Dead Wrong

Chapter 16

But Lawrence Tazewell was still mulling over what he’d just heard. “I’m surprised she hasn’t done herself in the same way her mother did. I wouldn’t blame her, but this does go a long way to explaining the Rory thing.”

“What do you mean?”

“He saw what happened to Ruth. And I’m sure he knows that, one way or the other, Aileen is a short-timer. By marrying Leslie, Rory puts himself in a position to be half owner of a very valuable parcel of Cochise County real estate.” “Are there any other children?”

Tazewell shook his head. “Max and his first wife, Margie, had a little boy who died of leukemia when he was twelve. Margie suffered a debilitating stroke while she was still in her forties. Ruth was the nurse Max hired to take care of Margie. Max and Ruth married within months of Margie’s death. The only child the two of them had together was Aileen. Max was delighted beyond bearing when Aileen showed up, and he and Ruth spoiled her rotten.”

“You said Ruth’s brothers died of Huntington‘s?” Joanna asked.

Tazewell nodded. “But they were younger than she was. The brothers were only in their twenties when they started going downhill. Ruth was in her thirties when Aileen was born. Because she still wasn’t sick, I think she must have thought it wasn’t going to happen to her.”

“But it did,” Joanna offered.

“Yes. Ruth was just beginning to show symptoms of HD when Aileen and I married. And when she found out Aileen was pregnant, Ruth went nuts. She wanted Aileen to have an abortion, but neither Max nor Aileen would hear of it. Aileen because she really wanted to have the baby, and Max because he wanted to keep the Triple H in the family.”

Tazewell paused. “Damn!” he exclaimed. “I had forgotten all about that.”

“About what?”

“Sometime early in October of that year, Ruth and Aileen flew to Albuquerque to see her brothers. By then both of them were confined to a nursing home. I offered to fly Ruth and Aileen there, but Ruth wasn’t having any of that. She insisted on flying commercial. At that stage of her pregnancy, Aileen had to have written permission from her doctor to fly at all. I remember she was really offended that she had to have a permission slip. But when she came back from that trip, Aileen was a completely different person.”

“How so?” Joanna asked.

But Lawrence Tazewell, lost in his own thoughts, didn’t seem to hear her. “Do you think that’s what happened?” he asked. “Do you think that, after seeing Ruth’s brothers, Aileen decided she couldn’t risk having a child of her own, so she got rid of her own baby and took someone else’s?”

“Tell me about Aileen Houlihan,” Joanna said.

“As in do I think she’s capable of doing such a thing? No,” he said after a pause. “I don’t.”

“What was she like then?”

The faraway look returned to Tazewell’s eyes. “When I first met Aileen Houlihan, she was a pistol,” he said at last. “Headstrong, stubborn, and spoiled rotten. She came to the University of Arizona with a whole catalog of parental rules and a single-minded determination to break ‘ em all. I was a case in point.”

“How so?”

“Aileen’s daddy wanted his daughter to graduate from the University of Arizona with honors, go on to law school, and then come home to do her parents proud-maybe end up going into politics. She carefully deconstructed that whole program. Her freshman year she did three things that sent her old man round the bend-she flunked out of school, married me, and brought me home to live on her parents’ ranch. Max was in his late seventies when Aileen came dragging home with me and told him that she didn’t need a college degree to raise cattle and horses.”

“You’re saying she married you out of spite?”

“Pretty much. Did you ever meet Max and Ruth Houlihan?”

Joanna shook her head. “Never. It sounds like they were a little before my time.”

“I suppose,” Tazewell agreed. “They were quite a pair. Ruth was beautiful. Fortunately for her, Aileen took after her mother in the looks department. Old Maxfield was ugly as a stump-a crotchety old bowlegged cowboy who never got over his incredible good luck at finding himself such a gorgeous young woman to be his second wife. He didn’t know about the Huntington‘s, at least not before they got married, and I don’t think it would have made any difference if he had. I’m sure he would have married Ruth anyway. Max was stubborn as hell. Aileen takes after her father in that regard.”

“So you and Aileen got married. What happened then?”

“Max was disappointed, but he decided to make the best of a bad bargain. He was the one who bankrolled my first election here in Cochise County. And, as I told you earlier, after Aileen dumped me, Max used his contacts to help me get a foothold up in Maricopa County. I suspect he was grateful that I left the marriage without making a fuss over custody arrangements or demanding a property settlement.”

“And you left the marriage because…?” Joanna asked.

“Because Aileen told me to get out. She made it perfectly clear that I’d never measure up to her father. She said she was bored with me. She said that she wasn’t ready to settle down- that she needed to live a little. When she hinted around that I probably wasn’t Leslie’s father, I finally decided she was right. Having a wild woman for a girlfriend is one thing, but having a wild woman for a wife is something else. I hung around for a while after Leslie was born, but when it came time for the next election, I didn’t bother to run. Instead, I took the job offer Max had found for me, moved to Phoenix, got a divorce, and went on with my life.”

“And Aileen?” Joanna asked. “According to Leslie, she never married again.”

“How long has she been sick?” Tazewell asked.

“Leslie didn’t say.”

“Once her HD symptoms started coming on, I can see why she would have stayed out of another relationship.” He paused and looked past Joanna to the ocotillo-and-bear-grass-dotted landscape outside her window. “I wonder…”he said thoughtfully.

“What?”

“Maybe Ruth convinced her to have a late-term abortion after all. And Aileen made arrangements to pass this other child off as her own so no one would know. Not even me, but I do have a right to know. I have half a mind to fly straight out to the ranch right now and ask Aileen about it face-to-face.”

“No,” Joanna said at once. “Please don’t. Interference like that could very well jeopardize our investigation into the Evans homicide. I’m convinced Bradley Evans died because he stumbled on a long-buried truth someone didn’t want exposed to the light of day.”

“Are you going to talk to her about this?”

“I’m going to try.”

“You’ll let me know what you find out?”

Joanna nodded.

“I loved her once, you know,” Tazewell added with a bleak smile.

“I know you did.”

With a light tap on the door, Frank Montoya reentered the room and placed a stack of papers in front of Joanna. At the bottom of the top sheet was a discreetly handwritten note: “T’s alibi checks out.”

“Is there anything else, then?” Tazewell asked. “Anything more you need from me?”

“Not that I can think of,” Joanna said. “Only your contact numbers so we can be in touch with you when we need to.”

Tazewell nodded and handed Joanne a business card.

Joanna stood and extended her hand. “Thanks for coming,” she said. “I know this has been hard on you. I’ll have a deputy take you back to your plane.”

“Thanks,” Tazewell said, then he added, “I don’t suppose you believe that I knew nothing about any of this-about the connection between my wife and the family of the man I sent to prison.”

“Actually,” Joanna returned, “I do believe you.”

“Thank you,” he said. “But once they get wind of it, I doubt the press will be that kind. Best case, I’ll lose the federal nomination. Worst case, I’ll be forced off the bench.”

“I hope not,” Joanna said.

Tazewell shook his head. “I’m not so sure about that. If Aileen was able to pull the wool over my eyes as thoroughly and as easily as this, I’m too damned stupid to sit on the Arizona Supreme Court!”

With that he turned and strode out of the office.

“He’s upset,” Frank said as the door closed.

“I’ll say,” Joanna responded. “He has every right to be. As soon as we can get someone to take him back to the airport, we’ll go out to the Triple H and see what we can do to get to the bottom of this.”

“Right now?” Frank asked.

“Does either one of us have something better to do?” Joanna asked. “Besides, if he thinks about it too long, Lawrence Tazewell may decide to have his own little chat with Aileen Houlihan. What about these?” she asked, picking up the fistful of papers.

“Bring them along,” Frank said. “I’ll drive. We can talk about those as we go.”

Buckled into the passenger seat of Frank’s Crown Victoria, Joanna scanned through the documents. The several pages dealt with the telephone numbers Lawrence Tazewell had given them. One after another, people had verified what he had said about the times he had arrived in Denver, where the plane had been tied down, as well as people he had seen while there. And, in every regard, each of the several people-from the guy in charge of the FBO to Tazewell’s stepdaughter-told the same story. Frank’s assessment about Tazewell’s lack of involvement in the Evans homicide seemed validated. The next sheet was a printout from classmates.com with information on Barbara Tanner Petrocelli.

Joanna was amazed. “You found Lisa Evans’s friend!”

“Yup,” Frank agreed with a grin. “Address, phone number, and everything. Isn’t that why you keep me on the payroll?”

“And she still lives in Sierra Vista,” Joanna marveled. “Once we finish up with Aileen Houlihan, maybe we can see Barbara, too. After all, it’ll be on our way home.”

The last piece of paper was a copy of a phone message addressed to Debbie Howell. It listed the name Manfred Oxhill along with a Sierra Vista telephone number.

“Who’s Manfred?” Joanna asked.

Frank grinned again. “That’s the best part,” he said. “I noticed a message in Debbie’s box and decided to take a look at it. Turns out Mr. Oxhill manages the auto-parts section of Sierra Vista‘s Target store. I called him. He apologized for taking so long to respond to Debbie’s inquiry about primer. He’s been out sick all this week until yesterday, but it turns out they sold a whole case of primer last Friday morning. He’s going back through the records to see if he can find out if it was a cash or credit transaction.”

“Surely we wouldn’t be lucky enough that the killer used a credit card,” Joanna murmured.

“You’d be surprised,” Frank replied. “Most crooks get caught because they’re dumb, not because we’re all that clever.”

“What time does Mr. Oxhill get off work?”

“Six,” Frank answered. “So maybe we can see him today as well.”

“Anything on Jeannine this morning?” Joanna asked.

Frank nodded. “I called Millicent and checked with her. Jean-nine’s been upgraded to serious, so that’s good. It sounds like she’s making progress.”

Glad for any sign of improvement, Joanna stuffed the papers into her briefcase and then leaned back in her seat. As the Crown Victoria motored through the morning sunlight, she closed her eyes and thought about the upcoming interview. If Aileen’s Huntington‘s symptoms were as advanced as Joanna suspected, then there was no way the woman could have been directly involved in the murder of Bradley Evans. Indirectly involved, though, was another matter.

After nights of chronic sleep deprivation, Joanna soon fell victim to the warmth inside the vehicle and to the steady hum of tires on pavement. With the baby quiet for a change, she was lulled into a sound sleep and roused herself only when Frank slowed to turn off Highway 90 onto Triple H Ranch Road.

After crossing three separate cattle guards and opening and closing two gates, they arrived. There were two distinctly separate ranch houses on the property. What appeared to be the main one was set behind a white picket fence. It was a rambling old-fashioned, frame-style place with recently added vinyl siding and a standing-seam metal roof. A generous roof overhang created a shady front porch and allowed for covered verandas on either side of the house. A bank of brightly blooming honeysuckle grew around the base of the front porch. Halfway to the house a well-made wooden wheelchair ramp broke away from the sidewalk and led up to the side of the porch, where one section of wooden rails had been removed to allow access.

Frank was turning into the yard when, on the far side of a metal barn, Joanna caught sight of a small airplane parked next to a corral.

“What the-I” she began.

“Is something wrong?”

“That’s Lawrence Tazewell’s blue-and-white Cessna.”

“But you told him not to come here,” Frank returned.

“Evidently he didn’t pay any attention.”

Joanna was out of the car before Frank had shifted into park. She caught the beginning of a radio transmission as she slammed the door shut, but she was so intent on Lawrence Tazewell that she didn’t stay still long enough to listen. Hurrying through the gate and up the sidewalk, she heard the sound of raised voices.

“Get out! You’ve got no business coming here!” Leslie Markham shouted.

“I just want to see her, to talk to her,” Tazewell objected.

“She doesn’t want to talk to you,” Leslie declared. “She doesn’t want anyone to see her like this, especially you. How dare you come flying in after all these years as if you still owned the place?”

The front door was open. Joanna stood on the far side of the screen door with her hand poised to knock.

“I never ‘owned the place,” as you call it,“ Tazewell said reasonably. ”The Triple H always belonged to your grandparents and to your mother. I was always an interloper.“

“And you still are. Now go.”

“Have you asked your mother if she wants to see me?” he asked. “Does she know I’m here?”

“She doesn’t, and I’m not going to tell her,” Leslie responded. “She’s too ill. I want you to leave. Now.”

“I know all about Huntington’s disease,” Tazewell said. “How far has it progressed? How bad is it?”

“You don’t know anything about it!” Leslie shot back. “How would you? You’ve been up in Phoenix the whole time. Dolores Mattias and I are the ones who’ve been taking care of her- Dolores and Rory and me and a couple of nurses who come in on a part-time basis. And we don’t talk about it with outsiders, either. Mother didn’t… doesn’t want people to know about this Huntington‘s thing. It’s nobody else’s business what’s wrong with her.”

“Rory!” Tazewell exclaimed. “What the hell can you see in an old coot like him? For God’s sakes, Leslie, you’re a beautiful young woman. Rory Markham is almost as old as I am.”

“And unlike you, Rory’s always been here for me,” Leslie retorted. “He’s helped me take care of Mother and locate the kind of nursing help we’ve needed. He’s looked after the business end of the ranch all the while he’s been running his own business as well. Rory doesn’t have anything to apologize for. You’re the one who’s a Johnny-come-lately.”

“Of course he’s looking after the ranch,” Tazewell said. “What do you expect? That’s what he’s here for. He’s always wanted the ranch. Don’t you understand, Leslie? Your mother is dying. Marrying you is one sure way for Rory Markham to finally lay his greedy hands on the Triple H.”

“That’s not true. Now get out and leave us alone!” Leslie’s final outburst was followed by the sound of breaking glass. Dodging splintering crystal, Lawrence Tazewell burst out through the screen door, almost flattening Joanna as he did so.

“I told you not to come here,” a seething Joanna Brady told him once she’d righted herself.

Tazewell had the good grace to look chagrined. “Sorry,” he said. “I flew over to see if the landing strip was still here and usable. It was, so I landed. I just…”

“I don’t care why you came. Now you’re leaving.”

“But-”

“No buts. You’re leaving now!”

“All right,” Tazewell agreed reluctantly. “I didn’t mean any harm.”

Frank, hurrying up the sidewalk, passed by a retreating Tazewell on the way. “What’s wrong?” Joanna asked. “Has something happened?”

“There’s more trouble over at San Simon,” Frank answered. “Evidently a dogfight was scheduled there for later on this afternoon. When the first group of attendees arrived, they found a dead woman, an apparent gunshot victim, lying in the front yard. The people who found her had come in from the New Mexico side, and they must have thought they were still on that side of the state line. They left the scene and called an anonymous 911 tip from a pay phone at Road Forks. Randy Trotter’s people forwarded the call to us. Debbie and Jaime are on their way to the scene from Tucson. Dispatch says our crime scene people are also en route. You and I should probably go there, too.”

Joanna stood for a moment thinking. In the background she could hear the sound of the Cessna’s engine warming up for takeoff. In a matter of seconds it was once again airborne.

She was here looking for answers in the Bradley Evans homicide. It was a case she urgently wanted to solve, and she didn’t want to be pulled away from it yet again. And if Aileen Houlihan was lingering close to death, the time for finding answers to those questions was in danger of slipping away right along with her.

Leslie Markham was obviously someone who kept her life carefully compartmentalized. When she put on her professional persona, she left the caregiving part locked up at home. But now, without her work face on and having just endured a fierce confrontation with her father, Joanna knew instinctively that Leslie would be vulnerable and far more susceptible to answering whatever questions Joanna threw in her direction.

“No, Frank,” she said. “You go. I want to stay here for a little while and talk to Leslie.”

“But we’re in the same vehicle,” he objected. “How will you get back?”

“I’m a big girl, Frank,” Joanna said. “I’ll be able to find my way. Call the substation in Sierra Vista and see if they can send someone out to pick me up. If not, I can always call Butch.”

“You’re sure you won’t change your mind?”

“I’m sure.”

“If you do, call.”

Joanna nodded. “I will. Now get going.”

Shaking his head, Frank left the porch and headed for the Crown Victoria, while Joanna began knocking on the screen door. For several long minutes, no one answered. At last Joanna opened it and called inside, “Leslie? It’s Sheriff Brady. I need to talk to you.”

Leslie came into the living room wearing a pair of scrubs and drying her hands on a paper towel. “What are you doing here?” she demanded. “My mother isn’t accepting visitors, and neither am I. And why did you send my father here? He had no right to show up after all this time.”

“I didn’t send him,” Joanna said. “In fact, I told him specifically not to come here.”

“But he did anyway.”

“Yes, I know. He was just leaving when I arrived.”

“He wanted to see her,” Leslie continued, “but Mother wouldn’t want that. She was a very beautiful woman once. She doesn’t want anyone to see her like this, especially not him.”

“She never married again after the two of them divorced?” Joanna asked.

“Why would she?” Leslie said. “She knew what was coming. She didn’t want to put him through it. That’s what’s good about being married to Rory. He’s old enough that he doesn’t want kids, and maybe he’ll be long gone before it happens to me.”

“Before what happens to you?” Joanna asked.

Leslie’s face was a study in bleak hopelessness. Finally she shrugged. “I guess it doesn’t matter anymore,” she said ungraciously. “You could just as well come in and sit down. Do you want something to drink?”

Even coming from the shaded front porch, Joanna found the interior of the house dark and gloomy. Heavy curtains were pulled shut. Only a single lamp in the far corner of the room offered a semblance of light. Joanna made her way to an outsize leather couch whose massive size and old-fashioned lines spoke of another age.

“Thanks,” Joanna said. “I don’t need anything to drink, but I need to understand what you mean. Are you saying before HD happens to you?”

“So my father told you about that?” Leslie asked.

“Yes,” Joanna said. “Some. He mentioned that Huntington‘s had affected your grandmother. After what you told me last night about your mother’s being ill, it was easy enough for both your father and me to assume your mother was suffering from the same ailment.”

“It’s hereditary,” Leslie said. “Since my mother has it, there’s a fifty-fifty chance I’ll have it, too.”

Except that isn’t true, Joanna thought, not if Aileen isn’t your biological mother. How can she leave you living in this kind of unnecessary hell?

Sitting there, Joanna was well aware that the photographs of Lisa Evans and Leslie Markham were right there in her briefcase. It would have been easy enough for her to bring them out and set Leslie’s mind at rest about the future, but doing so without having definitive scientific proof from the crime lab seemed irresponsible.

“Can’t they check for that these days?” Joanna asked. “Isn’t there some kind of genetic testing they can do now that will tell you whether or not you’ll fall victim to HD?”

“My mother wanted me to be tested years ago when those tests first became available,” Leslie answered, “but I refused. For me, knowing would be far worse than not knowing. I actually prefer being in the dark, and since I have no intention of ever having children, it doesn’t matter. Besides, if I knew for sure that Huntington‘s was bearing down on me someday, I’d be holding my breath over every tweak in my body, over every mood swing, and wondering if that was the beginning of it. Maybe I’m crazy, but I’d rather walk up to the edge of the cliff and fall off it when I get there rather than anticipating the cliff every moment of my existence. I couldn’t live that way.”

Falling off a cliff, Joanna thought. Ernie said the same thing about finding out he had prostate cancer.

“If I were in your shoes, maybe I couldn’t either,” Joanna conceded. “So tell me about your mother. What was she like?”

“Before she got sick?”

Joanna nodded.

“She was fun,” Leslie answered. “And wild. She taught me to ride almost as soon as I could walk. We’d go riding for hours. Sometimes we’d take a packhorse and ride up into the mountains to camp out under the stars, just the two of us. We’d build a campfire and cook our food over an open flame. It made me feel like I was a pioneer. That was my first clue that Mom’s HD was starting-when she stopped being fun.”

“How long ago was that?” Joanna asked.

“When I was eleven.”

“That’s a long time,” Joanna said.

“It’s typical,” Leslie replied. “Fifteen to twenty years or so of steady decline with no way to stop it.”

“And you’ve been taking care of her ever since?”

“Most of the time. Not by myself, mind you. Dolores has been here from the start.”

“Dolores?” Joanna asked.

“Dolores Mattias,” Leslie answered. “She and her husband, Joaquin, have worked here on the ranch for as long as I can remember. Since before I can remember. I wouldn’t have been able to manage without them. Joaquin looks after the ranch. Dolores comes in every day to look after my mother when I’m at work and on weekends as needed. And Dolores’s niece, Juanita, helps out, too. She goes to Cochise College by day and sleeps here overnight on a daybed in Mother’s room so she can call me immediately in case something happens.”

“Where do Dolores and Joaquin live?” Joanna asked.

“In a mobile home parked just down the road. You came past it on your way here, right after you turned onto Triple H Ranch Road.”

“So you have help,” Joanna said, “but it sounds as though most of the burden for looking after your mother falls to you.”

Leslie nodded. “Mom wanted me to go to college. That was her dream, but by the time I graduated from high school, she was already too sick for me to leave her. Besides, since she never finished college, why should I?”

“So you got your real estate license instead?” Joanna asked.

“That was Rory’s idea. He and Mom have been friends since they were kids. I think at first she was glad when I went to work for him. It made her feel like she had hung around long enough to see me launched. I think that’s the only reason she didn’t do the same thing her mother did.”

“As in commit suicide?” Joanna asked.

Leslie nodded. “Later, when Rory and I ended up falling in love and wanted to get married, Mother approved. She was relieved to know that if something happened to me-that if I did come down with HD-there’d be someone around to take care of me. And the truth is, even though Rory is older than I am, maybe he’ll outlive me. In the meantime, while Mother’s gotten worse and worse, Rory’s been a huge help. For the last couple of years he’s handled all the Triple H’s financial dealings. I don’t know how I would have managed without him. The thing is, I really don’t like real estate all that much. It’s not in my blood the way it is with Rory. Once Mom is gone, I’ll probably forget about real estate, see about getting back into the horse and cattle business and focus on running the ranch.”

Listening to Leslie, Joanna tried to reconcile her description of Aileen Houlihan with what Lawrence Tazewell had said about his ex-wife. Other than the “wild” part, the two descriptions had nothing in common. They might have been discussing two entirely different people.

Leslie had been chatting amiably enough, but now she suddenly seemed to realize what she was doing and pulled back. “Why all the questions about my mother? If you’re hoping she’ll be able to shed some light on the stealth photographer situation, it’s not going to work. As you’ve no doubt gathered, she’s far too sick to answer any questions.”

Irresponsible or not, Joanna was reaching for her briefcase to retrieve the photos when she heard a car pull up outside. A moment later Rory Markham, wearing a suit and tie, burst into the living room.

He stopped short just inside the door with his face registering a mask of disapproval. “For God’s sake, Leslie, why aren’t you ready? It’s late. The wedding’s due to start in less than an hour. You should be dressed already. We’re going to be late.”

At that point he must have caught sight of Joanna, because his tone changed from private bullying to one somewhat more suitable for public consumption. The look on his face moderated as well. “Sorry, Sheriff Brady I didn’t know we had visitors.”

“Rory,” Leslie said. “It’s only a wedding. Do we really have to go? Dolores isn’t here yet, and with Mother the way she is…”

“The bride’s parents are important clients of ours,” Rory returned. “We told them we’d be there. Now, come on. I’m sure Dolores will be here soon. She’s more than capable of looking after your mother.”

“I didn’t mean to delay you,” Joanna said, rising to her feet. “I was just leaving.”

“How can you?” Rory asked. “On foot?”

“My initial ride was summoned to another incident,” Joanna explained. “I’ve called for a deputy to come from Sierra Vista to pick me up. He should be here any minute.”

“But why are you here to begin with?” Rory asked.

“She came to talk to Mother about the photographs,” Leslie put in quickly. “Obviously, considering Mom’s condition, that isn’t going to work. Now, if you’ll excuse me, Sheriff Brady, I guess I need to go change.”

As she hurried out the front door, Joanna caught sight of a departmental SUV pulling up in front of the gate, followed by a Dodge Ram pickup truck. A gray-haired Hispanic woman emerged from the pickup and hurried into the house. “Sorry I’m late, Mr. Markham,” she said.

She glanced in Joanna’s direction. “This is Dolores Mattias, Sheriff Brady,” Rory explained. “She’s one of Aileen’s caregivers. Nurses from Hospice will start next week.”

With a nod in Joanna’s direction, Dolores disappeared down a hallway toward a bedroom. Before the door clicked shut behind Dolores, Joanna caught the briefest glimpse of what appeared to be one end of a hospital bed.

“Hospice?” Joanna asked. “You mean Ms. Houlihan is dying?”

Rory Markham nodded. “Yes,” he said. “And in her condition, I can’t imagine why you’d think she’d be able to shed any light on the man who took those photos.”

“It was an outside chance,” Joanna admitted, “but I was really hoping to talk to her.”

“That’s not possible.”

Rory Markham was just as adamant as Leslie had been. Short of fighting her way past them and forcing her way into Aileen Houlihan’s room, there was no way Joanna was going to speak to the woman. Since that avenue seemed closed, Joanna chose to make nice instead.

“Your wife is impressive, Mr. Markham,” she said. “Considering it’s entirely possible that she’ll suffer the same fate as her mother, it’s brave of her to shoulder the burden of her mother’s care the way she does. A lot of people in similar circumstances wouldn’t.”

Rory nodded. “You’re right. Huntington’s disease is a terrible scourge, and dealing with Aileen’s condition is anything but easy. I’m not sure how Leslie copes sometimes, either, but for the most part, she’s a very sensible girl.”

Joanna bridled at Markham‘s condescension toward his wife’s daunting endeavor. Sensible and a long way from poverty-stricken, Joanna thought, but when she replied, she was careful to keep her tone even and nonconfrontational. “Leslie gives you a lot of credit for helping out.”

“Oh, that,” Rory returned with a dismissive shrug. “I do what I can.”

They stood uneasily, looking at each other across a dim expanse of room. Finally, realizing that he wasn’t going to add any more, Joanna picked up her briefcase. “I’ll get out of here then, so you can be on your way.”

At the end of the sidewalk, a Chevrolet Yukon emblazoned with the Cochise County Sheriff’s Department logo sat idling outside the gate. Deputy Rick Thomas reached over and pushed open the passenger door as she approached.

“Sorry it took a while for me to get here, Sheriff Brady,” he apologized. “I was already involved in a traffic stop when the call came in.”

“Don’t worry,” she told him. “You arrived in plenty of time.”

“Where to?”

“Do you know where the Target store is in Sierra Vista?”

“Sure,” Deputy Thomas said. “No problem. Why?”

“I want you to take me there,” she said. “And let’s hope that our bad guy was dumb enough to use a credit card.”