“I’ll be happy.”

“How much trouble will it be to take it out of the plans?”

He shrugged. “Not much. The train shelf was a late-breaking brilliant idea I added in just a few days ago or so. All I have to do is take it back out. I’m guessing Quentin will be ecstatic to avoid all that extra electrical work. So there you are. Two to one – I lose.”

“It’s going to be okay, then? You’re not mad?”

“Not terminally mad, but you can buy lunch,” he said. “By the time you pay up, chances are I’ll be almost over it.”

Out at the cash register, Junior took Joanna’s money and then painstakingly counted out her change. When he had finished he flashed Joanna a triumphant smile. “Daisy taught me,” he said proudly.

“Daisy’s a very good teacher.”

“Yes,” Junior agreed, nodding vehemently. “Very good!”

By then Butch, with blueprints in one hand and motorcycle helmet in the other, had followed Joanna out of the backroom. He arrived in time to watch the end of the monetary transaction. He waited until they were out in the parking lot before commenting.

“Amazing,” he exclaimed. “When we first met Junior, I never would have dreamed he’d be capable of making change.”

“Kindness and patience go a very long way,” Joanna said. “Now kiss me. I have to go back to work.”

He gave her a halfhearted smooch and opened her car door.

“Can’t you do better than that?” she demanded.

“Not in public,” he said.

He grinned when he said it. Even so, a troubled Joanna Brady headed back to the Cochise County Justice Center. Getting married and combining households wasn’t easy. She had expected that she and Butch would have tough going over child-rearing practices; over the chores of looking after a ranch full of animals in need of care and feeding.

Whoever would have thought we’d end up fighting over model trains? she wondered. Compared to that, everything else has been a picnic.

WASHINGTON STATE ATTORNEY GENERAL Ross Alan Connors had just returned from a meeting with the governor when O.H. Todd came into his office to give him the bad news.

“Damn!” Connors muttered. “You’re sure it’s her?”

“No mistake, I’m sorry to say,” O.H. returned. “What do we do now?”

Connors rubbed his forehead thoughtfully. “We’d better send someone,” he said at last. “But who?”

“One of the special investigators?” O.H. Todd suggested.

Connors considered and then nodded.

“Which one?”

“What about that new hire?” Connors returned. “The one who just retired from Seattle PD.”

“You mean J.P. Beaumont?”

“Right,” Connors said, nodding. “That’s the one. He hasn’t been on board very long. You should probably check with Harry Ball and see if Beau’s up to speed.”

O.H. Todd stood up and made for the door. “Right,” he said. “Will do.”

Five

JOANNA AND FRANK MONTOYA FINALLY HAD their much-delayed morning briefing right after lunch. Late in the afternoon Joanna was boning up for her Friday-morning appearance before the board of supervisors meeting when Detective Carbajal knocked on her door.

“How’s it going?” Joanna asked.

Jaime shook his head and sank into a chair. “I just finished preliminary interviews with Dee Canfield and Bobo Jenkins. Bobo stopped by so Casey could print him. I caught up with him while he was here.”

“What do you think?” Joanna asked.

“Gut instinct?”

Joanna nodded.

“You may be convinced he’s in the clear on this, but I’m not sure I agree.”

“Fair enough,” Joanna said. “We’ll agree to disagree. Did anything more turn up at the crime scene?”

“No. I canvassed the entire neighborhood. No one saw or heard anything out of line until the EMTs showed up and started breaking down the door. What about you?”

She told him everything she had learned earlier from both Bobo Jenkins and Dee Canfield.

“Since she’s going ahead with the show,” Jaime said, “I guess I should be there. One of the guests may be able to fill in some of our blanks on the victim.”

“Speaking of blanks,” Joanna said. “Have you talked to that guy up in Washington?”

“O.H. Todd?” Jaime replied. “I’ve tried. I’ve called his number three different times. All I get is voice mail. So far he hasn’t bothered to call me back.”

“The man must have a boss,” Joanna said. “What’s his name?”

“I don’t know.”

“Find out, Jaime, and get me his number,” Joanna said. “I’ll give him a call. Maybe the big boss can set a fire under Mr. Todd’s butt.”

Jaime Carbajal grinned. “Works for me,” he said. He left the room. A few minutes later he returned with a slip of paper.

“Good luck,” he said, handing it over.

Joanna glanced at her watch. “It’s already after five. He’s probably gone.”

“Try anyway,” Jaime said.

Picking up her phone, Joanna dialed. “Attorney general’s office,” a woman’s voice answered.

“I’d like to speak to Mr. Ross Alan Connors,” Joanna said. “This is Sheriff Joanna Brady of Cochise County, Arizona.”

“May I say what this is concerning?”

“Latisha Wall.”

There was a noticeable pause. “One moment, please.”

As soon as the operator went away, canned classical music began playing, interrupted periodically by a recorded voice apologizing for the length of the wait and assuring Joanna that her call was very important to them and that someone would be with her as soon as possible. The third time she heard the equally canned apology she was ready to blow.

Five minutes later a live voice finally returned to the line. “I’m sorry. Mr. Connors is in a meeting right now.”

“Any idea what time he’ll be through with it?”

“None at all. Sorry.”

Like hell you’re sorry, Joanna thought. “What about O.H. Todd?” she asked. “Is he available?”

“He’s also in a meeting.”

The same one, no doubt.

“Would you like to be connected to Mr. Connors’s voice mail?” the woman asked.

“No, thank you,” Joanna said. “I’d like you to personally take a message. Tell him Sheriff Joanna Brady needs to speak to him, urgently. Detective Jaime Carbajal, the investigator working Latisha Wall’s death, has so far been unable to reach Mr. Todd. Obviously, time is of the essence.” After leaving her office, home, and cell-phone numbers, Joanna hung up. Across the desk from her Jaime Carbajal scowled.

“You got the same treatment I did,” he said. “Don’t hold your breath waiting for a callback.”

HARRY IGNATIUS BALL HAD TURNED off the light in his office and was about to close the door and head home when his phone rang. Muttering irritably under his breath, he returned to his desk and grabbed up the receiver.

“Special Unit B,” he said. “Ball speaking.”

“Harry, glad I caught you,” O.H. Todd said, sounding relieved. “I just got cut loose from a meeting that lasted all afternoon.”

Harry rattled his car keys, hoping O.H. would get the message. “What’s up?” he asked.

“How’s Beaumont doing?”

“What do you mean, how’s he doing?”

“Is he up to speed?” O.H. asked. “Ready to send out on a case?”

Harry snorted. “He was ready for that the day he got here. Why?”

“We’ve developed a problem down in Arizona. A place called Bisbee. Ross may need to ship someone down to check it out.” Todd paused. “What can you tell me about Beaumont?” he added. “About him personally, I mean. What kind of guy is he?”

“From what I’ve seen so far,” Harry replied, “he isn’t exactly a team player.”

“Maybe that’s okay,” O.H. Todd said thoughtfully. “In fact, for this case, that may be just what the doctor ordered.”

IT WAS ALMOST SEVEN when Joanna finally pulled into the yard at High Lonesome Ranch. The house was dark and locked up tight. Once inside, she discovered that Jenny and Butch had evidently already eaten. A single place setting remained on the table in the breakfast nook. In the middle of the plate was a note from Butch saying he had taken Jenny back into town for a play rehearsal and that there was a green chili casserole waiting for her in the fridge. All she had to do was heat it up.