Joanna made her way into a brightly painted living room. Hardwood flooring glistened underfoot while huge pieces of leather furniture dominated the space. Looking at the furniture, Joanna shuddered at the idea of dragging those large pieces up from the street.

“Nice place,” she said. “But how on earth did you get this furniture up here?”

“I didn’t beam it up, if that’s what you mean.” He grinned. “It helps if you lift weights. It’s also a good idea to have a bunch of weight-lifting friends. Have a seat.”

Joanna eased herself down onto the soft gray leather couch. She would have preferred keeping up the pretense of polite conversation. Her stomach clenched at the idea of doing what she had come to do. Once she unleashed her bad news, this comfortable, peaceful room would never again be quite so peaceful. Some of her disquiet must have communicated itself. When she turned back to Bobo Jenkins, his easygoing smile had disappeared.

“What’s going on?” he asked, perching on the arm of the couch.

“I’m sorry to have to do this,” she began. “I understand you’re good friends with a woman named Rochelle Baxter. Is that true?”

“With Shelley? Of course it’s true. And I hope we’re a little more than friends,” he added. A concerned frown crossed his face. “Why are you asking me about her? Has something happened?”

Joanna took a deep breath. There was no easy way. “She’s dead, Bobo,” Joanna said.

The big man’s mahogany-colored skin faded to gray. “No!” he exclaimed. “That’s impossible!”

Joanna shook her head. “I’m sorry, Bobo,” she said, “but it’s true. Rochelle Baxter was taken ill and called 911 around ten o’clock last night. She collapsed while talking to the emergency operator. When the EMTs reached her, she was unresponsive. Rochelle was DOA on arrival at Copper Queen Hospital.”

Bobo buried his face in the towel. “Shelley, dead?” he murmured. “I can’t believe it. She was fine when I left her – perfectly fine. What happened?”

“We don’t know,” Joanna replied. “At least, not yet. From what we can tell, she became desperately ill. By the time help reached her, it was already too late.”

Joanna paused, allowing Bobo to internalize the awful information. Finally she asked, “Did Rochelle have any known medical condition that might explain this sudden attack?”

His face contorted by anguish, Bobo shook his head wordlessly.

“You said she was fine when you left her,” Joanna continued. “Does that mean you saw her last night?”

Bobo nodded.

“What time?”

“I don’t know exactly,” he answered. “Fairly early. It couldn’t have been much later than seven or so. I was back here by seven-thirty.”

“What was the purpose of your visit?”

Bobo sighed. “Shelley and I were supposed to have dinner last night, but she stood me up. Not stood up, exactly. She just called and canceled. I went to see her anyway – to ask her about it and find out what was going on.”

“You say she canceled. What time was that?” Joanna asked.

“What time did she call?”

Joanna nodded.

“Sometime in the afternoon. I don’t remember exactly when. I erased the message after I listened to it.”

“And why did she?” Joanna asked. “Cancel, I mean. Was something wrong?”

“You mean was she sick?” Bobo asked.

Joanna nodded.

“Sick, but not physically,” he said ruefully. “Sick of me is more like it. Still, when I showed up at her place in Naco, she invited me in and offered me a drink. We talked for a little while. She tried to give me the brush-off. Told me she needed time for herself – time by herself. I was afraid she was going to break up with me right then and there, but I talked her out of it. The last thing before I left, she agreed to have dinner with me tonight after the gallery opening.”

“You parted on good terms?”

“Of course.” Bobo Jenkins frowned. “Wait a minute. What about that opening? Somebody needs to call Dee Canfield right away and tell her what’s happened.”

“She already knows,” Joanna said. “She came by the studio down in Naco while I was still there.”

“She’s going to cancel, right?”

“I don’t think so. She said she intended to go through with the opening after all. The only difference is she plans to raise the prices.”

“Raise the prices? What do you mean?”

Joanna nodded. “ Dee told me that Shelley’s death automatically makes the pieces more valuable.”

Bobo Jenkins stood up abruptly. “What is she, some kind of vulture? What the hell is Dee Canfield thinking? You’ll have to excuse me, Joanna. There’s something I have to do.”

He went to the door and held it open, motioning Joanna through it.

“What’s the hurry?” Joanna asked, allowing herself to be escorted back outside. “Where are you going?”

“To Castle Rock Gallery,” he told her determinedly. “I’m going to go have a heart-to-heart chat with Deidre Canfield.”

“Wait, Bobo,” Joanna began. “Do you think that’s a good idea?”

He ignored her. Without bothering to lock the door, he pulled it shut behind them and loped off down the steep flight of stairs that led to the street. Standing alone on the small porch, Joanna watched him take the steps two and three at a time. When he reached the bottom, Joanna expected him to turn right and head back up the hill to retrieve his waiting El Camino. Instead, he turned left and barreled down Youngblood Hill toward Brewery Gulch on foot.

Stunned, Joanna stared after Bobo Jenkins’s retreating figure. She had known him for years, but she had never seen him angry before. Now that she had, she worried about the damage those powerfully muscled arms and fists might inflict once he caught up with Deidre Canfield.

Sheriff Joanna Brady had just brought Bobo Jenkins an entire lifetime’s worth of unwelcome news. As sheriff she was charged with protecting the citizens of Cochise County. Instead, by telling Bobo about Dee Canfield’s plans, Joanna had inadvertently incited him – possibly to the point of violence.

Not good, Joanna told herself grimly as she, too, started down the stairs. Not good at all!

Bobo Jenkins was completely out of sight by the time Joanna reached the arched gate at the bottom of the stairs. She jogged back uphill to her Crown Victoria, then threw herself inside. Panting with exertion, Joanna punched up her radio.

“Sheriff Brady here,” she gasped when she heard the voice of Larry Kendrick, her lead dispatcher. “I’m on my way to Castle Rock Gallery. Please advise Bisbee PD that I may need backup.”

“What’s the problem, Sheriff?” Larry asked. “You sound like you’ve been running for miles.”

“Not miles, just up and down Youngblood Hill,” she told him. “I just finished telling Bobo Jenkins that Rochelle Baxter is dead. He’s upset with a woman named Deidre Canfield and is on his way to her place of business, Castle Rock Gallery on Main Street in Old Bisbee. Bobo said he was going to talk to her, but he was really off the charts when he left here. I’d say he’s more likely to punch somebody’s lights out. I’m headed there, too.”

By then the Civvie was on the move. Joanna turned on her lights and siren as she careened down Youngblood Hill into the upper reaches of Brewery Gulch. Bobo Jenkins was moving fast. By racing down stairways and cutting through back alleys, it was likely he would reach the Castle Rock Gallery on foot well before Joanna could drive there.

Deidre Canfield’s place of business consisted of a series of small, formerly ramshackle buildings that looked invitingly renovated when Joanna drove up. As soon as she opened her car door, she heard a chorus of raised voices coming from inside.

As she pushed open the door to the gallery, a tiny bell tinkled overhead, but neither Dee Canfield nor Bobo Jenkins noticed. Across the room they stood locked in a fierce, nose-to-nose confrontation.

“You’ve got no right barging in here and telling me what I can and can’t do,” Dee shouted shrilly. “This is my gallery. The contract is between Rochelle Baxter and me. It has nothing to do with you, Bobo Jenkins. The terms of that contract allow me to set, raise, or lower prices as I see fit.”