Devil's Claw (21 page)

On her way to Daisy’s Café, a place that seemed to be her home away from home these days, Joanna remembered something she had failed to ask Frank Montoya. She reached for her cell phone and caught him just as he was leaving for the Board of Supervisors meeting.

“Did you tell Terry Gregovich to keep an eye out for Big Red?” Joanna asked.

“Lucy’s hawk? I think so,” Frank answered. “But maybe not.”

“Is Terry going back out there to look some more?”

“I don’t think so. As I told you, he and Spike worked pretty much all day yesterday. They put in some pretty long hours. My understanding is that he’s taking some comp time off today.”

“And chewing up my secretary’s workday by calling her on the phone,” Joanna said.

“Want me to talk to him about that?”

“No,” Joanna said. “If it gets to be too much, I’ll handle it.”

Butch was waiting for her on the sidewalk outside the restaurant. “Your mother called after I got off the phone with you,” he said, as Junior Dowdle led them to a booth in the far back corner of the room.

“What did Eleanor want today?”

“To know whether or not I had scheduled hair and manicure appointments for you on Saturday morning.”

“What did you tell her?”

“That I hadn’t, but I would. And I did. You and Jenny both are due at Helene’s Salon of Hair and Beauty on Saturday at eleven a.m. Helen Barco will handle the two hairdos. Helen’s daughter-in-law will be on hand for your manicure.” Butch frowned. “By the way, if Helen owns the shop, who’s Helene?”

Joanna laughed. “When Slim Barco was making the sign for his wife’s new beauty shop, he added the extra
e
because he thought it would make the place sound classier.”

“Oh,” Butch said. “I see.”

“But you didn’t need to make an appointment for me,” Joanna continued. “I’m perfectly capable of doing my own hair.”

“Tell that to your mother,” Butch replied. “She insisted, and in case you haven’t noticed, Eleanor Lathrop Winfield can be very persuasive.”

“She’s a bully,” Joanna said. “Did she say anything else?”

“She wanted to know what’s all this stuff about Clayton Rhodes’ daughter?”

“What did you tell her?”

“Nothing. I’m not dumb enough to get sucked into that kind of deal. I told her that if she wanted information she’d have to go straight to the horse’s mouth—to you.” He grinned.

Joanna shook her head. “Great. That means I can expect my phone to be ringing the moment I come back from lunch.”

“Sorry,” Butch said. “But I was afraid if I said anything more than that, I’d probably stick my foot in my mouth.”

“You’re right. I’m the one who should handle it. She is my mother, after all.”

“She’s also inviting us over for dinner tonight. You, Jenny, and me, and my folks as well. She wants us all to have a chance to get acquainted.”

“What did you tell her on that score?”

“I asked her what time and told her we’d be there.”

Joanna found herself bridling. She didn’t like having someone else tell her where she’d be going and when, but then she thought better of it. After all, she had told Eleanor that Butch was in charge of wedding logistics. It was time to shut up, take her lumps, and let him do it.

“What time?” she asked.

“Six-thirty.”

Daisy came and took their order. “What’s going on at work today?” Butch asked after Daisy left for the kitchen.

As Joanna prepared to answer, she worried about restarting the previous night’s quarrel. “Dick Voland came around for those fingerprints.”

“Did you give them to him?”

“Casey Ledford did. I told her to.”

“All right, then,” Butch said. “I suppose you know what’s best.”

And that was the end of it. They went on to enjoy their lunch. They were done with their burgers and drinking coffee when Joanna’s distinctive cell phone with its roosterlike ring crowed in her purse.

“Sheriff Brady,” Tica Romero said when Joanna answered. “A call just came in from Tucson. The man first asked to speak to one of the detectives. When I told him neither of them was available, he asked to speak to the sheriff. Do you want me to patch him through?”

“Please,” Joanna said. “What’s his name?

“Quick,” Tica said. “Mr. Jay Quick.”

“And where’s he from, again?”

“Tucson.”

“Did he say what this was about?”

“No,” Tica replied. “Just that it was important, and he wanted to speak directly to someone in authority.”

“I guess that’s me, then,” Joanna said. “Patch him through.”

Moments later a male voice came through the phone. “Hello? Sheriff Brady?” he said.

“Yes,” Joanna said. “This is Sheriff Brady.”

“Sorry,” he said uncertainly. “I thought I was still talking to the nine-one-one operator. I didn’t expect the sheriff to be a woman.”

Joanna laughed. “You and a lot of other people, but I really am the sheriff. What’s your name again?”

“Quick. Jay Quick. I live in Tucson.”

“What can I do for you, Mr. Quick?”

“I just heard a report on the radio about a homicide down in your neck of the woods. The report said the dead woman’s name was Sandra Ridder and that she had recently been released from prison. Is that true?”

“Yes,” Joanna replied. “That’s correct.”

“And is that the same Sandra Ridder who went to prison several years ago for shooting her husband up here in Tucson?”

“That’s also correct, Mr. Quick, but why are you asking? Do you know something about this case?”

He hesitated before he answered. “The report also said that Sandra Ridder’s daughter has disappeared and that she’s a person of interest in her mother’s death. Is that true as well?”

Joanna found herself sitting up straighter in the booth. Her grip on the telephone tightened, as though, by holding the device more firmly in her fist, she could somehow force Jay Quick to get to the point and tell her why he had called.

“Yes,” she said smoothly, trying to keep from betraying her rising excitement. “Lucinda Ridder—Sandra Ridder’s fifteen-year-old daughter—has been missing since the night her mother was killed. She is a person of interest in that case. She’s not a viable suspect at this time, although in the course of our investigation, she may turn into one.”

Now it was Joanna’s turn to pause. She waited for Jay Quick to say something. When he did not, she continued. “Why are you asking these questions, Mr. Quick? Do you know something about the missing girl—something that would help us locate her?”

“Lucinda Ridder called my house at three o’clock last Saturday morning. She was looking for my mother. I wondered about it, but I didn’t think anything more about it until a few minutes ago, when I heard about Sandra Ridder on the news.”

“You say Lucy was calling your mother?”

“Yes. Evelyn Quick, my mother. Years ago she used to be Lucinda Ridder’s ballet teacher at the Lohse Family YMCA here in downtown Tucson. Lucy sounded very upset on the phone, and what I had to say didn’t help. My mother’s dead, you see. She died two—almost three—years ago. When I told Lucy that, she just started sobbing. It broke my heart. I asked her what was wrong and was there anything I could do to help, but she said no, no one could help her now. Do you think it’s possible that she killed her own mother, Sheriff Brady? She sounded desperate on the phone. The poor girl’s been through so much trauma for someone her age. I wonder if she didn’t just snap.”

“Did you ask where she was? Get a phone number?”

“I asked, but she wouldn’t tell me. I could hear what sounded like trucks in the background, though. My guess is she was using a pay phone at a truck stop.”

“Whereabouts are you, Mr. Quick?”

“At my office. Quick Custom Metals out on Romero Road in Tucson.”

“Give me your phone number. And your home phone number as well. I’ll try contacting my detectives. If one of them can’t meet with you this afternoon, I will.”

As Joanna hung up the phone, Butch was looking at his watch. “And where exactly is this Mr. Quick?” he asked.

“In Tucson, on Romero Road.”

“And you’re thinking of going up there, seeing him, and still being back in time for dinner at your mother’s?”

“I’m sure I can make it if I have to.”

Butch sighed and shook his head. “Good luck,” he said. “But I’m not holding my breath.”

CHAPTER 13

“Lucky,” Joanna echoed. “Why, Frank, I didn’t know you were even dating.”

“Not that kind of lucky,” he replied wryly. “I got to the Board of Supervisors meeting and found out it was canceled. They had their annual retreat over the weekend at a guest ranch up in the Chiricahuas. This morning the whole bunch of ‘em is sicker ‘n dogs.”

“What was it?” Joanna asked. “Food poisoning?”

“I guess. That’s what it sounds like. So since I happen to have all this unscheduled free time on my hands this afternoon, I was wondering if there was anything in particular you needed me to do.”

“As a matter of fact, there is,” Joanna said. “Hold on a minute. Let me give you a phone number.” She reached into her pocket and pulled out the notebook in which she had jotted Jay Quick’s number. Once she found it, she read it off to Frank.

“Who’s this?” he asked.

“It’s a telephone number Lucy Ridder called Saturday morning at three a.m. The man’s name is Jay Quick. Years ago, Mr. Quick’s mother, Evelyn, was Lucy Ridder’s ballet teacher at the Lohse Family YMCA in Tucson. Not knowing that Evelyn Quick died some time back, Lucy called the son’s house trying to reach her.”

“That’s a relief then,” Frank breathed. “We may not know where Lucy Ridder is, but at least she’s still alive.”

“She was early Saturday morning,” Joanna returned. “Naturally she didn’t leave a number where she could be reached, but Mr. Quick told me he heard what sounded like eighteen-wheelers rumbling in the background. He thought maybe she was calling from a truck stop.”

“Want me to find out where the call came from?” Frank asked.

Joanna laughed. “How did you guess? Out of my whole department, you’re the best-suited to ferreting information out of faceless corporate entities and balky bureaucrats. Go get ‘em, Frank.”

“Was that a compliment or not?” he demanded.

“That’s how it was intended.”

“All right, then. Let me off the phone so I can see if I can live up to it.”

Once Frank hung up, Joanna radioed into the department and asked to be patched through to either Ernie Carpenter or Jaime Carbajal. Since Jaime Carbajal was planning to go to Tucson that afternoon, she hoped he could also stop by and see Jay Quick.

“Where are you?” she asked, when the detective’s voice came over the speaker.

“Between Elfrida and Douglas. We’re on our way to a place east of Douglas, where a border-patrol officer reported spotting an abandoned white Lexus parked along the border fence.”

“Melanie Goodson’s missing Lexus?”

“According to license information, it’s the very one. The officer saw what he believes to be bloodstains in the backseat. I’ve called up and canceled my appointment with Melanie Goodson. Ernie and I talked it over and decided that right this minute it’s more important for us to check out the vehicle than it is to go running up to Tucson to interview secondary witnesses.”

“That’s probably a good call,” Joanna agreed. “Are you going to try to change the appointment to later this afternoon?”

“No. Tomorrow should be plenty of time. Once we finish with the Lexus, Ernie and I will have to hotfoot it back to Bisbee. Doc Winfield is chomping at the bit to tackle the Sandra Ridder autopsy, and one or both of us should be on hand when he does it.”

By that point in the conversation Joanna had driven as far as the traffic circle. At the intersection where she should have turned right to head back to the department, she made a last-minute decision. Since there was no chance Jaime Carbajal was going to go see Jay Quick that afternoon, Joanna decided to copy the Little Red Hen and do so herself. Instead of turning right, she went straight ahead.

“I’m on my way to Tucson right now,” she said. “At three o’clock on Saturday morning, Lucy Ridder attempted to place a phone call to her old ballet instructor up in Tucson.”

“She called somebody?” Jaime demanded. “Where is she, then? Is she all right?”

“I don’t know the answers to any of those questions at the moment,” Joanna told him. “I’m on my way to talk to the instructor’s son and see if I can learn anything more.”

“With this kind of a new lead, do you want either Ernie or me to skip the Lexus and follow up on the Tucson deal instead?” Jaime asked.

“No, that’s all right. I’m fine this way. Now tell me, did you and Ernie learn anything useful out in Elfrida today?”

“Not a whole lot other than the fact that Lucy Ridder wasn’t the most popular girl in town,” Jaime said. “I’d say she’s probably right at the bottom of the heap in Elfrida High School’s social pecking order. We didn’t find a single person who would admit to being her friend.”