Joanna’s phone crowed. She reached for it quickly afraid the sound might disturb Edith, but the snores continued unabated.
“Yes,” Joanna said quietly.
“Where are you right now?” Frank Montoya asked.
“On my way to Sierra Vista to take Edith Mossman back to her place. Why?”
“And that’s at the Ferndale Retirement Center?”
“That’s right.”
“You’ve hit the jackpot then,” he said. “So far, nobody at PD up in Phoenix has been able to come up with a list of General Office employees, but according to the guy I talked to, we’ve got something just as good. Does the name Bob Mahilich ring a bell?”
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“Sure,” Joanna said. “He’s the Bisbee boy who made good and went on to become some bigwig for Phelps Dodge up in Phoenix.”
“That’s right,” Frank Montoya agreed. “Went to college on a full-ride PD scholarship and went to work for them as soon as he graduated from the Colorado School of Mines.
Now he’s their VP for Operations.”
“What about him?” Joanna asked.
“When the person I was talking to found out what I wanted, she referred me to Bob, since she knew he was from Bisbee originally. I figured it was going to be another dead end, but I called him anyway and got lucky. His grandmother, Irma Mahilich, worked in the General Office here in Bisbee from the time she graduated from high school until she retired in 1975. According to Bob, Irma’s memory isn’t so sharp when it comes to telling you what she had for breakfast, but as far as what she did during her working years, she’s an encyclopedia.”
“He thinks she’d remember who worked in the General Office way back then?”
“Right, since she hired most of them. And you’ll never guess where she lives.”
“Where?”
“At the Ferndale Retirement Center. For all I know, she may live right next door to Edith Mossman.”
“You want me to talk to her?” Joanna asked.
“Either that or I can send Jaime and Ernie.”
“No. They have enough to do. When it comes to dealing with LOLs, I’m every bit as good as they are.”
“That’s what I thought,” Frank agreed.
Joanna glanced at Edith Mossman, who hadn’t stirred. “Any other news?”
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“Yes. Ernie’s been in touch with Fandango Productions. They’re checking with their attorney to see whether or not they can give us access to the two victims’ company e-mail files. Otherwise, we’ll have to go through the pain of sending someone over there and serving them with a warrant.”
“Let me know what happens on that score.”
Joanna’s phone buzzed in her ear. “I’ve got another call, Frank. I have to go.”
“Joey?” Butch Dixon asked. “Where are you?”
“On my way to Sierra Vista. I’m just crossing the San Pedro. What’s up?”
“You’ll never guess who just called.”
Joanna was too tired to want to play games. “Who?” she asked.
“Drew,” Butch replied excitedly.
Drew Mabrey was the literary agent who, for the last year, had been trying to sell Butch’s first manuscript, Serve and Protect. In the intervening months, Butch had worked on the second book in the series, and he had also done a good deal of physical labor on their new house. But as time had passed with no word of acceptance on the manuscript, Butch had become more and more discouraged.
“And?”
“Remember that editor, the one who had expressed interest in the book and then ended up turning it down? Something to do with Marketing not liking it?”
“Yes. Didn’t she move to another publishing house or something?” Joanna asked.
“That’s right,” Butch said. ‘And this morning she called Drew to see if Serve and Protect is still available. Drew is pretty sure she’s going to make an offer after all.”
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“Butch, that’s wonderful!” Joanna exclaimed. “When will you know?”
“Probably sometime later this week.”
Edith stirred. “What’s wonderful?” she asked.
“I have to go, Butch,” Joanna said. “Congratulations. We’ll talk more later. That was my husband calling,” Joanna explained to Edith, once she was off the phone “He just had some very good news. He’s written a book, and someone may be interested in buying it.”
“I’m glad,” Edith said. “It’s nice to hear that someone has good news.”
Looking at Edith Mossman’s weary, grief-ravaged face, Joanna was immediately awash in guilt and resolve as well. Carol Mossman had been murdered, taking with her huge chunks of her grandmother’s heart.
We’ll find out who did it, Joanna vowed silently. I promise you that.
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Twenty minutes later, having escorted Edith Mossman to her Ferndale Retirement Center apartment, Joanna presented herself at the reception desk in the lobby. “Can you tell me the room number for Irma Mahilich?” she asked.
“One forty-one,” the receptionist answered without looking up. “But Irma’s not in her room. She’s over there, working a jigsaw puzzle.”
Joanna glanced around the lobby. The attractively furnished and brightly carpeted room resembled an upscale hotel lobby rather than what Joanna would have expected in an assisted-living facility. Several seating areas were ranged around the reception desk. A large-screen television blared unwatched in one of them. Two women, both in wheelchairs, sat reading newspapers in another. In a third-one lined with book-laden shelves-a solitary woman sat hunched over the bare outline of a round jigsaw puzzle so large that, once completed, it would
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cover much of the massive table. It wasn’t until Joanna approached the table that she realized the woman was studying the pieces with absolute intensity and with the aid of a handheld magnifying glass.
“Mrs. Mahilich?” Joanna asked.
Irma Mahilich’s shoulders were stooped. Thinning white hair stood on end in a flyaway drift. She wore dentures, but the lower plate was missing. The bottom left-hand portion of her mouth turned down, betraying the lingering effects of a stroke.
“Yes,” Irma said, lowering the magnifying glass. “Who are you?”
“I’m Sheriff Brady, Sheriff Joanna Brady.”
“That’s right. I remember now. Aren’t you D. . Lathrop’s little girl?” Irma asked, peering up at her visitor.
Surprised, Joanna answered, “Yes. He was my father.”
“I’m the one who hired him to work for the company, you know, back when I was running the PD employment office. When he showed up there, your father had never done a lick of work in a mine. Everybody else said he wouldn’t last, but I had a good feeling about him. And he stuck in there-right up until he decided to go into law enforcement.
When he ran for office, I was proud to vote for him. Did that every time he ran.
D. . Lathrop was a nice young man. It’s a shame he got killed the way he did. Now, what do you want?”
Joanna was taken aback, both by Irma Mahilich’s abrupt manner as well as by her unexpectedly detailed memories of D. . Lathrop.
“I suppose you’re here to ask me more questions,” Irma continued. “They send that social worker around from time to time to bother me. She’s so young she looks like she should still be in high school. She asks me things like who’s the president of the
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United States and other such nonsense. I don’t know who the president is because I don’t care anymore. Those politicians are all just alike anyway. But it’s like she’s trying to find out how much I know about what’s going on around me. If I knew everything, then I wouldn’t need to be in a place like this, now would I?”