For the very first time, it occurred to Joanna that in reading her father’s version of his life, she might be doing her mother a disservice-that if she read the diaries she might come away with too much information about both of them.
Eleanor isn’t perfect, Joanna thought. But maybe neither was he.
Closing the book, Joanna threw it down. Then she took out the others-fifteen of them in all-and arranged them in chronological order across her desk. At volume eight, the format suddenly changed. The handsome leather-bound volumes were replaced with reddish cloth-bound books, with only the word “Journal” stamped on the front, with a blank space provided where her father had dutifully inked in the dates.
Joanna was lost in thought when Butch appeared in the doorway. “What are you doing?” he asked.
She jumped. “You startled me,” she said. “I couldn’t sleep. I didn’t want to disturb you, so Lady and I came in here.”
“Your father’s books?” Butch asked.
Joanna nodded. “His diaries and some other books as well.”
“What are you going to do with them?”
“Keep them,” Joanna answered.
“I know that. I guess, I meant, where are you going to keep them? My mother isn’t the only one who might pay your office an unauthorized visit. Your mother wouldn’t be above doing some snooping, either.”
In the end, they stowed all of the books in the bottom drawer of Joanna’s file cabinet. And because bending over was too cumbersome for Joanna, Butch was the one who actually put them away.
“This is silly, you know,” she said. “After all, it’s our house.”
Butch straightened up and looked at her. “How much luck have you had changing your mother’s behavior?” he asked.
“None.”
“Same thing with my mother,” he said. “So let’s just deal with it-and keep the door locked. Now come to bed. It’s going to be another long day tomorrow.”
Joanna had just stepped out of the shower a little past seven the next morning when Butch tapped on the bathroom door, reached in, and handed her the telephone.
“It’s Jeannine Phillips,” Tica Romero said when Joanna answered.
“What about her?”
“Her damaged truck was found abandoned in the westbound rest area at Texas Canyon,” Tica said.
There was a terrible sinking feeling in the pit of Joanna’s stomach. Texas Canyon was only a matter of miles away from San Simon and from Billy and Clarence O’Dwyer’s Rooster-comb Ranch.
“What do you mean, damaged?” Joanna demanded. “Is it wrecked?”
“Somebody put a rock through the passenger window. Officer Phillips is nowhere to be found.”
“When’s the last time someone heard from her?”
“She radioed in to Dispatch at midnight to say that everything was fine and she was going off shift.”
“Did she give her location at that time?”
“No.”
“Has someone secured the vehicle?” Joanna asked.
“Yes. Deputy Raymond is on the scene.”
“Tell him to hold the fort. Then call everyone else-Dave Hollicker, Casey Ledford, and Chief Montoya. Tell them to meet me at the scene.”
“What about Homicide?” Tica asked tentatively. “Should I call them?”
Tica’s question confirmed Joanna’s own worst fears-that Jeannine Phillips wasn’t just missing; that she could already be dead. “Yes, them, too,” she said at last. “The Double Cs along with Debbie Howell.”
Butch came into the bedroom while Joanna was getting dressed. “What’s going on?” he asked. “It sounded serious.”
“It is,” Joanna said. “I’m on my way to Texas Canyon.” When she finished explaining the situation, Butch headed for the kitchen. “You can’t afford to go through a day like this on an empty stomach,” he said. “I’ll fix you a traveler.”
Don and Margaret Dixon were at the table eating bacon and eggs when Joanna stepped into the kitchen, briefcase in one hand and car keys in the other.
“Aren’t you going to have some breakfast?” Margaret asked Joanna on her way past. “After Butch went to all this trouble…”
“She is having breakfast, Mom,” Butch corrected. “I made her order to go.”
He followed Joanna out to the garage. Once she was settled into the Crown Victoria with her seat belt buckled, Butch reached in through the open car door. He handed her an open Zip-loc container with two peanut-buttered English muffins inside it and an insulated thermos cup filled with freshly brewed tea.
“Be careful,” he said, kissing her good-bye. “Be really, really careful.”
“I will,” she said.
She downed the muffins before she even reached Highway 80. Once there, she turned on her lights and siren and drove like hell, fuming as she went. After all, Joanna had called off the dogfight-ring surveillance, and she had ordered-ordered!-Jeannine Phillips to stay away from San Simon and the O’Dwyers. Now Joanna’s department, shorthanded and strained to the breaking point, would have to turn away from an ongoing murder investigation and from the Border Patrol’s request for additional assistance to deal with Billy and Clarence O’Dwyer.
The first order of business, though, was to find Jeannine Phillips. Joanna reached for her radio and was patched through to Frank Montoya.
“Where are you?” she asked.
“On the far side of the Divide.” Frank’s home in Old Bisbee put him a good seven or eight miles ahead of her.
“Have you put out an APB on Jeannine?” she asked.
“Tica is handling that,” he said. “I’m sure it’s been issued by now, but I doubt it’ll do much good. We have no idea what kind of vehicle she might be traveling in or even if she’s in a vehicle.
And if she was dumped out in the desert somewhere, it could be months before we find the body.“
“Or years,” Joanna added.
“Do you think she was still working the O’Dwyer angle?” Frank asked.
“Probably,” Joanna said. “I told her to drop it, but it’s pretty clear she didn’t.”
Joanna’s cell phone chirped the distinctive cockadoodle rooster crow that amounted to a ring. “Gotta go,” Joanna told him.
“Sheriff Brady?” someone said.
“Yes.”
“It’s Millicent Ross. I hope you don’t mind my calling you on your cell phone. I had the number in my files.”
“No,” Joanna said. “I don’t mind. What’s up?”
“Well…” Dr. Ross hesitated before saying in a rush, “Jean-nine didn’t come home last night.”
Joanna heard the words and grappled with what they might mean. Were Jeannine and the vet living together? Why hadn’t Joanna known that?
“I’m up so early every day that when she comes in off night shift, I don’t even hear her,” Millicent continued. “But when she wasn’t home this morning when I woke up, I wasn’t sure what to do. I didn’t know if I should call in and report her missing or what. And then I decided I’d call you and ask your advice. I mean, if anyone would know what to do, it would be the sheriff, right?”
“You and Jeannine are roommates?” Joanna asked.
Millicent Ross hesitated. “We’re actually a little more than roommates,” she admitted. “In fact, we’re a lot more than roommates, but we haven’t exactly advertised it. Bisbee’s such a small place and all. Once gossip gets going, it can be vicious.”
Joanna took a deep breath. “I’m sorry to have to tell you this, Millicent. Jeannine is missing.”
“Missing,” Millicent Ross echoed. “What do you mean, missing?”
“I mean her truck was found over in Texas Canyon, but she’s not in it. The last time anyone heard from her was when she radioed in to the department at the end of her shift. Did you hear from her last night?”
But Millicent didn’t seem capable of hearing or acknowledging the question. “How can she be missing?” she demanded. “Where would she go?”
“That’s what we’re trying to find out,” Joanna said patiently. “Did she say anything to you about where she was going or what she might be doing?”