for the first time. “What are those?” he asked.

“Copies of Southard’s photo,” Brian said. “I was going to have a deputy take them out to the airport. That way, if he tries to get on a plane, people there will know to keep an eye out for him.”

“Good thinking,” Abernathy said. “Why don’t you do that?”

Why not indeed! Brian thought. He could have refused. He could have told Jake that he should send a deputy instead, but Brian didn’t believe in confrontation for confrontation’s sake. As far as Brian was concerned, a phone call to Homeland Security was probably also in order, just in case Southard was trying to head out of the country, but that was no longer his call to make.

“Sure thing,” he said, tapping the stack of photos. “Glad to be of service. I’ll drop these off on my way home.”

Sonoita, Arizona

Sunday, June 7, 2009, 12:00 p.m.

79º Fahrenheit

It was close to noon when Diana and Brandon left June Holmes’s house. With the summertime sun blazing down on them, Brandon overrode his wife’s veto. He closed the convertible top and turned the AC to high for the ride back to Tucson.

“Did you get what you needed?” Diana asked.

Brandon sighed. “I’m not sure,” he said. “I know what she told me, but I don’t know how much of it to believe. What about you? When you came inside, you looked upset. Are you all right?”

Diana considered his question for some time before she answered it. “No,” she said at last. “I don’t think I’m all right at all.”

Brandon looked at her nervously. “Why?” he asked. “What’s wrong? Are you sick? Do you need to go to the doctor?”

“Because I’m seeing things,” she replied. “I’m seeing people who aren’t there-dead people. I talk to them. They talk to me. They tell me things.”

“What people?”

“Garrison Ladd,” she answered after another long pause. “Andrew Carlisle. My father. All those people from my past that I don’t want to see keep showing up uninvited.”

“How long has this been going on?” Brandon asked.

She noticed that he didn’t try to talk her out of it. He didn’t tell her she was wrong or that she was making things up. Obviously he believed her.

“Several months,” she said. “It started while I was trying to finish the book. It was like they ganged up on me. Is that what happens with Alzheimer’s patients?” she asked. “Is that what happened to your father? Or is this some other kind of dementia? I suppose I should have gone to a doctor, but…”

Her voice trailed away. Even though that was what Brandon had been thinking-what he’d been worried about all along-it took his breath away to have the word spoken aloud like that between them, and he understood all too well why she hadn’t wanted to discuss it with anyone, most especially not with her husband.

“I don’t know,” Brandon said. “I don’t think anybody knows everything about those kinds of issues. They’re complicated and not easily sorted out.”

Diana nodded. “I know how much dealing with your father bothered you, and I don’t want to put you through that kind of thing again. I had been thinking about going out in a blaze of glory-of taking this out for a drive and running it off a cliff somewhere. That’s what my invisible friends all think I should do, but not you. Right?”

“You’re right,” he answered at once. “Not me.” He thought about what she had said then asked, “Is that why you want to sell this?” He patted the Invicta’s steering wheel.

Diana nodded again. “That’s why. I knew you wouldn’t want me to do it. I thought getting rid of the car would get rid of the temptation.”

Brandon Walker took a deep breath. Diana’s mental lapses were exactly what he had feared for days, weeks, and months, but now that they were talking about all this-now that it was out in the open-it didn’t seem so bad. His father and mother had learned to cope. He and Diana would, too.