

DEATH AT LAMPIER

M. ALEX HARRIS

Published by M. Alex Harris at Smashwords

COPYRIGHT 2011 M. Alex Harris

Dedicated to the memory of Captain Ryan Anderson

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Chapter 1

"This economy hit Arizona hard and Yavapai County even harder. Houses were selling slow and at lower prices than ever before. There is a prediction that there will be another big drop in the coming year." Frances Pitcher expounded on the financial condition of the real estate market as she ate dinner with her best friend, mortgage broker Lisa Wood.

"But you have a lot of listings for bank repos, so you will be okay. Right?" Lisa inquired as she took a bite of her steak.

"You never know. One week you're flying high and the next week you're borrowing money from family just to survive."

"But, you got all the listings for State Bank. They were heavy into small ranches. People from California made up most of their clientele. There are literally hundreds of houses in foreclosure and you have all of State's. Some of those houses originally sold at half a million and even with the problems with the foreclosures, you'll be listing them at a quarter of a million." Lisa, ever the optimist, was looking for the horse in the room full of horse manure.

"Well I do have quite a few on the list of foreclosures and we're waiting for the renovations on about eight more. Things will start looking up if I can just get two or three into closing." Frances sighed and took a sip of wine. Her composure returned as she studied her dinner. Her short, curly blond hair belied her years, as did her Jones New York suit tailored to perfection.

Frances had made her living as a Realtor in Yavapai County for more than 35 years with a focus on small ranches in the outlying areas. She and her husband had put the kids through college, paid off the family home, and even put aside a nice retirement, before he passed away nine years ago from cancer. The hospital bills ate up the retirement and the bankruptcy that followed took the family home. All Frances had left was her car, a 2004 Toyota, an investment condo she and Tom had purchased years ago, her little rat terrier, Jackie, and a garden plot the size of a postage stamp. Frances took everything in stride trusting in her faith in God and belief in people to get her through in tough times. The current downturn in the economy was, for her, just another storm to ride out. She cut coupons, shopped at resale/consignment stores, and pinched pennies twice in order to stretch the meager earnings she received now from foreclosure sales.

Lisa Wood had worked for years in banking and when the opportunity came to switch to mortgage banking as a branch manager for American Mortgage in Prescott, she jumped at the chance. Lisa owned a condo in the same complex as Frances. Her husband of 12 years, Phil Mason, was a ner' do well, who spent more time on the golf course than at home, and went through every penny she made until she closed out her bank account to prevent him access.

Frances and Lisa shared a common friend, Summer Bear. Summer, the matriarch of four generations living at Bear Ranch, stood tall--6 feet-- just a little taller than her daughter, attorney Marlowe Sharpe, and granddaughter Detective Oriole Wolfe. Summer taught classes at the community college, raised a garden every year that produced hundreds of quarts of vegetables, managed a ranch of multiple critters and provided a home for her great granddaughter Anders Chalcedony Wolfe--Chalcey for short.

The three friends, Summer, Frances and Lisa would routinely get together to cuss and discuss life in Prescott. Summer was to have joined them for their monthly dinner, but had to beg off because of the recent death of Joyce, Rod's wife of Crimson Ranch.

"Have you heard what Rod's going to do with Crimson Ranch?" Lisa asked.

"Summer said he was going to put it on the market. I'm meeting with him later this month after the funeral and he's had an opportunity to process everything. I feel so bad for him. I know he is just lost with everything he has to do. Summer and I are going to go over and help him figure out what to do with all of Joyce's things. Their son didn't want any of her stuff, so we're calling around to see if any of the clubs or societies can use it in a rummage sale or something." Frances explained the future for Rod.

"When is the funeral?"

"Next Thursday. It's going to be a memorial service and wake. Summer is hosting it at Bear Ranch. She figured given the length of time Rod and Joyce lived here, there would be lots of folks coming to pay their respects and anyway, Summer and Rod have both been hit with vandals so they figured better not to leave either ranch unattended."

The remote ranches presented perfect opportunities for thieves. And the stuff the thieves would steal would curl your hair-water troughs, feed barrels, pole fencing, and anything else that wasn't nailed down, screwed down or too heavy to carry off. In fact one rancher had come upon thieves stealing his water tank, boxed them in with his tractor, pulled his 30-06, held them at bay until three hours later the sheriff's deputy showed up.

"Well, I'm off. I have to see what Phil is up to. He's thinking about studying to be a stock broker. He figures he'd make a lot of money. It can't come soon enough for me. I'm going to have to make some hard decisions soon." Trouble etched its way onto Lisa's face as she paid her portion of the bill in cash and kissed Frances' cheek in goodbye.

Frances looked after her long time friend, shaking her head at the idiocy of Phil ever finding a job or if finding one, keeping it. But Frances Pitcher loved her friend Lisa and all the ups and downs of their 30 year friendship. She would support Lisa's decisions, add her two-bits when and if asked, cry with her over disappointments, laugh with her over silly mistakes and always be by her side. Summer took on a different role with the two friends, more of a leader, organizer and guide. During the long friendship, the three had stood elbow to elbow in marches, burned their bras and bought new ones, climbed mountains and hiked the Grand Canyon.

Chapter 2

School let out for summer vacation the middle of May, giving Chalcey a much needed and well earned break from studying. With summer coming on, she would have time to help in the garden more and polish up her horsemanship skills for the upcoming Rodeo Parade. She and Red, her POA Appaloosa, were registered to ride just before the Sheriff's Mounted Posse and because Uncle Fred and Oriole were in the Posse, Chalcey wanted to make sure she was at her best.

"Summer, when will we be able to harvest from this garden?" Chalcey asked her great grandmother while weeding the squash and tomatoes.

"If you don't stop sneaking tomatoes and cucumbers, there won't be a harvest." The senior matriarch of Bear Ranch smiled at the light of her life and gave her a big hug. "Come on, we have to finish here, water and then feed the stock. Your mama and Marlowe will be home before too long and we all have to go over to Crimson to help Rod put together the memorial service."

"Am I old enough to be at the memorial service since I'm going to be fourteen soon?" Chalcey brushed her bright red hair out of her eyes and repositioned her cowboy hat. "I couldn't go to Janey's dad's funeral because Mama said I was too young. But that was two years ago. We've had a whole bunch of animal funerals here and I've done okay with them haven't I?"

Summer thought back to all the animals that had been buried on the ranch and all the memorial services held in their honor. "Well, you know it's not up to me, you gotta convince Oriole. You might remind her of how old she was when she first attended a funeral."

"Well, how old was she and whose funeral?"

"She was actually two years younger than you are and it was her daddy's. But Chalcey, that funeral is different than Joyce's. Oriole and her daddy were real close and Marlowe made the decision to let her attend because she needed closure. Can you see this is different?"

"Yeah, Granddad was family and Joyce is a neighbor. But Joyce and Rod are like family. They babysat me, gave me the goat, helped bandage Rascal's side when he got shot. I got it figured out; you're telling me I should ask Oriole by way of mentioning her dad's funeral and then explain that I can help out in the kitchen with the buffet and clean up and all that stuff. That will give her more reason to say yes. Summer, sometimes you are so smart." Chalcey had stopped weeding and was leaning on her shovel while she expounded on the magic of negotiating with her mom.

"If I'm not careful, your mama is going to shoot me for letting you learn how to make decisions and develop a mind of your own."

"So is this manipulation?"

"Remember last Thanksgiving when we had Jean and her family for dinner. Remember how disturbing it was because of Jean's behaviors. She cried and threw temper tantrums to get what she wanted. She wanted oyster dressing instead of the turkey dressing. We already had the dressing made. Her oldest son tried to convince her she was a guest and if she didn't want the turkey dressing, to do without. And she sulked and made everyone feel horrible. Manipulation is what Jean does with her family. The difference is that you are thinking your way through information that will help you present your position and how you react will show whether you are manipulating or negotiating. There's a huge difference. You always want to look at the end result to see which it is. And, your mom will probably let you know right away which is which."

"So what I should do is have dinner ready, get mom a glass of wine, maybe get out the photo album and then present my request without whining or crying and live with Mom's decision." Chalcey picked up her shovel and began spading the garden.

Summer again covered her laugh with a cough to keep from letting Chalcey know how precocious she found her great granddaughter.

Oriole drove her 4-wheel drive Jeep Cherokee into the yard and was met at the door by her lanky daughter holding a glass of wine. "Here, Mom, give me your briefcase and go put your feet up." Chalcey ran into the house ahead of Oriole to grab slippers and the photo album.

"Okay, young lady, what's going on? Did you break something, get into trouble with Summer, forget to do your chores?"

"Oriole, how you talk. I just want to make you comfortable. I thought we could reminisce while we wait for Marlowe." Chalcey curled up on the old Cordovan leather sofa in the living room next to her mother.

"Tell me what's on your mind little missy."

"Mom, I'm pretty grown up. I even conducted our last memorial service for Puddles, remember? I think I'm old enough to help out at the buffet and clean up for Joyce's memorial service. I'll work real hard, make you proud of me. May I, please."

"Sure, don't see why not." Oriole had planned on suggesting Chalcey help out in the kitchen to give Summer some help. Knowing teenagers, Oriole figured if it was her idea, Chalcey would have balked, but since it was Chalcey's idea, she would work hard to prove herself. "Run along and ask Summer what you can do to help her get ready. There are all sorts of things she'll need ahead of time to get organized. And, don't argue if she gives you a job you don't like. Just do it with a smile."

Chapter 3

Marlowe Sharpe had designed her office to fit her life style. The lobby was full of antiques collected from garage sales, auctions and second hand stores, a drop down secretary desk hid office supplies, a wire meshed armoire held active files, and her secretary's desk consisted of file cabinets supporting a barn door that had been refinished by Marlowe herself. Since clients rarely lingered in the outer office, Marlowe had gone with simple but stout leather chairs rescued from an estate sale, between which sat an end table from her great-great grandfather's ranch up in Seligman. The look and feel of country comfort continued into her office where instead of a desk she had a slab from a 250 year old alligator oak tree, cut and polished after it bit the dust in a huge wind storm some years back. Instead of client chairs, she had favored an old oak couch she found at a garage sale and had re-done in dark mahogany brushed leather. Topping off the oak tongue-n-groove floor, she herself had done, was a Navajo rug given to her by friends of Summer's when she opened her doors after passing the State Bar. People who knew such things, often told her it was a mistake to use the rug, to walk on it. It should be on the wall to admire. However, when Richard Yellowhorse's grandmother unrolled it in the office, she said, "this rug is to live on, walk on, learn on, and to soak up spirit." So soak up spirit it has.

Marlowe Sharpe showed her last client of the day out the door of her downtown law office, turned to Joan, her trusty, cranky, cantankerous secretary and asked what was on the agenda for court the next day.

"Your calendar is all screwed up. Division 2 became Division 5, 5 became 3 and on and on. The cases on law and motion for 2 will be over in the Verde, I have them all moved to Wednesday, and your Prescott cases will be heard in 3, by Judge Roberts. This reassignment will be awhile shaking out. I told the judicial assistants they need to be patient with you lawyers. There'll be more than one of you in the wrong place at the wrong time."

The long term illness of one of the favorite judges left the dockets chaotic in Superior Court. Everyone in the legal community was struggling with the recent changes including the judges themselves. Politics shown through the jockeying for peachy assignments in both the Verde courts and in Prescott. Marlowe's practice was Prescott based because she and Oriole had an agreement Marlowe would avoid the Verde cases that Oriole investigated. However, occasionally, Marlowe would end up with a Verde case, but never one her daughter had worked.

Joan prepared to close the office: putting the morning's files on Marlowe's desk, turning off the computers and the always full coffee pot, before grabbing her oversized shoulder bag and cooler containing left-over take out. Joan had worked for Marlowe for over 25 years. She was a fixture in the legal community as a formidable opponent. Even the judges gave her a wide berth. But, Joan had a heart of gold, rescuing clients as well as abandoned animals. Joan never took clients home to raise, but did give them a basket of food and a kick in the pants to get them on the right road.

"See you tomorrow. I'm going to get on home and change for the square dancing class. My new partner is going to take me out for Chinese afterwards. He's kinda cute." Joan prattled on with a new excitement.

"Just you be careful. I expect to see you in here bright and early. No late nights and watch out for Jason. You don't know enough about him yet." Marlowe moved into the protector role with her long--time friend and secretary.

"I know. Walk slow, be cool, and drink lots of water." Joan reiterated the mantra Marlowe told all her clients. "But you know, it's kinda fun to be in this mode. How many years since I had a date, let alone any other kind of activity. He likes the things I like. He is self supporting. He's going to buy dinner. That means something. The last time I went out I ended up with the check while the dude escaped through the back door."

"I'll tell you like Chalcey told me, put a quarter in your boot in case you have to make a phone call."

"I'll have my cell phone and anyway, when was the last time you had to use a pay phone? A quarter won't get you anywhere nowadays." Joan locked the door to the office and walked with Marlowe to their cars.

Chapter 4

Marlowe, Oriole, Summer, and Chalcey were putting the finishing touches on the ranch house for the memorial service the next day. Chalcey was vacuuming, Marlowe and Oriole were moving furniture around, and Summer was making her famous roll ups. The camaraderie between the generations enlivened the house and lifted the mood.

Fred O'Neil, Oriole's partner in the Sheriff's Office, detective division, arrived to help move the furniture and set up chairs in the yard. Even in a work mode, Fred was dressed to the nines, with his Resistol Silverbelly cowboy hat, his Nocona boots, creased Levis, and ever present bolo tie.

"Oriole, got a minute. Need to talk business." Fred imposed himself on the work party.

"Sure, time for a break anyway. Marlowe's working me to death."

They grabbed iced tea from the kitchen and went out on the porch. Oriole could tell the request did not bode well.

"I just got a call from dispatch. Since I was almost here I decided I'd pick you up, rather than call. We have a suspicious circumstance. Very little information. The address is really just down the road from here. Remember the Lampier place? It went into foreclosure. The realtor called it in. Drink up, I'll ask Summer if she can put together a couple sandwiches for the road. Never know when we'll be back." Fred ambled off to find Summer and help with a make-shift dinner. Fred had become a fixture at Bear Ranch since his wife died. He spent more time at the ranch than at his own apartment in town. He had even moved his horse over to Bear Ranch so they could all ride together on the weekends.

Oriole and Fred drove the short three miles to the Lampier residence. Sitting in the circular driveway was a bright red Mercedes and sitting in the driver's seat with her feet on the ground, heaving her guts out was Frances Pitcher, Summer's friend of 30 years.

"Frances, are you okay? Do you need medical assistance?" Oriole had arrived at the open door and leaned down to talk to Frances.

"I'm okay. I just lost my cookies. What a horrible sight. Let me get my feet back under me and I'll be fine." Frances leaned over grabbed some paper napkins out of the jockey box and a bottle of water from her purse and washed up her vomit stricken face.

The Lampier residence, now in foreclosure, rose two stories, was covered with dried ivy and spread in equal wings from the massive living room. The property consisted of three acres, fenced and cross-fenced, a barn, corrals and tack room toward the back, an oversized garage/work shop, a guest house and pool long since covered in algae and a big plot for a garden. The equal wings were two master suites that took up nearly half of the 3500 square foot house. The kitchen had been remodeled by the Lampiers to the tune of $50,000.00. If it existed as a specialty item, it found its way to this kitchen. The handcrafted oak cabinets extended all the way around the kitchen. The island held the stove and one oven, while the second oven was concealed on the far wall behind more cabinets. The Sub Zero refrigerator matched the décor perfectly. Upstairs, two bedrooms broke off the winding stairs with a bath in the middle. And down the hall an office outfitted with more electrical outlets and cable than could ever be used by normal people, waited for new owners. The barn and corrals were designed by Ben Balow for thoroughbreds, with electrical and water outlets provided for the horses. The shop was a true man cave--a wood stove, a generator, a four car garage, a shower in the bath, an entertainment center that would hold a 52" flat screen and an old refrigerator. The Lampiers were upside down to the tune of $495,000.00.

Fred looked over the exterior while waiting for Frances to get her ducks in a row. "Some house."

"Frances, are you up to telling us what happened?" he inquired.

"The bank had the cleanup crew in here for the last week. Jim from the crew called to tell me it was ready to put on the market. I came out here about an hour ago to do a final walk through. I checked the exterior buildings and then let myself in the house. I checked out the living room, the two master suites, made some notes on things that still needed to be finished and went upstairs. I checked the bedrooms and bath and made my way down the hall to the office. I opened the door, went in, and then opened the bi-fold closet doors, because sometimes the crew doesn't clean the closet or they leave paint cans and junk. There it was, I started gagging and ran outside and grabbed my cell phone and called 911." Frances finished her rendition and turned white.

"Frances, you don't look so good. Put your head between your knees so you don't pass out." Oriole guided her head down slowly.

"Let's take this nice and slow. What did you see?" Fred was antsy, wanting to get on with his job.

"Well, it's like I told dispatch. There was a carpet roll in the closet." Frances picked her head up and eyed Fred through wet hair.

"What about the carpet roll?" Oriole was trying to be a little more compassionate than her rough and tumble partner.

"I moved the roll and an arm fell out. I jumped about three feet and almost lost it. I know I screamed. Well, wouldn't you, if an arm leaped out at you? I took off running just as fast as I could." Frances was sucking in air.

"Was the arm attached to a body?" Fred pushed for more information.

"Well, how would I know? I ran out of there." Frances started crying.

"It's okay, Frances. Just take it easy. We're going to go inside. Will you be okay out here by yourself?" Oriole threw Fred an angry glance.

Fred pulled his department issued 9mm Glock after calling in their location. Oriole palmed her gun and moved to the front deck. "You take the back. I'll go in the front." Oriole issued directions to the older detective.

They cleared the main floor and began to ascend the staircase, Fred in the lead. Fred cleared the first bedroom and the bath, while Oriole checked the second bedroom without making a sound. They moved in unison to the remaining room on the second floor. Fred gently opened the door and moved to the left while Oriole panned to the right. There was nothing in the room except the roll of carpet in the closet.

Fred proceeded to the tiny enclosure, bent down and touched the wrist of the arm extending from the carpet. Stiff. No pulse. He pulled the carpet back and exposed the arm. The arm was indeed attached to a woman.

"There's nothing we can do here. Let's call it in and get forensics out here. I'll call for the techies, you call the ME." Fred was the one giving directions now. Oriole had remained out in the hall on alert while Fred checked the office.

Chapter 5

Dr. Culpepper arrived with the coroner's wagon, accompanied by two technicians. "Why can't you two just stay home for a change and leave me the hell alone?" The cantankerous medical examiner smiled at Oriole. Dr. Culpepper, long time medical examiner for Yavapai County, cultivator of prize winning orchids, founding member and currently president of the Garden Society, tried to put on a front to put people off. Oriole, having known him long before his retirement from active practice, never cowed by his bluster.

"Not our fault, Doc. We just answer the call. Here's what we know." Oriole recited what she and Fred had discovered as she and Culpepper entered the house and went up the stairs. "A major concern is that this place has been cleaned by the REO crew. We don't know how much, if any evidence has been lost because of that."

"What REO crew? What's that?" Culpepper asked.

"REO stands for Real Estate Owned. It means the bank has repossessed this house and sent in a cleaning crew to get it ready for sale." Oriole explained, having been educated by Frances while waiting for the ME.

"All righty then. Let's see what we have." Culpepper said as he entered the office. Because of the limited space, Oriole remained on watch outside the door. "Turning on recorder. White female, mid to late 60's, blond hair, looks to be strangled with some kind of cord. Business suit, stockings, dress shoes with some residue. Maybe dead 8-12 hours based on rigor. I'll be able to tell you more once I get her on the table. Stop recording. Get photos, then, Bob, you and Les wrap her hands and take the carpet and her intact. We need to vacuum the floor here real tight. Check the rest of the house for trace evidence. Do fingerprints on all doors and windows just in case. Oh, wait, I'm crossing over into Fred and Oriole's area. Sorry." Dr. Culpepper looked sheepishly at the detectives.

"Like he said." Fred chuckled and pointed his thumb at the doc. The technicians took photos of every square inch of the office. At the conclusion of their work, Oriole took custody of the camera while Fred looked on.

After the techs were finished and had packed up, Oriole and Fred went back to where the Mercedes still sat in the hot, late afternoon sun. "Oops, we forgot about poor ole Frances." Fred said with obvious chagrin.

"Sorry to make you wait, Frances. I have a digital close up of the victim. Would you be up to looking at it and see if you recognize her?" Oriole attempted to make up for her partner's brusque manners.

"How would I know someone that died? I don't run around with people like that. I live a nice quiet life, for God's sake."

"I know, Frances, but maybe you have seen her somewhere around. Please try." Oriole cajoled her grandmother's long time friend.

"Well, I'll look but it won't do any good, I can tell you that now, before I ever look at it."

Oriole took the camera out of the bag, turned it on and paged forward to a close up of the victim's face without really looking at the picture. She turned the camera towards Frances. Frances moved closer to Oriole and focused on the screen photo, gasped and crumpled.

It happened so fast, neither Fred nor Oriole were prepared for Frances' response. Frances hit the ground before either could grab onto her. Oriole looked at Fred who raised his right eyebrow, "Maybe she does know the deceased."

"Quick, get some water for her. Frances, are you all right?" Oriole asked as Frances began to stir. "I'm so sorry. You must have experienced a shock. Did you recognize the woman?"

"I'm going to be sick again. I must have fainted. What are you doing with a picture of Lisa on your camera? Is this a joke? That can't be Lisa. She can't be dead. She just can't be."

Oriole stepped back, looked at the digital camera closer, and realized she had not even looked at the deceased while upstairs. It was Fred's turn at the autopsy and Oriole had been busy directing traffic inside the house. The photo was of Lisa Wood, Summer's and Frances' friend.

"Well, that answers one question. Now why don't you answer the rest?" Fred spoke over the top of Frances' head to Oriole.

Chapter 6

"Doc. We have positive identification of the deceased as Lisa Wood, age 68, resident of the condos over on Highland Drive. We're going to go see her husband and make notification. Is there anything you can tell us preliminarily?" Oriole spoke on her cell phone to the ME who was on his way back to the morgue.

"Nothing yet, Oriole. I'll know a whole lot more tomorrow after I post. I'll start about 1:00 p.m. Who's coming to observe?"

"Fred will be there. I have the funeral for Joyce."

Fred and Oriole drove to the condo to contact Phil Mason, Lisa Wood's husband. The ultra modern condo rested in the middle of the complex high on a hill just a couple miles from downtown Prescott.

"Who's on first this time?" Oriole asked her partner.

"I'll be lead. You watch him." Fred and Oriole had worked out a plan over the years on which one would be the front runner and which would snoop around and make observations.

Fred rang the doorbell. A tall, handsome, blond haired, blue eyed, surfer-looking dude answered the door. Some 15 years younger than his deceased wife, Phil Mason had preserved his good looks and California tan. His slacks were perfectly tailored complementing his tight waist and a golf shirt from the resort topped the ensemble. A real Rolex circled his wrist and a fine gold chain peeked out from his collar.

"Yes, may I help you?" Mason asked.

"Are you Phil Mason?" Fred asked showing his badge.

"Yes. What is this about?"

"May we come in to talk with you?"

"Of course, forgive my bad manners. Won't you be seated? May I get you a soft drink or coffee?" Mason was the epitome of polite.

"No thank you. Let's have a seat. We have some bad news. We need to ask you to come downtown and make an identification. We believe your wife may have met with tragedy." Fred wanted to be circumspect with the information.

"Lisa? What? An accident? Make an identification, like what, a car?" Color drained from Phil's face as he sat hard on the overstuffed, beige couch.

"Do you have a picture of Lisa?" Oriole asked.

"There's a picture of both of us from last Christmas over there on the mantle."

Oriole moved to the fireplace and picked up the photo knowing that Lisa Wood was indeed gone. "Thank you, may I take this?" She turned to Fred and nodded confirmation of the identity of the woman from Lampiers.

"Tell me what's going on." Phil turned to Fred.

"Mr. Mason, we believe your wife is deceased. We'd like to ask you some questions. Who would want to cause Lisa harm?" Fred quietly inquired.

"Harm? Someone harmed Lisa? I don't believe it. When? She just went down to the office this morning. Call the office and you'll see." Denial was the first stage of grief, and it appeared reality was slow in sinking in for Phil.

"Phil. Who are some of your wife's associates? Who does she work with?" Oriole tried to get Phil back on track.

"How did this happen? What happened? When did this happen?" More questions from Phil as he stuttered.

"We're still looking into it. What we need is some background information. Has anything happened recently that we need to know about?"

"What do you mean-happened? What are you talking about?"

"Well, has anyone had an issue with Lisa? You know, was anyone mad at her? Did anyone have a grudge against her?" Fred leaned forward to try for eye contact.

"Everyone loved Lisa. No one had a grudge against her. "

"Besides work was she involved in any community activities, you know like committees or did she volunteer for something?" Fred continued.

"Well, yeah, she worked on the Tea Party committee and on United We Stand. She was doing the graphics for the T-shirts for both as well as working on the steering committee for the Rodeo. She was real busy in the community." As he spoke, Phil visibly shrunk in his tailored slacks and shirt.

"What about work? Was she having any problems at work?" Oriole was making notes.

"Work? No, of course not. She had taken over as manager at the mortgage company and things were going great. This had been the best quarter ever. She was in line for a raise. In fact, we were going to go out tomorrow night and celebrate."

"What about her co-workers? Any problems with the staff?"

"No. Well maybe, she had to fire this one gal for dipping into the till. But that was a few months ago. The cops got involved and filed charges against her. I think she's doing some jail time." Phil stood up," I've got to make some calls. I have to let her son and daughter know what's happened. What can I tell them?"

"Phil, have a seat. You can call them in a few minutes. Right now we need some more information. Who was her attorney? Did she have a will? Did anyone owe her money or did she owe anyone money?" Fred and Oriole were taking turns keeping him focused.

"Her attorney is, I mean was, Ms.. Sharpe. She's handled everything for us, wills, trusts, power of attorney, that stuff. Lisa didn't owe anyone and no one owed her. Well, except for the kids, she'd loaned money to both of them over the years and they'd signed notes, the amount unpaid comes out of any inheritance. They weren't happy about that, but Lisa was a great business woman. We had separate accounts and then a joint house account. You know to pay bills for the utilities, mortgage that sort of thing. That's all I can think of right now. Are we about done here?"

"Sure, if we have more questions, we'll be back. I'm sorry for your loss, Phil. If there is anything you need, call one of us." Fred handed Phil a business card and stood to leave. Fred decided to waive the in--person identification given the confirmation with the photos.

The detectives sat in the SUV out front recapping what they'd gleaned.

"Does it strike you odd, he didn't cry?" Oriole looked at Fred as he started the car.

"Lots of guys won't or don't cry. It's a man thing. But it did strike me odd that he wasn't any more upset than he was. It seemed to me he was anxious to get us out of there. He's younger than Lisa, right? How long they been married? What's he do for a living? Think Marlowe would have those answers? Maybe we should run out to the ranch and see if she's still there and ask her."

"Oh, come on. You just want to siddle up to her. Why didn't you ask Mason those questions? Why wait and then all of a sudden you need to go see Marlowe for answers? Could it be that you just want to see Marlowe, and if that's it, just ask her out, again." A smile plastered itself on Oriole's face thinking about her partner and her mother together.

"I didn't ask Mason because I want the answers from someone unbiased. Marlowe may not be totally uninvolved here, but the attorney in her will come forth and she'll give us straight answers. And for your information, Snoopy, your mom and I have been out together several times since the movies. So there, smarty pants."

Oriole placed a call to the ranch to let everyone know the status of the investigation and that Marlowe should prepare Summer for the news.

Fred drove towards the ranch in silence for fear any mention of Marlowe would get Oriole started again. And as for Oriole, she smiled most of the way back to the ranch, reflecting on the torment she caused Fred.

Chapter 7

Chalcey and Marlowe had finished feeding the livestock and took a languid break with iced tea on the large wraparound porch. Chalcey enjoyed her alone time with her grandmother. The opportunity to learn from all the generations presented itself to her in various forms and Chalcey rarely missed a sit with any one of them.

"Marlowe, why do people have to die? Why can't we keep them with us forever?"

"Well, sweetie that's not God's plan. We come here to do what we're supposed to and then when it's our time we leave."

"But look at Joyce. She was such a good person and what about poor Lisa. Neither one of them ever did anything to hurt another person, and yet they're both gone. It just doesn't seem fair."

"Remember when Puddles died? It didn't seem fair then either. But she was sick and it wasn't fair to her to linger in that sickness. The same is true for Joyce. She fought long and hard against cancer. Her body just couldn't take any more. Now Lisa is another story. Someone shortened her life for reasons we don't yet know."

"I don't think I want to go to Lisa's funeral. One a year or even a lifetime is enough for me."

"You don't have to go when it happens. You can stay home. Funerals aren't much fun. Maybe we can do something special to remember Lisa by, like we did with Puddles."

Marlowe heard the crunch of tires on the driveway and looked up to see Fred's SUV approaching. "Come on girl, let's get some more glasses. They'll be thirsty too." Chalcey ran into the kitchen and grabbed two more glasses for Fred and Oriole.

"Are you two done for the day?" Marlowe asked as they got out of the car.

"No, Marlowe. We're actually here on business. We have some questions for you about Lisa Wood." Oriole sat down next to her mother, and poured iced tea for Fred and her.

"Did Lisa update her will recently?" Fred got right down to the questions at hand.

"Fred, I can't talk about a client. You know that, even if she is deceased."

"Marlowe, I know she was a friend of the family and a client. I know you're feeling pain. But there are some things we need to know to solve her murder." Oriole tried again to soften Fred's approach.

"Her will is going to be probated because that is what she wanted. Get me a subpoena deuces tecum and I'll provide the contents. The date on the will can tell you when it was updated. There will be information in the will that will answer some of your questions. I'm sorry that's the best I can do."

Fred rose from the rocker and set his glass down of the round patio table next to Chalcey. "So, what you're telling me is yes, the will was updated and yes there is information that is pertinent to the case. I'm hoping some of that information will help us find who did this to Lisa. It's supper time, what's Summer got cooking? Come on Chalcey, I'll even help set the table."

Chalcey and Fred moved into the kitchen to help get dinner on the table while Marlowe and Oriole remained in the rocking chairs. "Mom, don't be mad at Fred or me. We both know how disturbing this is for you, Summer, and for Frances. When someone dies like this, it leaves such a void. It just seems so senseless. There has to be answers in the jumble of confusion. Let's go get a glass of wine and see what we're having for dinner."

"I'll pass on the wine, I think tonight is a Scotch night, honey."

Summer fixed a pork loin with homemade applesauce, fresh peas from the garden, tossed salad (lettuce from the garden), raised rolls that Chalcey mixed up and mint iced tea. Dinner conversation consisted of the memorial service for Joyce, the upcoming prospect of Lisa's funeral, the rodeo and Buttercup's forthcoming foal.

The subpoena deuces tecum was served on the Sharpe Law Firm. Joan provided the necessary documents. Fred and Oriole returned to the office to pore over the new will.

"Looks like Lisa was tired of Phil's lack of enthusiasm for the job hunt. This new will says everything goes to the two kids except a small bequest to United We Stand and the Tea Party and a sizeable one to the Humane Society. He gets nothing, not even the condo. That is her sole property even though they were married for 12 years. The condo was to go to the estate, be sold, and the proceeds divided between her son and daughter. The next question is did he know about the new will and if he did, did he know it was done or did he think it was in the process. After Joyce's memorial service, let's ask Marlowe if she knows. Then let's go back to talk to Phil. Based on the addendum, she had a safe deposit box at State Bank and three bank accounts. You get the subpoenas started for those too. I'll see what I can find out about Phil, see if there's any skirts involved with him, see if he owes anyone money, etc." Fred put the will down, marked it as evidence, put it in an evidence envelope and took it down to the locker. Oriole started the process for yet another batch of subpoenas.
Chapter 8

Neighbors began arriving for the service for Joyce. Cars were parked all along the driveway, in the yard, down the main road, and people were being bused back to Bear Ranch by a tractor--drawn wagon. Chairs had been arranged in the near pasture under the shade of the cottonwood trees. A three piece band played some of Joyce's favorite songs as people began milling about. Ranchers from around the valley came in their best attire, more cowboy hats were present than at the Prescott Rodeo, boots were spit polished, and Levis had a sharp crease.

Rod and his son greeted folks and received condolences and offers of help. Summer, Marlowe, and Oriole moved among the mourners shaking hands and hugging neighbors they hadn't seen for several months. Chalcey watched from the sidelines not quite sure what she should or should not be doing. The band finished Amazing Grace and the guitar player, John Peterson, took the microphone. "If y'all would find a seat, we're ready for Summer to start. Summer, you want to come on up here?"

Summer wore a dark blue, ankle length dress of chiffon with a matching lace jacket. Her normal braid was replaced for the occasion with loose flowing curls that cascaded down to her waist. The sun caught her snow white hair creating an angelic halo. She mounted the make--shift stage to deliver the eulogy for her long time friend.

"Thank you all for coming to honor the life of our friend and neighbor. Rod asked if I would deliver a few words about Joyce as I knew her. Then I'd ask any of you who want to share some of your experiences and stories about Joyce to come up and speak."

"There is someone I want you to know. She was known by many names: Mom, wife, neighbor, singer, teacher, healer, and of course, friend. She was warm and friendly and open to helping anyone who crossed her path. In the midst of chaos she reigned calm. When cool wasn't cool, she was. During a crisis or family tragedy, she analyzed the situation, developed alternatives, and provided leadership.

This woman was a great singer. Her voice rang out in the church choir, at the opening ceremony for the Rodeo, for weddings, for funerals, and for the fun of it. If you ever had the pleasure of helping her in her garden, you would have heard the melodious strains coming from the corn patch.

This woman was a rescuer. There were always injured, lost critters on Crimson Ranch. She hardly ever had to call the vet for help with their recovery. But animals were not the only ones rescued by Joyce. As I look out at this gathering, I see Billy Williams, whom Joyce found beaten and more dead than alive, took him in, put him to work and got him on his feet and helped him get a job down the road at Hardin Ranch. I see Milly and her three kids Joyce helped find them a place to live and a job and helped keep the kids in school.

This woman loved animals. Crimson produced champion milk goats, blue ribbon rabbits and prize winning chickens. Rod would come home from work and never be surprised to find another breed or species moving into the barn.

This woman loved her state and even more Yavapai County. She volunteered for only those projects she believed in: and that was everyone that had to do with the armed forces, freedom, the fine arts, and growth opportunities for young people.

This woman was touched by God. God touched her heart and she found Rod. She in turn touched the hearts and souls of many in her quiet unassuming, nonjudgmental style. In looking out at you today and how many came to honor her, she would be humbled at having touched your lives and probably would have said "ah shucks" to see so many.

This was to have been the best time of Joyce and Rod's life. Neal had just been commissioned in the Air Force; Rod had just retired to work full time on the ranch. And Joyce was going to slow down a little and only plant an acre of garden this year!

And maybe this is the best time in her life-she's with the little girl Rod and Joyce lost at birth, all the critters that have gone on before, and her parents, but most of all she is home with God.

Our hearts are heavy because we miss her--her smile, her laughter, her love, her comfort, her calm, her friendship, and her presence.

Know that Joyce is always with you in her son and soon to be grandchildren, in the garden you plant and harvest, in the people and animals you rescue in her memory, and in the song you sing.

Know that she loves all of you and she is most happy when you are happy and caring for and about others.

Know that she sends comfort to you through Christ our Lord and that comfort will see you through hard times and sad times and will help you through your pain today and tomorrow.

I will miss my friend and neighbor Joyce and

To honor her, I will help someone or something every day

To honor her, I will be a terrific neighbor

To honor her, I will encourage others to serve their community

To honor her, I will do more for my community

To honor her, I ask you to remember the good in Joyce Albright.

Thank you. "

Summer finished the eulogy, folded her speech and looked out at the gathering. Even the toughened ranchers were dabbing at their eyes as tears spilled out. Others began to stand in line to speak of the lady they came to honor. When the last person sat down and the band played Wind Beneath My Wings, the mourners adjourned to the buffet Chalcey, Marlowe and Oriole had arranged on the patio.

Fred and Oriole found Marlowe in the kitchen making up more iced tea. "Marlowe, we swung by the office and Joan gave us the will. Do you know if Lisa was considering divorcing Phil?" Fred helped with the tea by getting ice from the upright freezer.

"As I told you, some things are attorney client privilege. You saw that the will was just signed on the 15th of May, two weeks or so back. You saw she disinherited Phil. That's all I can tell you. However, there are others who can give you more information. Have you spoken to Summer, Betty or maybe Tom her accountant? Each of them will have another perspective to provide. Let's get this iced tea out there before they find the hard stuff."

Chapter 9

The following day, Fred made an appointment with Phil for more questions, while Oriole went to the bank to check on the safe deposit box and Lisa's accounts.

"Phil, thanks for allowing me to intrude." Fred's gruff mannerism was replaced by a sweet talking, silver tongued devil. "I've just got a few more questions. What will be the dispensation of her estate?"

"What? Do you mean how was her estate to be divided?"

"Sure."

"We both had wills in favor of the other. So, I guess I inherit. We took out mutual life insurance policies with each other as beneficiaries. The kids get a little from what they owe the estate and there are some small bequests."

"What is the estate worth including the life insurance?"

"The condo was in her name, life insurance was valued at 250, an apartment complex, really more like a triplex valued at about 300, stocks and bonds probably another 300, odds and ends of maybe another 50."

"How much is the condo worth?"

"Well, it's been going down rapidly, but about 150."

"So somewhere close to a million?"

"Yeah, I've never thought about it as a sum total. But that would be pretty close."

"Phil, I need to put together a time line for where everyone was on the day Lisa died. Can you tell me what you did from say 8:00 in the morning until say 6:00 in the evening?"

"It's all a blur. Let's see, I had cereal for breakfast about 8:30. Lisa had gone to the office, early, about 7:00. I took a phone call or two, and made a couple. I had a tee time of 10:30 out at the country club. I had lunch with the foursome. It's a regular thing. We play a short round and then have lunch. About 2:00, I went to get my hair cut. I had a meeting with a stock broker for 3:00. Ummm, let's see, that lasted almost until 5:00 and I was back here and then you arrived late, what, 7:30 or so."

"Would you be able to put together the names and phone numbers of all those people and places for me please?"

"Why?"

"Well, I need to call them and speak with them. They may have more in depth information. It's routine. Does that create a problem?"

"No, I understand. I'll get it and can I email it to you?"

"Sure, that works for me. Let's talk a little about your work. What do you do for a living?" Fred asked, knowing the answer should have been 'I'm a mooch.'

"I'm in between jobs right now. That was what I met with the stock broker about. I'm looking at a training program."

"When was the last time you had a job and what was it?" Fred had taken off the white cotton gloves.

"Hmmm, well, I guess that would have been a couple years ago when the economy took a tank, I worked at that RV place."

"What year would that have been and would that have been the one on Willow Creek?"

"Well, it must have been two or three years ago."

Fred noticed Phil did not get specific with the year or with the location of the RV place, but let it slide.

"Well, I think that about covers it. I appreciate the time and again my condolences." Fred turned on the charm and took leave of Phil Mason.

Over at the morgue, Dr. Culpepper was finishing the post mortem as Fred walked in. "You're late. I'm finished." Cranky Culpepper sounded more like a teacher than an ME.

"Sorry, boss, I got hung up talking to the husband. What did you find?"

"Strangled, standard cord. Sent off for evidence. Her hyoid bone was crushed. No recent sexual activity. But here is something interesting, she had a high level of Ativan in her system. We're sending that to tox for exact amounts. She expired somewhere between 8:00 and 12:00 on the day she was found. I'll send over the report as soon as Jill gets it typed up."

"Thanks, Doc. Sorry about being late. Won't happen again." Fred chuckled to himself as he made notes.

Oriole reached the bank about the time Fred had made it to Phil's. The bank manager opened the safety deposit box to reveal jewelry, stocks, bonds, a copy of the new will and the old one with lettering across it saying 'revoked', an insurance policy, and a diary. Oriole provided an inventory and receipt to the manager taking custody of the items. She and the manager went to the back office to discuss the three accounts.

"This first account, numbered 4062, is a savings account in the name of Lisa Wood. The balance is $52,078.00, last activity was a week ago, a withdrawal of $25,000.00 in a counter check made out to Cash. Account number 2543 is a checking account that only Ms. Wood could sign on, balance is $7,569.45, and last activity is a check that cleared two days ago for $231.68. This third account is a joint account with Phil Mason with both being signators. But here is the interesting thing on that account, Ms. Wood came in and met with the assistant manager and closed that account and moved the balance over to her checking account."

"So, what was the balance in the joint account and when did Ms. Wood close it?"

"Small balance-$143.67, closed a couple weeks ago."

"Is there a note as to why it was closed?"

"Says here 'no longer needed'."

"Can just one party close it out without the permission of the other?"

"Sure. This is an either/or account. Either one could have done so."

"Can I get the statements for these three accounts for the last year?"

"Let me look at the subpoena. Yep, says so. I'll just print them off. Anything else you need?"

"The cashier's check. Who can get it? Who can cash it?"

"Interesting question. On that account, she was the only one who could make transactions. But anyone in possession of the check can cash it. That's why I suggested she make it out to someone rather than cash."

"Okay. Thank you for your assistance. I'll get out of your hair. Thanks for the statements."

Chapter 10

Fred and Oriole met up at the office and compared notes. "Hey, Snoopy, how about lunch at Murphy's and let's invite Marlowe and pick her brain about some of this stuff."

"You don't want to pick her brain, you just want to sit next to her and drool. Anyway, I talked to her on my way back, she's tied up with the suicide of one of the attorneys. She probably can't get away."

"Who? I didn't hear anything about it."

"It's a guy who lived down in Phoenix, but took cases up here. She's going to give me the details later tonight. You might as well come to dinner, since you always show up about that time. Then we can talk to her about 'sttuuff'." Oriole dragged out the word stuff to Fred's chagrin.

"So you still want to do Murphy's? I'll even buy." Fred was known to be tighter than a gnat's ass stretched over a rain barrel, Oriole jumped on the offer.

"Since you're buying, I'm having lobster."

"You'll fly too, if you sprout wings." Fred laughed at his partner. They walked into Murphy's and took a booth toward the back.

They had no more than gotten seated, when Frances Pitcher walked up to them. "I'm sorry to disturb your lunch. Can I sit down? I'd like to talk about my last meeting with Lisa. Do you mind?" Frances fell more than sat next to Oriole.

Her friend's sudden death had taken a toll, her hair stuck out like a windmill, her suit was rumpled and she had on one black shoe and one navy blue. Her normally carefully applied make up was missing.

"Tell us what's on your mind." Oriole empathized and handed a menu to Frances.

"See, I thought something was off at dinner the night before she died. She talked in circles. But the real concern I have is her last statement. She said she was going to have to make some real hard decisions soon. Lisa never had hard decisions to make. Her life was pretty stable, well except for marrying Phil. He swept her off her feet and for 12 years convinced her of his wonder. Lately, though, I think she was concerned about his spending money they didn't have." The server arrived and Frances ordered a salad and iced tea, Fred and Oriole ordered burgers and fries. "I was going to ask if there was anything I could do to help her, but she seemed in a hurry to get home. I know you always look at family first in a death like this. Maybe you should look at Phil. You know, he didn't have a pot to piss in or a window to throw it out. I've always thought he had a wandering eye. I will say he was careful not to show it around Lisa though. He knew which side his bread was buttered on. Once I was out at the Hassyampa Golf Club for a meeting and I saw him with a young thing, lots of leg and hair. They looked pretty cozy. I didn't tell Lisa, because it was none of my business. Now I wish I had. Maybe she'd still be with us."

Frances took a breath. Oriole looked across at her partner and gave a slight nod for him to take over.

"Frances, what was the deal with money, him spending money they didn't have."

"Lisa and I talked about nearly everything. But she kept her money affairs pretty private. I overhead one telephone call to Phil, just her side you understand. She was fairly screaming. We were at the mall, and I directed her outside she was so upset with him. All I know is she was saying 'that's a lot of money for an unsure return'. Then she hung up and I'll never forget this, she hummed her phone half way across the parking lot. Course, it didn't break, it just skimmed along like a rock in a pond. She turned beet red and looked at me and apologized, went over picked up her phone and I heard her call Marlowe Sharpe's office right then and there.That's how I know it didn't break."

Fred and Oriole both dropped their burgers back onto their plates. "Remember when this was?"

"Well, let's see it must have been three to four weeks ago. I had to pick up a birthday present for my granddaughter, whose birthday is in May. This is late June, so maybe even six weeks ago. Lisa had met me for lunch at the Wildflower and we had that wonderful pecan chicken salad. So if you need a closer idea of the date, I can look at my calendar, but between four and six weeks is about right." Frances hadn't touched her salad and now looked down at it as if it was a foreign object materializing from the ozone.

Oriole had pulled out her notebook to jot down key points of the conversation, nodded at Fred, who lifted his right eyebrow in acknowledgment. "Frances, anything else you can think of that might help?"

"Oh, dear, I don't know. Have you talked to Summer? She is much more intune than am I. Who knows, Lisa may have confided in Summer." Frances frowned then slapped her forehead in memory. "Yeah, there is something else. Lisa had canceled all her credit cards. In fact, I have never seen her pay cash for anything until that evening for dinner. Speaking of which, here's a ten for my lunch. I'm late for a showing. I have out of town clients coming to look at a listing. Bye, say hi to Summer for me, dear, tell her what a wonderful job she did for Joyce. Oh, and tell her I'll be by to get her to go over to Rod's later this week."

Fred and Oriole split the check and walked out to their vehicle. Summer had replaced the mild spring and the interior of the SUV broiled. Turning on the air conditioner, Fred rolled down the window to let the car cool. "We need to get copies of those credit card statements. I'm guessing Phil would have destroyed them, but let's do the down and dirty drudge work and get a subpoena and go back out there to see him. Third time's a charm. Anyway we might just make him nervous." Fred punched drive and left downtown Prescott for the Sheriff's Office which had recently moved to the new complex. Oriole called the office to start the paper work on the new search warrant.

Chapter 11

"Marlowe, the phone is nonstop. Everyone wants information on Mark. What is it, just because you're president of the Bar this year, they think you have an inside track." Joan's normally calm demeanor was replaced with fluster.

"Joan, why not make us a cup of tea and I'll get what information I can from the Prescott Police Department and then see what I can do to return calls." Her consummate control returned as she picked up the phone to begin the unpleasant chore of finding out what happened to Mark.

"Hi, Chief. Marlowe Sharpe here. Mark Weinberger shared office space here in this building and as you know I'm this year's Bar president, what can you tell me?" Marlowe knew a high profile case would hit the chief's desk before dust could settle under it.

"Not a lot, looks like he turned the car on in the garage at his condo down in Phoenix, stuck a hose in the window, and died. Everything from the coroner seems to say suicide. I was told he had just separated from his wife. Couple of friends said he was depressed and they were worried about him. He was here for court day before yesterday and no one had seen him since. He failed to show up at his office this morning and the secretary went over there and found him." The chief flipped over the report in front of him and reviewed it to see if he had missed anything of importance. "Oh, his family has been notified and the service will be in Phoenix. But, you know, even though he was a defense attorney, he was sure well liked here. Are you thinking about something here?"

"I'm going to check with the rest of the directors. We usually do something like a memorial service, pretty low key."

"Let me know. There are plenty of us who will probably attend."

Marlowe turned to Joan who had brewed a pot of Matcha Green Tea in the antique porcelain pot she'd brought back from London. She poured for both of them using matching almost see through cups and sat down on the overstuffed couch. "Well?"

"I need to find out if we're going to do a memorial service. After your tea, will you call the rest of the board and see if you can get a consensus one way or the other. Let me know and we'll proceed. So much death. Trouble comes in threes. This is number three so maybe we're safe for awhile."

Joan put in calls to the other board members and waited for answers, while Marlowe worked on a new special education client's problems. Most of Marlowe's practice was criminal defense, but over the years she had taken on special education issues and developed a state wide reputation for taking on schools and holding their feet to the fire for kids. Most of the ones who couldn't pay with money found other ways of paying for Marlowe's services: pigs, chickens, a horse now and then, hay, fencing, tractor work, plumbing and the new kitchen out at the ranch. Joan would walk in to Marlowe's office and tell her "you need to help these people, they have a child that has special needs and the school isn't following the IEP. Marlowe would meet with the parents and take the case, money or no money.

Chapter 12

Phil Mason looked out the big picture window of the condo sipping a cup of coffee laced with Kahlua and felt the quiet of the house. No one nagging at him, no one to yank on the purse strings and no one to worry about ever again. He practiced his widower face, frowning slightly, turning down his mouth just a fraction. He even considered putting drops in his eyes to make them tear up. Life would be good now. He'd never put himself in this position again, no woman was worth it. He had enough money from Lisa's estate to live comfortably, close to a million. Give it a few months and he could move to Sri Lanka. His dollars would stretch for years if he were careful and if he could find a rich widow in need of a loving consort.

He decided he would go to the bank early next week to close out the accounts and get the contents of the safety deposit box. He would move slowly and very, very carefully. Those detectives might be back. Everything he could think of had been purged. It wouldn't hurt to check once again just to be sure. While he was contemplating other drawers and cabinets to clean, the phone rang.

"Phil, honey, how are you doing?" Monique Richards in her little girl voice breathlessly intruded on the perfect moment.

"Monique, I told you to cool it. Don't call me here or on my cell phone for awhile. I'll let you know when it's safe."

"But, darling, I miss you so. Don't you want some comfort? I could come over and take care of you." She shook out her long blonde hair, ran her hands through it pretending she was with him.

"Stop it. You cannot come over here. Cops are still hanging around asking questions. The last thing I need is cops finding you here." His voice took on an edge she knew only too well from past encounters.

"Okay. I can wait for you to call, just remember we're in this together so don't get any funny ideas. Even Stevens. I suggest you go pick up a throw away cell phone and get hold of me so we can get some plans put together. I suggest you get it today. If you haven't called me by tomorrow, I'll be coming by." Monique's little girl voice took on a harpy quality and sweetness left her. "You listen to me, Phil, you're not dumping me. I've put my neck on the line for you. Just you remember that." She slammed down the phone.

Monique Richards contemplated her explosion. Used to getting whatever she set her mind to, this glitch was just a mild stumbling block.

Raised in Prescott, adopted by her mother's parents, she had the best of everything. Married and divorced twice by the age of 26, she banked settlements from both husbands that put her over six figures. The money was put to good use, breast enhancements, botox lips, new eyes. Her blonde hair rarely showed the original dark she was born with. A tummy tuck might be in the coming years, but for now her personal trainer helped keep the belly fat at bay as did the fact she had no kids. Rumor had connected her to a big land developer who closed up shop and moved to Texas without wife, kids and his money. At social events, women hung onto their men fearing the vulture.

Before settling on Phil Mason, Monique engaged in an openly public affair with a prominent, very married banker whose wife was from old money Prescott. The wife, discovering his philandering ways, took a gun to the country club, shot up his Mercedes, poured a gallon of red paint on the hood, and prepared to turn her gun on Monique, when security arrived. The lesson for Monique consisted of "be more careful, not give it up."

A degree in economics prepared her for her current job as a stock broker with her grandfather's firm. She came and went, working when and if she wanted and still drawing down a full salary. Plans were for her to step into the presidential suite when her grandfather/father retired within the next couple years.

Phil carefully put the portable phone back in its cradle and sat down with a fresh cup of coffee topped off with his homemade Kahlua. Monique was going to present a problem for him. He'd have to be careful. He couldn't afford to let her stay mad, but he also knew he had to watch his back with her. She could be a vindictive little bitch. It would take some of his best finessing and it would take some detailed planning. He finished his coffee, stood up to check on the rest of the drawers and cabinets when the doorbell rang. Peeking out the security window, he took a step back seeing the detectives had returned. He tried to collect his composure before opening the door, unsuccessfully.

"Yes?"

"Mr. Mason, may we come in? We have a warrant for your wife's paperwork. Here's a copy. It says we can collect bank statements, credit card statements, any financial papers, and electronic devices, not limited to computers, phones, PDAs, tablets, IPODs. If you'll just have a seat here, we'll try to be as fast as we can." Fred handed him a copy, escorted him to the leather couch and gently pushed him down. "Detective Wolfe, you take upstairs, I'll take this level."

The office upstairs was a treasure trove. Oriole photographed, collected, and tagged boxes of financial information. Lisa had indeed been meticulous about record keeping. Files for taxes, each of the bank accounts, household bills, and personal files filled filing cabinets. The laptop and her tablet remained plugged in at her desk. Oriole gathered every item that had any pertinence to the investigation. Closing the last box, Oriole had the unmistakable feeling she had missed something very important. She looked from left to right and top to bottom trying to quell the uneasiness. Putting aside her concerns temporarily, she carried the boxes downstairs to check with Fred.

"Fred, I listed items starting with the 200 series, using 100 series for the first subpoena. You can start with 288. Something's bothering me, but I can't put my finger on it. When you're done, let's regroup and see if you can help me figure it out."

"I'm just about done, not much down here. In fact very little down here. I'll start carrying boxes out. You check the garage and see if there's anything we need. I used the 300 series down here. These boxes are ready."

"I already checked the garage, nothing we need there. You got the last box? Let me grab my purse." Oriole's eyes popped. You could see the light bulb go on in her mind. "Quick, come here. Outside now!"

Fred and Oriole stepped outside. "Fred, I just had an epiphany. I'm upstairs thinking I'm missing something and for the life of me it won't come. I reached for my purse and it struck me. Where is Lisa's purse? Where are her keys?" Oriole's excitement was uncontainable.

Fred, who didn't carry a purse, missed the significance. "Okay, so her purse is missing. So?"

"It wasn't at Lampier Ranch with her. It isn't here at the condo. Where is it? Women don't go anywhere without their purse. Another issue is how did she get out to Lampier? Where is her car? Not in the garage. We need to put out a BOLO for the car. Why is her purse missing?" Oriole paced back and forth in front of the SUV.

"Why do women always take their purse? Don't they ever go anywhere without it?" Fred knew about guns, knives, grenades, horses, and trucks, but he didn't know shit about women.

"You crazy head. Our lives are in our purse. You'll find everything from a knife to nylons, makeup to munchies. We can survive for a day or two just on what's in our purse."

"No wonder they're so heavy." Fred gave up on female logic and started the car.

Chapter 13

"This is Summer. Buttercup is getting ready to foal. Can you let Dr. Peterson know? This is her first. We'd like to have him on hand just in case. Tell him, I'll put supper on if he hurries." Summer had called the vet to come out to help with the birthing. With a first-time mare, it was a good idea to have a professional out to assist. Anyway, Summer and Dr. Chris had a long time friendship, if he was out in the neighborhood, he'd drop by for a drink or sandwich. They met for dinner in town when neither had anything else pressing. Chalcey, knowing that Summer liked Chris, loved to tease her great grandmother about the vet.

"We have the names and phone numbers of the foursome and the stock broker. Tomorrow let's start calling these alibis." Fred and Oriole arrived at the ranch together having left her Jeep in town at the office. "Tonight, let's just relax. Maybe I'll even barbeque if Summer hasn't planned anything special."

"Fred, why not give up your place in town. Move out to the bunkhouse. You're here more than in town. Marlowe loves it. Chalcey loves it. It's nice to have a man around with the critters. You'd save money and contribute here. Plus, since we work together we can car pool. And with gas at $3.80 a gallon it makes sense." Oriole had been talking around the idea for weeks and since he was a captive audience, she took the plunge.

"I've been thinking about it. You gotta promise not to mention this to Marlowe or anyone else. Okay? I just don't want to screw up with Marlowe. I enjoy her company, doing things with her. I love Chalcey and hanging out with her. As for you, I could never ask for a better partner. I just don't want to lose it all if any one of you wakes up tomorrow and sees I'm not perfect."

"Look, we know you're not perfect. I've been your partner for close to eight years. I've seen your ass when you got shot. I've seen you laugh and cry. I know you've got warts. Not real warts, but you know what kinda warts I mean. Chalcey doesn't think in terms of warts, she loves you so much; you could never do anything to screw it up for her. Now, Marlowe is a different story. You really like her, she really likes you. Both of you want to take it slow so as not to screw up a good friendship. As your counselor, I say continue to take it slow, build the friendship based on mutual respect. At each point in the relationship, sit down and talk about the next step and whether you should take it. Be her best friend first, before you become her lover. Oh, my god, don't tell me. No, no, no. I don't want to hear about sex just yet. I'll never be able to look you in the eye. Okay what I'm saying is move out to the bunkhouse. If it doesn't work out, move back into town and we'll keep Lady." Oriole was laughing at her blundering recitation.

"Okay, let's keep this quiet for now, Snoopy. Let me think about what to do. And just to clear the air, I do not cry." They had arrived at the ranch, parked in the circle driveway and started up to the house. Fred was thinking about the emptiness in his life since Marvelle had passed on and the feelings of togetherness the Bear Ranch women exuded toward him. He wanted nothing more than to be connected once again.

The bunkhouse was actually a three bedroom house completely self contained with a great room the size of a ballroom. It was named a bunkhouse because during the summer, the ranch often played host to cowboys who worked neighboring ranches. Over the years it had served as a church, a war room for Fred and Oriole's cases and as a halfway house for those in need.

Fred was ready to start the barbeque with Chalcey's help. "Girl, you need to learn how to barbeque. I'm not always around and you can grab second place as the resident outdoor cook. Usually, this job falls to the man of the house. It is a long worn tradition in society. However, you are a perfect student for me to teach the art of barbeque, so hike on up here and we'll work this out together." Fred put his arm around the gangly teenager and showed her the important steps she needed to follow to become his protégé.

"Uncle Fred, I really like it when you treat me like an adult. I feel like a real part of the family instead of a kid. You're always showing me something new and important. I wish you were here more. You could help me with Red for the parade, and you could teach me all about throwing a rope and just lots of stuff." As she scraped the grill according to his directions, Chalcey prattled on without saying what was really in her heart, that Fred was a father, uncle, grandfather to her.

"Well, sweetie, that's something to consider. That apartment in town is pretty lonesome, especially when I spend time out here with the family. It's pretty complicated though, changes in everyone's life, division of labor, finances. How do you propose we work all that stuff out?" Fred never had kids, so he treated Chalcey like he treated adults, seeking her counsel and valuing her contribution.

"Is it time to turn the steaks?" The protégé was watching and talking.

"Yes, little missy."

"Why don't we talk about moving out here over dinner and get input from Marlowe, Summer and Mom. Then we don't have to solve all the problems by ourselves. We can let them help." Chalcey's wisdom reached far beyond her young years.

"Good idea. Grab that plate and I'll turn this over. Let's see how dinner inside is coming."

Inside, Marlowe was making the salad, Oriole was doing the vegetables and Summer was setting the table with the good china and crystal. Dinner consisting of garden vegetables, salad, fresh bread and homemade jam, was waiting for the steaks.

"Summer, I was thinking it might be good timing for Fred to move out here to the bunkhouse. It is completely self-contained. He could come and go as he wants, join us when and if he wants. He sure could help us out with some of the work and maybe even pay a little in rent." Oriole broke the promise Fred had asked for.

"Maybe, we should ask Marlowe how she feels about that. Marlowe?" Summer looked up from the table to her daughter.

"Fred and I have talked about that. It seems to make sense for all of us here, but I'm not sure he is ready for a bunch of controlling women." Marlowe laughed.

"Why don't we find out?" Summer suggested.

Fred and Chalcey opened the Arcadia doors and carried in the steaks.

"It's about time, Fred. I was afraid you and Chalcey had eaten up everything out there." Summer smiled at her great granddaughter and the man she considered a son.

"Summer, Fred was teaching me to barbeque. I'm the second in command for outdoor cooking."

"Well, okay then. When Fred and Oriole are off on a case, you can cook. That will give me a break." Summer hugged Chalcey.

"Come on, I want to see if Chalcey's steaks taste different than Fred's." Oriole teased her partner and daughter.

"When is Doc Peterson coming to check on Buttercup?" Marlowe asked as she poured the wine for the adults.

"He'll be here about 7:30, after he gets done with the Bar 7. I'll just save him something to eat. He'll probably be hungry." Summer said and patted her loose hair back into place, a gesture that was not lost on Marlowe or Oriole. Daughter and granddaughter glanced at each other and suppressed a smile.

Dinner conversation covered the weather, the garden, the horse and finally the living arrangements.

"Fred, we were talking while you and Chalcey were working your fingers to the bone. What would you think about moving into the bunkhouse permanently? You are part of the family and have been even before Marvelle passed. We all like you here, even Chalcey. It would be a win--win situation." Summer talked as the food was being passed.

"Ah, ah," Fred stammered, "well, ah, I think I need to hear from Marlowe on that. Y'all know we've been dating, well not dating, but like seeing each other, well not seeing each other, we do that, but you know hanging out." Fred's suntanned face turned beet red.

"Fred," Marlowe started as she laid down her fork and knife and took his hand, "we all have discussed it. They know how I feel about you, and based on the time we've spent together, I think I know how you feel about me. It seems to be the natural thing to do. It could save money for all of us. Another hand around the ranch would help. Chalcey would benefit from having you around more. The only thing left is for you to make the decision. That is, without any pressure from any of us, of course." Marlowe finished her oration, let go of his hand, and continued to eat as if this decision was nothing more than passing the peas.

"Uncle Fred, you could even help me with chores. Then that way I could barbeque more often and maybe even take over number one outdoor cook." Chalcey chimed in.

"Here's an idea, Fred." Oriole began with a smile. "You could even keep the apartment in town for a month or so to see if you were comfortable with a bunch of strong-minded women and bad tempered critters.

"Mom! Our critters are not bad tempered." Chalcey chided her mother.

"Chalcey's right, Oriole. There's not a bad one in the lot. Well, except Pierre, who is dumber than a box of rocks. But what can you expect from a goat for God's sake." Fred joined in the levity.

"So, everyone has added their two-bits. Looks like a foregone conclusion. All you have to do if pack up the rest of the stuff you really need and move in." Oriole chuckled to herself as she watched Fred's face soften to the idea of becoming a permanent fixture at Bear Ranch.

"Come on, let's get this place cleaned up and get out to the barn to see to Buttercup. Dr. Peterson will be here any minute." Summer rose and started clearing the table almost before the last bite went down. Marlowe and Oriole exchanged eye rolls.

Buttercup had been bred to an Arab Dapple Grey that matched her perfectly. She had been brought up to the barn earlier that day. The barn was built about 30 years back and designed by Ben Balow's dad. A special loafing stall had been used for horses, goats, cattle, and Chalcey's numerous cats, dogs and rabbits. The stall provided seclusion and a sense of safety for the soon-to-be mother. Water and electrical outlets were present to help with clean up, heat and extra lights. Dr. Peterson had used the loafing stall for animals other than Bear Ranch critters more than once. Fresh straw covered the concrete floor and the water trough was standing with clean water. Anticipation filled the air as Buttercup went into labor. Summer and Dr. Chris joined the mare while everyone else waited on the other side of the plexi-glass wall watching.

"Do we need to boil water?" Chalcey asked in all seriousness.

"No, honey, that's only on television. See we have fresh water, Doc has his bag of tricks, Summer has some old towels. We're set. Are you going to take some pictures of the birth?" Oriole put her arms around her daughter and kissed the top of her head.

"I have my new digital camera charged and ready. Are you sure it won't disturb Buttercup?"

"She'll be so busy pushing the foal out, she won't even notice." Marlowe said as she joined the others.

"Hey, just in time. Is Fred coming too?" Oriole kissed her grandmother on the check.

"He's finishing up chores and will be right down."

The vet helped Buttercup to lie down and Summer sat in the straw at her head. Both had gloved up to help if needed. Buttercup's belly rippled with contractions. Her water broke and out poked the head of a gorgeous grey foal. Dr. Peterson called for Chalcey to come in and catch the foal so they would immediately bond.

"It's so tiny, yet so big." Exclaimed Chalcey, as tears fell in amazement.

"Its leg is bent. Summer come here and help Chalcey and me. I gotta reach in there and grab the leg. You and Chalcey hold the foal so it won't come until I get the leg fixed." Dr. Peterson reached inside found the problem leg and bent it so both legs could come forth.

Buttercup gave one more hard push and out came a little colt, as pretty as a picture and wet from head to hoof. Buttercup stood and began licking the colt as Summer and Chris began drying him with towels.

"I was so busy I forgot to take pictures." Chalcey was almost in tears again, but this time from disappointment.

"It's okay, Marlowe and I took pictures of all of it. We have video and digital. Since this colt will be yours, you need to start thinking about a name."

"We should call him Pelo Conoso because he is gray."

"Your Spanish class is paying off."

"Well, looks like I missed everything. How's she doing?" Fred asked as he joined the on lookers.

"Mama and colt are fine. There was a little concern during the entrance into this world, but Chris, Summer, and Chalcey helped get his feet turned around and out he popped." Marlowe told Fred as she put her arm around his waist. "This is almost as good as when Chalcey was born."

"There is something about the birth of any creature that makes you stop and acknowledge the gift you have just been given. Anyone who doesn't give thanks for that gift has to be hard hearted." Oriole looked on as her daughter and Grandmother helped finish cleaning the loafing stall.

"Who's going to stay here tonight with Mama and baby?" Marlowe asked the gathering.

"Why don't you and I?" Fred asked as he pulled Marlowe closer. "Summer and Doc need to clean up and Chalcey will be up all night talking about the miracle of birth."

"Good idea. I'll go make some sandwiches and a thermos of coffee. I'll bring down a couple coats in case it gets cold. Be back in a flash." Marlowe squeezed Fred's arm and leaned over and kissed his check. Fred blushed, but took the opportunity to return the kiss.

Summer and Chris dropped the gloves and assorted items in the garbage can outside the stall.

Chris put his arm around Summer's shoulders. "Good job. Any time you need a part time job as a midwife, you let me know." They stood together watching the mare and colt, as the colt began to nurse.

"When Marlowe comes back let's go up to the house and you grab a shower and I'll feed you." Summer looked into Chris' lined, tired face.

"What I could really use is a stiff belt of Kilbeggan. I never tire of the honor of helping bring these little critters into the world. I'll stop off at the Jeep and get clean clothes and meet you at the house." Chris said as he placed his hand on the back of Summer's neck.

"Mom, can I stay up with Marlowe and Fred?"

"For maybe an hour then I want you to come up to the house. You need to talk about this miracle and you need to get some rest. Anyway Fred and Marlowe will have it under control. When you come up, I'll have the pictures and video loaded so you can look at everything you missed when you were helping. Okay?"

"Mom, you're the best. This is the happiest day of my life."

"Even better than when Travis asked you to the Rodeo dance?"

"That doesn't even come close. Anyway, Travis is just a friend." Now it was Chalcey's turn to blush.

Chapter 14

Phone calls to the foursome produced unusual responses. Fred and Oriole had divided up the list and all of the golfers said the same thing. Phil was supposed to have joined them, but at 10:35 they started without him. He did join them for lunch about 1:30, telling them that he had an important meeting he just couldn't miss.

"That moves Phil to the top of the list. I'll go over to Lisa's office and interview the staff there. Why don't you call the stock broker and interview her? We need to find the name of Lisa's physician and see if he prescribed Ativan for her or for anyone involved. We need to get hold of the accountant too. The other thing we have to do is find out what happened to that check for $25,000." Oriole again was handing out assignments, while Fred stared off into oblivion. "Hey, Lover Boy, let's get this show on the road." She could tell Fred was preoccupied with personal issues about the weekend.

Oriole arrived at the offices of American Mortgage, located off of Prescott Parkway. Betty Cline met her in the reception area and escorted her to the conference room. A large circular table of mahogany sat dead smack in the middle, surrounded by faux leather barrel chairs. Still visibly upset over the news of the violent death of the manager, Betty wrung her hands as she invited Oriole to be seated.

"This is just terrible. I've notified headquarters of course. They said for me to try to handle anything urgent and they'd have someone out in a couple weeks to help figure out what we're doing. I'm only too glad to help out. Lisa was such a fine person and our clients just loved her. We're a small mortgage bank, lots of one-on-one work. There have been cards and flowers and plants coming in droves." Betty dabbed at her eyes. "I do so miss her. We had lunch the day before she died. I can hardly believe she will not be walking through the door smiling and telling a joke."

"What did she do here?"

"Well, it's a small office. Just Lisa, myself, I run the office and do most of the closing documents, and Maryanne who replaced the one who is now in jail. Lisa did everything, lots of marketing, closings, doc prep. Maryanne does phones, typing, and office stuff."

"What about the one that is in jail? Tell me about that."

"Jennifer Tribble. Boy, did she screw up her life. She was supposed to make sure funds were transferred and closings completed. She made up some dummy accounts in dummy names all on her own and then deposited the funds into her own account. Lisa got onto her because she saw these account names of people she had never met here in the office. So she sent off a survey to the address listed, but the survey came back. Lisa got suspicious and dug into the file and discovered it was phony. She called headquarters and they sent out an accountant who verified the dummy files and that Jennifer was skimming. Charges were filed and she's doing time."

"Is she doing jail time or prison time?"

"I don't know. Is there a difference?"

"Yeah there is. Jail is county time, prison is Department of Corrections."

"I heard it was here, over in Camp Verde. So jail time. She gave back most of the money. But she'll never be able to get another job. Funny thing she hated Lisa for turning her in. I mean what else could Lisa do?"

"Do you know if Lisa was on any medications?"

"Hmmm, seems like she had a prescription for something she kept in her desk and another in her purse. She told me once what they were for, but I forgot."

"Do you know of anyone other than Jennifer who may have wished ill of Lisa?"

"No. All the realtors liked her. All the clients liked her. It just makes no sense."

"Maybe before I leave can we get the bottle from her desk? On Wednesday last week, what was her schedule?"

"I pulled her calendar off the computer because I thought you might want it. She was here before me. I got here at 7:55. She had an appointment with a client early in the morning and lunch plans with Mr. Mason, her husband. She marked the calendar in handwriting for a meeting with MS. at 1:30. That is the extent of her day."

"Who is MS.? If you know."

"I do not. It isn't anyone from headquarters. We have no clients with those initials. So I don't know. But she did have the rest of the day marked off with that meeting."

"Did you see her car that morning and did you notice which purse she was using?"

"No, no. Usually she parks her car in the rear parking lot and comes in the back. I usually park right next to her car. It wasn't there that morning. I figured her husband dropped her off, but I didn't ask. So I don't know for sure. Wait! I did notice her purse. She has one of those universal shoulder comfort purses, you know it's ergonomically designed and you can put 50 pounds of junk in there. It is a gray-green. She left a note that she had to go meet a client in the field, 'cause I was on the phone. That's the last I saw of her."

"Anything else you can think of?"

"I just can't believe this has happened. I'm not really thinking clearly, but if I do remember anything else, I will call you."

Fred had contacted Monique Richards and had an immediate appointment with her.

"Ms. Richards, thank you for seeing me. I'm looking for information about Phil Mason."

"What is this about?" Monique tipped her head allowing her long blonde hair to fall forward and threw her shoulders back showing off her store boughts.

"I'm looking for anything you can tell me about Mr. Mason." Fred, immune to feminine wiles, pulled his notebook out and started flipping pages pretending to locate something.

"Well, I know him. He is looking at joining our firm." She flipped her hair off her shoulder preening for Fred.

"When was the last time you saw him?"

"Hmm, let me think. It must have been last week. We had an appointment to discuss his employment." Monique knew better than to give false information, but she didn't want to get too specific.

"Can you check your calendar for the exact date and time?"

"Yes, just a minute." Monique moved to her computer and opened up the calendar. "It would have been last Wednesday. No time is listed. I think I had told him I'd be in all day and to drop by."

"Did he show up?"

"Yes, I don't remember what time. We talked for quite awhile. There was a lot to cover. Is there anything else, officer, I have another appointment." Monique stood to dismiss the imposition, smoothed her hands down over her hips, still preening.

"Thank you very much for your time. If you think of anything else, will you call me?"

"Certainly. It was a pleasure to meet you." Monique had turned from Fred and looked intently at her computer. She had dismissed Fred as if he was a lowly creature.

Chapter 15

Fred met up with Oriole at the office to compare notes.

"Ms. Richards is a piece of work. Very circumspect in her information. Let's take the information from Phil, the ME and Richards and make a time line. What did you find out?"

"Lisa had her purse that morning. Betty didn't see her car. No idea where the check is."

"That check. Let's see if any of the banks have a separate account for Mason, see if that check found its way into his pocket. I'll write up a subpoena and search warrant."

Phil left the condo and searched for a pay phone. He wanted one that was not obvious, yet remote. The Safeway offered the first opportunity. He circled the parking lot watching customers coming and going and looking for tell tale signs of someone following him. He parked, went into the store and bought a pack of cigarettes. Slowly strolling outside, he meandered over to the pay phones. He leaned up against the closest and began un-wrapping the pack. Seeing nothing suspicious, he placed a call to Monique's cell phone.

"Let's get together. I'll park my car on the street and you pull into the garage. Then close it, before coming into the house." Phil started before she had a chance to speak."

"There is a chance it wouldn't be me answering, you idiot." Venom dripped from her crimson mouth.

"Uhh, I didn't think anyone else ever touched your phone." Clearly, Phil was shaken by her response.

"You have to be more careful." Her voice softened. "I'll be over in 20 minutes." Monique hung up, grabbed her purse and briefcase and left by the back entrance.

Frances took care of some urgent matters and closed her office. She was bone weary. It was just impossible to get through the day. She decided what she needed was a hot soak and a glass of wine. As she headed home, she let her thoughts drift to Lisa and their last meeting.

Driving into the condo lot, she glanced over at Lisa's condo. A BMW had just pulled into the garage. A young, attractive blonde with legs forever stepped out and walked over to the back wall, hit the garage door closer and opened the door to the courtyard. As the garage door descended, Frances tried to process what she had just seen.

Monique opened the door to the kitchen. "That nosy friend of Lisa's just drove by. I think she saw me. I won't stay long. It's too dangerous. What's so urgent?"

"I just wanted to see you, to hold you for a minute. I'm sorry about our last phone call. I'm just stressed out."

"Listen. We're okay. Just don't do or say anything stupid. I told them I couldn't remember the time you arrived at the office on Wednesday. So keep to that story. What else has happened?"

"They came with a search warrant and took a bunch of files. That's it."

Monique moved closer, put her arms around Phil and kissed him gently. "It's going to be all right. Just don't lose your head. I gotta go. I don't want that bitch to cause us trouble. Have you talked to her?"

"What bitch, who?"

"Lisa's friend who lives down the way."

"You mean Frances? No she hasn't been by. But I'm sure she will. They were real close. If Frances wasn't here, Lisa was over there. They were joined at the hip. She's just an old lady. She's harmless."

"Be careful around her okay. I'll talk to you later. Did you get that phone I told you to get?"

"Not yet. I haven't had time. I'll get it later."

Monique left the kitchen, peeked around the courtyard fence to see if anyone was watching, punched the garage door opener, sped to her car and left rapidly.

Frances ran up the stairs into the guest bedroom which looked out over the parking lot. She carefully pulled back the drapes just enough to peek out and keep watch on Lisa's condo. She didn't have long to wait. The garage door opened and the BMW swiftly left. Frances couldn't see the license plate, but made mental note of the color of the car and the woman driving.

Frances puzzled over the surreptitious manner the woman used in coming and going. Maybe it was time to take Phil a casserole. Frances left the guestroom, trucked downstairs, forgetting about the hot soak, and began putting together a tuna casserole.

Frances wrapped the hot casserole in a cozy, put it in a box, left her condo and walked over to Lisa's. In her mind, it would always be Lisa's condo, never Phil's.

"Hi, Phil. I just wanted to drop off this casserole. I imagine it's been a bit chaotic for you. I bet you haven't eaten anything for days. Have any of the neighbors brought anything by? Did that young lady drop off something for you?" Frances stood in the doorway looking around trying not to be obvious. She saw no casseroles or bags of food in the kitchen.

"Frances, how nice. I was just leaving. I've got an appointment. That young lady is my new boss and she was just checking to see how I was doing. Thank you for the casserole. I'll get the dish back tomorrow." Phil was all but pushing her out the door as he grabbed his keys and cell phone.

"Well, I saw your car on the street and her car in the garage. I thought it might be Lisa's daughter come to visit."

"It is sweet of you to take notice. Gerri and Bobby are coming in this next week sometime. They aren't sure when. Now I really have to go."

"Before you leave, I feel I should let you know Lisa gave me some documents for safe keeping." Frances looked up at Phil to gauge his reaction, with an inward smile.

"What kind of documents?" On the alert now, Phil stopped his forward progress.

"Why, I don't know. I just put them in a safe place for whenever she wanted them. I would never look at someone else's mail." Frances enjoyed the panic that rose on Phil's face. She smiled mischievously and turned to leave.

"Wait, Frances, maybe I should take those papers. They might be important. I should probably turn them over to the attorney. Why don't I go back to your place and you get them for me." Phil tried his charm on her.

"Oh, it's all right. I'll just hang on to them until Ms. Sharpe or the police ask for them. No need to trouble yourself. You better get on with your appointment." Frances opened the gate and let herself out.

She all but ran home, slammed the door and ran upstairs to the guest bedroom. She pulled aside the drapes and stood back in the shadows watching for Phil's departure completely pleased with her actions.

Even though the floor plan was identical to every other one in the complex, Frances' condo exuded her personal preferences. The western motif started in the entry and carried throughout the house. Warm desert colors covered the walls, floors, and ceilings. Trujillo portraits hung in the hallway. A huge longhorn cowhide invited visitors to the living room. Over the mantel, hung her grandfather's original Remington that once a month she took down to polish and clean. On top of the mantel, stood three signed Navajo bowls. Next to the front door on the wall rested Frances' late husband's' sweat stained cowboy hat. Right next to the hat, a coiled up riata waited for the wrangler who would never return. The only incongruous item in her house was the dog bed sitting next to the Arcadia doors. A doggy door allowed her little Jack Russell to come and go into her postage stamp sized, completely enclosed back yard. Jackie took her job seriously as protector and watchdog, scaring away stray cats, arguing with blue birds, alerting to strangers in the gully behind the condo. Frances' companion since her husband's death, Jackie ran the place, and for Frances it was a welcome relief to know that Jackie would let her know if someone opened the courtyard gate or walked up the sidewalk.

Having accomplished what she set out to do, which was put Phil off, Frances took her hot soak with a glass of wine. It had been perversely fun watching his face knowing he was concerned about the documents. Finishing her bath, she dressed and left her condo and headed out for an appointment.

Chapter 16

Phil left the condo for town to get his new throw-away cell phone. He avoided Wal Mart and the busy phone stores and selected a Mailbox that sold prepaid phones. Using cash, he made his purchase, returned home and charged it. While the battery was coming up, he placed a call to Monique.

He waited for her answer before beginning, "I bought a prepaid. Here's the new number. I'll have it on all the time. Something weird happened after you left. That nosy bitch brought over a casserole and let drop that Lisa had given her documents to hang onto. She won't give them to me. I need to know what's in those papers."

"What kind of papers?" Monique was playing with her hair while she talked.

"That's the problem. I don't know what kind of papers."

"Did Lisa have a key to Frances' condo? I'll bet she did if they were such good friends. Look around see if you can find a key. Then wait until she's gone and go over there and see if you can find the papers. But, listen, you have to be real careful not to disturb anything. Maybe I should do it. Women are better at searching than men."

"I know how to toss a place and never leave a clue. I don't need your help." Phil snipped at his paramour.

"Call me back tomorrow and let me know what you find. Gotta go. Bye." She was already moving into her next project and didn't want to take time to deal with Phil at that moment.

Phil looked in the pantry closet where all the keys were hung. There were keys of every kind and size-car, house, office, storage shed, and keys that would never see a lock again. Most of them had labels. The few that didn't were the ones he was interested in. Lisa labeled everything important or that might get confused with something else. The keys that were obvious-the Toyota, the Mercedes-didn't need a label. The same was true for Frances' condo, if it existed, because he did not find a label for Frances' place. Three keys were without labels that could match up to the condo. Phil grabbed them and stuck them in his jacket pocket along with a flashlight to use in order to avoid turning on lights in the condo. He dumped the tuna casserole in the garbage, washed out the pan, dried it with a tea-towel and put it in a paper bag. He grabbed a bag of garbage to camouflage his actual intent.

Phil locked his door, walked down the sidewalk headed to the dumpster, watching all the condos around him to ascertain who was home and who wasn't. Late afternoon, most people were at work. He had seen Frances leave dressed for work and figured he had at least two hours.

Phil dumped his bag of garbage and sauntered over to Frances' sidewalk. He bent down to tie his shoe in order to take a good look around for any nosey nells. Seeing none, he proceeded up the walk to the front door. He pulled out all three keys, placing two in his left hand, he tried the first. No luck. He put that key in his pocket and tried the next. Again, it didn't work. He put that one in his pocket and tried the third. It did not turn the lock. Frustration loomed. Almost as an afterthought, he pulled out the key ring Lisa usually carried that he had pulled off the pantry door, selected a key identical to his own front door, inserted it into the lock, held his breath and turned. The door opened inward. He heard Jackie barking out in the garden. He rushed over to the doggy door and slid the cover in place.

Phil began in the office and looked for anything with Lisa's distinctive handwriting. He pulled open drawers, looked in file cabinets, searched the desk top--nothing. He moved into the downstairs bedroom. The only object that might hold papers was the dresser sitting against the far wall. Four drawers held nothing but spare linens.

The kitchen presented nothing more than the bedroom. Phil climbed the stairs. Systematically, he opened the hall linen closet, the dressers in each bedroom, the bathroom drawers, and cupboards-nothing. He stopped in the middle of the master bedroom and slowly turned in circles looking for a hiding place. The jewelry box contained nothing but jewelry as he pulled everything out and then put it all back. The night stand to the left of the bed held reading material and the right one held a .45 Long Colt. But no papers in Lisa's hand writing.

Going downstairs to the kitchen door, he slipped into the garage. File cabinets covered one wall. All of the steel cabinets were locked. Boxes were stacked on the opposite wall labeled with Christmas decorations, china, summer clothes, and all were taped shut. He re-entered the kitchen, crossed to the pantry and looked for anything that might lead him in the right direction. Nothing caught his eye. He walked down the hall back to the office for one more quick look. The desk had the normal clutter, listings, outgoing mail, a stack of junk mail, business cards, and last year's taxes. He moved the stacks and thumbed through the papers hoping to find the documents Frances mentioned. Nothing, nothing, nothing.

Phil returned to the front door, examining the china cabinet on his way out. As he did so, he bumped a tiny silver pitcher knocking it over. In his haste, he did not see it fall on its side. He returned home disappointed and exasperated.

Chapter 17

Frances returned home. Immediately, she saw that Jackie was locked outside. Someone had been in the house since she left. She quietly went to the gun safe and pulled her .38. Grateful for the Second Amendment, she went through all the downstairs rooms and found nothing. She silently moved up the stairs and checked each room. Finding nothing, she went back down to the main level to let Jackie in. Passing the dining room, she saw the tiny silver pitcher on its side in the china cabinet.

Picking up her cell phone, she dialed Summer's house. "Summer, its Frances. I need to get a hold of Oriole. Is she around or can you give me her cell number?" Her voice carried the concern she was experiencing.

"Hang on Frances. Oriole is here. Just a minute."

"Oriole. Telephone, it's Frances."

"Hi, Frances. What's going on?"

"Oriole, someone has been in my house. I got home and Jackie was locked out. I never lock her doggy door. And that little silver pitcher that Summer gave me was knocked over. I checked the house and no one is in it. But can you come over. I'm a little worried."

"Frances, Fred is still in town. I'll call him. He can be there in five minutes. You stay on this line, don't hang up. I'll call Fred on my cell phone and get him over there. Don't hang up, okay?" Oriole was reaching for her purse to get her cell phone as she spoke.

"Fred. Frances called. Someone has been inside her house. Can you run over there and check it out?"

"Sure thing. Is she inside or out? Is the house clear?"

"Inside. And the house is clear. I'll tell her not to shoot you." Oriole turned back to the house phone and relayed to Frances instructions on what to do and definitely not to shoot Fred.

Fred arrived at Frances' condo, parked his squad car in the lot, and walked rapidly up to Frances' door. "Frances, are you okay?"

"I'm pissed. Someone has been inside my home. No, I'm not okay. Nothing appears stolen or broken. But, Jackie's door was shut, so whoever was here didn't want Jackie to bother him or her. And I can tell my cupboards and file cabinets have been searched. I'm betting it was that louse Phil Mason."

"Let me run through the house and see. I know you already did it, but just to be on the safe side."

Fred repeated Frances' steps through the downstairs and then upstairs. He saw footprint impressions in the closet carpet larger than Frances'. He laid a ruler down and went back to the car to get the camera.

"What did you find upstairs?"

"I saw some footprints that look like a man's. I'm going to take a bunch of photos just to have. You wait right here." Fred traipsed back upstairs to get his photos.

He joined Frances in the dining room. She had poured three fingers of Gentleman Jack in a tumbler and sipped the contents. "Are they big feet?"

"Well, it certainly isn't your tiny slipper I'm looking for, Cinderella. Why do you think someone was searching your house?"

"If it was Phil, it's because I laid a trap for him. I told him I had documents from Lisa. He did everything he could to get them from me. He was so obvious. Anyway, he wanted to know what the documents were, and why she gave them to me." Frances knocked back a good slug of Jack.

"Tell me about the papers." Fred's antenna went up.

"A few weeks before Lisa died she gave me two envelopes to keep. I carry them in my purse. If it was the crazy Phil looking for them, he was too stupid to even think about me keeping them safe from him. Anyway, I figured I'd give them to Marlowe since she is, I mean was, Lisa's attorney. More than likely the papers came from Marlowe to begin with. I haven't opened them because I'm not that type. But I gotta tell you I'm curious as hell about why Phil would risk a break in to find them." She sipped slowly at the tumbler.

"Would you feel comfortable giving me a look see at them?"

"Well, I guess so. I can't see why not. Didn't you get a search warrant?"

"Yeah, but it wouldn't cover something you have. I can give you a receipt for the papers. I'll log them into evidence. What say we open them and take a peek." Fred wanted desperately to see what the papers contained.

"Let me get my purse." Frances rose from her chair and moved to the entry way where she always left her purse. "Here they are."

"Hmmm, looks like thick papers, more than a couple sheets. Did Lisa let you know what was in there? Even any hints."

"No. She just asked me to hold on to them. She said she didn't want them in the safety deposit box or at the condo. So I figured they had to be something to do with Phil that she didn't want him to know about."

"Let's open this bigger one." Fred carefully slid his knife along the sealed edge, revealing legal documents of about 10 pages. "Looks like a will, power of attorney, dated back in May. Seems she didn't want him to get anything. But I think this is the same will we got from Marlowe. Let's look at the other envelope." Fred laid the will and power of attorney down on the dining room table and slit the flap on the second letter.

"Whoa. This is a notarized letter 'To Whom It May Concern'. Lisa signed it. It states that she thinks Phil has been embezzling money from her for at least a year. Maybe to the tune of $100 grand. She states that she is getting ready to divorce him and turn all the evidence over to the police. She also thought he had some help in stealing from her. Frances, I'm going to take these and make copies so we can preserve the originals. Will you be okay here by yourself? Will you promise not to cross paths with Phil 'til I've had a chance to do some research on this? Maybe you should get a locksmith out here to change the locks." Fred was more than a little concerned about the gun toting granny taking the law into her own hands.

"I won't confront him. I'll let you take care of that. But, if he ever tries to come in here again, I'll shoot him where he stands."

Fred gathered up the papers, checked the locks on all the doors for security and proceeded to his car. He pulled out his cell phone and placed a call to Oriole bringing her up to date on the break in and the subsequent find.

"I'm on my way home, well back to the ranch. I'll log this stuff into evidence, make a copy to bring with me and we'll take a look at it. This may be the break we're waiting for. What's for supper? Do we need anything from the store?" Fred's comfort with the living arrangements shown through with his Freudian slip.

"What difference does it make what's for supper? You'll eat whatever is put in front of you, except catfish. And no, I stopped at the store on my way home. See you in awhile. Bye." Oriole couldn't help teasing Fred. He made it so easy.

Chalcey had been watching and listening to the exchanges between Fred and her Mom. "If Fred becomes a permanent member of our family, will I call him Uncle Fred or Grandpa?"

"What are you talking about, honey?" Oriole looked quizzically at her redheaded teen.

"Well, he could become permanent two ways, one would be to just move here forever, and the other would be if he and Marlowe got married. So what would I call him?" Chalcey put plates and silverware on the large dining room table as she talked.

"You're asking a good question. One I don't have an answer to right now. Let's wait and see. Man that would be something. I'd have to call him Dad. I can't quite get there just yet. Finish the table and we'll see how Summer is doing with the new colt."

Chapter 18

"This is Dispatch. How can I help you?" The dispatch operator took a call.

"This is Shuttle One out on Whipple. There's a car that's been in our lot for about two weeks. See every Monday we do an inventory, because sometimes people dump cars here. This car has shown up each Monday now and we can't tie it to any of our riders. I think someone should come out and look it over. You want the VIN and license?" Norman Bailey looked out the office window at the offending vehicle, hoping the police would take this car off his hands.

"Sir, I'll have someone follow up on this as soon as possible. Will you be there for the next hour?"

"Yeah, I'll wait."

Dispatch ran the license plate number and discovered it was listed on a BOLO for Lisa Wood's car. She immediately called Fred's cell phone to alert him.

"Thanks, Kathy. I'll head over to Whipple and take a look. Will you alert the crime technicians to pack up and come over as soon as they can?" Fred started in motion the assistance he would need.

"Hey, Fred. Looks like you found your missing car." Bob, from crime tech, greeted the detective as he unloaded his van.

"Photos, prints, and inventory, please. Let me know what you find. I'm looking for a purse and papers." Fred handed out assignments.

"Well, Fred, honey, if you lost your purse, we can always go get you a new one. Perhaps a black patent leather shoulder bag?" Bob chuckled at his own joke.

"You pickle. Just get started. It's going to be a hot one. I'll call dispatch for a tow truck." Fred shook his head at the warped sense of humor Bob displayed.

An hour passed as the technician worked methodically on the vehicle. "Fred, the tank is sitting on empty. Prints all over. Do we have the owner's to eliminate? I bagged and tagged everything inside. There was a purse, but I don't think it's yours." Bob continued razing the detective.

"Did you inventory the purse?"

"It's hers. Wallet, keys, makeup, candy bar, hand lotion, and surprise, surprise, a .25 Smith and Wesson." Bob read from the inventory.

"Okay, let's get the car to impound and do a more thorough search." Fred was ready to find answers to some of his concerns.

"Are you saying my search was NOT thorough, Fred?" Bob registered hurt at the accusation.

"That's not at all what I'm saying. We just need to get the vacuum and spray, although the spray probably won't reveal anything. Come on, Bob, don't give me a hard time." The detective was feeling anxious and a bit short-tempered.

The tow truck left the parking lot with Lisa Wood's car and Fred called Oriole to ask her to meet him at the impound.

"We have the purse, the car, all we're missing is the check. Nowhere in the car?" Oriole asked Fred.

"Nope. Still missing. I called the bank to see if it had been cashed. They don't have any record of it clearing. They said it is good for 90 days. Things are coming together. We sure need a break on who might have done this to Lisa." Fred recounted his most recent information.

Chapter 19

Frances made an appointment for early afternoon with Rod to go out to Crismon to list the ranch. Her plan was to drop by Bear Ranch and pick up Summer and they would go through Joyce's things and box them up. And then she would write up the listing. Ever efficient, she was killing two birds with one trip.

"Summer, those boxes may not be enough. Do you know if Rod has anymore? While you sort through Joyce's clothes, I'll talk to Rod and get the paperwork done on the ranch. The market is so depressed, I'm not sure how well we'll do for him. What's he going to do with the goats and horses?"

"Last thing he said was that if someone wanted a package deal-all the critters-he'd be willing to make a deal. But, I know some of the 4-H kids are interested in the goats. They are all ribbon winners. If Rod doesn't have more boxes, I'll just fold stuff and stack it in the trunk. I was thinking a lot of Joyce's business clothes could go to Stepping Stones for the shelter. Then women would have something to wear for interviews. What do you think about splitting half for Stepping Stones and half for WNNRS?"

"Those were two of her favorites. Yeah, that'll work. You know I had a buyer a few months back who was looking to move here from California. I think I'll call and see what he's doing. You never know."

Frances drove up the driveway and parked at the rear of the house. Rod came out to greet the friends of his late wife and help unload the boxes. "Think you girls have enough boxes?" Rod smiled at them.

"We were just talking about that. Got any more out in the barn?" Frances asked.

"We'll scare up something, even if it's wrong." Rod responded.

Summer left Rod and Frances at the dining room table with Frances' laptop to do the listing and went to the bedroom Joyce had shared with her husband for over 30 years. Tears came to her eyes as she surveyed Joyce's walk in closet of beautiful and serviceable clothes. She began three stacks: one for fancy stuff, one for casual, and one for work stuff. By the time Summer had emptied the closet, the bed groaned under the weight of the stacks.

She began folding and boxing the best dresses and suits, labeling the box for Stepping Stones and WNNRS. The rest would go to Goodwill. As she closed the last box, she sat on the bed and let the tears flow in her final goodbye to Joyce.

"Frances, I know we're not going to get what we could have last year. I'm just ready to let it go to good people who will take care of it like we did. List it for the tax assessment amount and see if we can do a fast turnaround." Rod signed the listing and handed the fountain pen back to Frances.

"I understand, Rod, but I have to look out for your best interests too. Let me run some comparables in the area and make a few phone calls before we settle on the amount. Okay?" Frances was concerned Rod might not be using the best judgment.

"You're the boss. I'll listen to what you suggest. But, if some nice kids come along who want a small ranch and are a little short on money, I'll work with them. Understood?" Rod might have been in mourning, but he held to the principles that had been his and Joyce's for a lifetime together.

Summer finished lugging the boxes down to the car and walked out to the barn. For the 30 years Bear Ranch and Crimson shared a common fence, the owners had shared successes and disappointments, helping in times of distress and emergency. Summer said a blessing on the ranch as she moved through the barn and outbuildings, asking for Spirit to find the right buyers for Crimson.

As she returned to the ranch house, Frances came down the steps to the car. "Ready, Summer? Anything we need to finish up?"

"Boxes are loaded. I'll really miss this place. It's too bad Rod wants to move to Texas to be close to his son and daughter-in-law and that new baby. I understand Crimson has so many memories for him. It does for me too, and for Chalcey. Whenever we were all busy, Chalcey would come here after school and chow down on Macadamia cookies and fresh goat milk. We will all miss the times. I guess that's what life is about, changes, growth, experiences, and most of all memories. Come on Frances, get me out of here before I become maudlin." Summer put her arm around Frances' shoulder and they walked to the SUV.

"Oriole, let's go over to the jail and interview Jennifer Tribble." Fred wanted to tie up one more loose end in the investigation.

They took the cruiser down 89 to 69 and then to 169 and up I-17 to the Camp Verde Justice Center. A few years before the Prescott Jail had closed in an effort to save the county money. Hindsight being 20/20, of course it didn't work. Transportation costs over road any savings in closing the jail. All police jurisdictions had to transport prisoners, costing officer time and leaving sectors uncovered. Families had to drive to the Verde to see their incarcerated loved ones. Attorneys and probation officers had to make special appointments to see clients. All-in-all the county suffered from the closure of the Prescott jail, financially and emotionally.

"Hey, Fred, Oriole, we don't see much of you anymore. What can I do to help you?" Sergeant Wilkes asked the detectives as they appeared at the glass enclosure.

"Sarge, good to see you. Been a long time. This glass is new. Is it to keep us out or you in?" Fred teased the shift sergeant.

"I'm not sure. I keep saying it is to protect us. But after a long day of unhappy visitors, it just might be to protect them from me. Who are you here to see?"

"You have an inmate doing county time. Her name is Jennifer Tribble. Can we see her in an interview booth?"

"Let me look her up." The sergeant consulted a daily printout of inmates. "Looks like she is on work release. She'll be back by 6:30."

"Work release? I heard she was doing time. How can she get work release?" Oriole could not hide her disappointment.

"A good defense attorney got her released to go to a job and a bleeding heart judge signed off. Jail time doesn't mean jail anymore." Clearly the sergeant concurred with the detectives' opinion about jail time.

"Does it say where she is working?" Fred asked.

"Sure. Tell me why you need to know?" Sgt Wilkes was all business.

"She's a lead in a case." Fred responded.

"Job is downtown Prescott. Let me look it up. Here it is. She works days at the Prescott Brewing Company."

Oriole and Fred returned to the SUV. Fred opened the windows and started the air conditioner to cool off the interior. "It'll be lunch time when we get back. Let's have lunch at the PBC and see our girl." Fred was always interested in looking after his stomach.

The 45 minute drive back to Prescott passed with no events. Highway 169 was the scene of numerous fatalities. The most horrendous was the two car crash that had taken the lives of three detention officers. Everyone familiar with 169's history took extra heed.

The detectives parked on Gurley in front of the PBC and went in. Prescott Brewing Company, locally known as PBC, features a bar and dining room, but the real draw is sitting in the atrium of the old building watching what goes on in the three stories of businesses.

"Good afternoon. How many?" The teeny bopper hostess greeted the detectives.

"Two. And is Jennifer working today?"

"Yes. She is assigned to the atrium. Would you like to be seated there?" Teeny asked.

"Yes. Thank you." Fred followed Oriole who followed Teeny to a table in the corner.

"Here are your menus and Jennifer will be your server." Teeny hurried back to her station as hostess.

"How do we know which Jennifer we are getting?" Oriole posited.

"I have a picture. See. Jennifer's mug shot." Fred opened his file folder and showed the picture to his partner.

"Aren't you smart?"

"Hello. May I start you with something to drink?" The owner of the mug shot asked.

"We'll both have iced tea." Fred responded.

After Mug Shot Jennifer left. "Now listen. Since when do you know my mind. I might have wanted a diet soda."

"First of all, you never drink soda. Second of all, you only drink iced tea. So get over it. I know you like the back of my hand."

Mug Shot Jennifer brought the drinks. "Would you like to hear about our specials?"

"No thanks. I'm having the chili bowl." Fred answered and started to order for Oriole, who broke in before he could say another word.

"And for me, I'll have the veggie burger with a side salad."

Jennifer wrote down their orders and left.

"I'm going to lay her mug shot on the table and see what she does when she comes back." Fred placed the picture on the table in front of him.

Jennifer returned 15 minutes later with their lunch orders. As she placed Fred's chili bowl in front of him, she saw the mug shot and went white. She looked from Fred to Oriole and back to Fred. She then set Oriole's burger down. "Ah, can I get you anything else?"

"Jennifer, my name is Detective Fred O'Neil, this is Detective Oriole Wolfe. Do you have a minute. We need to ask you a couple questions?"

"Where did you get that picture? What do you want with me? I'm doing everything I'm supposed to, working, calling in, dropping UA's." It was obvious Jennifer was shaken by the presence of the two detectives.

"I understand you used to work for American Mortgage and got into some trouble. How did you feel about your boss, Lisa Wood?" Never one to waste time or energy, Fred jumped right in with questions.

"Lisa? She just died. It was the talk a week or so back. Everyone had an opinion. She was okay. She did what she had to do. You know, things just got out of control. I owed money to everyone. I made some really bad choices, and I took responsibility. Lisa told me she couldn't hire me back, company policy. I understand that. I mean there wasn't any hard feelings if that's what you think. Wait a minute, are you thinking I had anything to do with her death? Get out o' here. No way. Uhn, uhn." Mug shot Jenny finally wound down.

"Jennifer, where were you on the day she died" Oriole asked without providing the exact day.

"Well, I was at work. I remember 'cause we were short handed." Expertly, Jennifer provided an alibi.

"Would it be okay if we checked with your supervisor?" Fred inquired.

"Why do you need to do that? Martha will get upset and I might get fired. Do you have any idea how hard it is to get a job with a record?" Pity poor me, Mug Shot Jenny whined.

"Well, how about you get your time card for the day in question and give us a copy? Then we don't have to bother the boss."

"I don't have a copy. It goes to corporate for payroll. Look I told you I was working. Isn't that good enough?" Jenny started to tear up.

"We have to verify everyone's whereabouts. If you don't have a time sheet, we'll have to get it from corporate." Oriole tried to explain without seeming insensitive.

"Oh, just go ahead, get me fired. In fact, I might as well just quit right now rather than wait for the inevitable. Thanks for ruining my life." Mug Shot Jenny turned and stomped off to the kitchen.

Two minutes later, the manager appeared at the table. "Was there a problem folks?" Martha asked.

"Detective Wolfe, I'm Detective O'Neil. We were asking some questions on a homicide."

"A homicide? But what did you say to Jenny. She just quit right in the middle of the shift. I can't have that." Clearly, Martha was beside herself, having been left a server short.

"Was Jenny working on June 7?" Fred asked looking at his pocket notebook.

"Well, how would I know? It was days ago. I can't tell what I was doing on June 7, let alone my servers."

"Can you go look at your records and let us know?" Oriole requested.

"Well, it'll take a few minutes. Thanks to you, I am a server short and have to fill in." Martha flounced back to the office.

"You sure know how to win friends and influence people, Fred."

"It isn't my fault people take me wrong. I didn't mean to piss 'em off. What a cluster fuck." Fred's chagrin amused Oriole.

"From now on maybe I should do the talking."

As Fred finished the last bite of chili, Martha returned with a time sheet in her hand and seemed much more composed. "How was everything? Can I get you any dessert? Oh, here is a copy of the time sheet. I'll be your cashier," as she handed Fred the time sheet and the ticket.

"Here is my credit card. Thank you, nothing further." Fred reached across the table to trade the credit card for the time sheet.

Martha scurried off to process the ticket. "Lookee here." Fred exclaimed. "June 7, she called in sick. No wonder she didn't want to give us the copy of her time sheet. Mug Shot Jenny is in hot water. Let's call the jail work release supervisor and alert him. Then let's see if she owns her own car and do a BOLO." Fred was ecstatic. They left the restaurant and returned to the office.

"Hey, Snoopy, this is my weekend off. You're on call. I was thinking about asking Marlowe if she wanted to do something. Whadda you think?"

"Now, as your counselor, I would say that's an excellent idea. As your partner, I would say, Damn, I have to work. But as your potential daughter, I say go for it,Daddy." Oriole laughed long and hard.

"Listen, Smarty Pants. I'm trying to do the right thing here. This is all new to me. I need guidance. I don't want to screw it up. Quit teasing me, you know I'm sensitive." The ever tough cowboy blushed.

"Yes, we all know how sensitive you are. Just look at what you did to those two at the PBC. I say ask Marlowe tonight at dinner. See what her schedule is. I know she was talking about a conference she had on Special Education Issues, but I can't remember when it is."

They finished the day following up on Mug Shot Jenny. Her car was nowhere to be found and she did not turn up at work release. The jail had contacted the County Attorney's Office and asked for a warrant to be issued. Oriole and Fred searched through programs looking for the next of kin and found a mother listed in Chino Valley. They decided to stop by unannounced before returning to the ranch.

They arrived at the broken down trailer in the roughest part of Chino Valley. The driveway led to nowhere. You can't get there from here. The fence completely encircled the lot, without a gate in sight. They backed down the driveway and went down an alley that stopped at the back of the place. The alley provided an entrance to the garbage strewn lot through a tiny gate. Fred opened the gate and called out to the trailer. In Chino, as with many places in Yavapai County, you just did not walk up to a residence without hailing the owner first, unless you wanted to get shot.

"Mrs. Hattie. Sheriff's Office. Can we talk with you for a minute?"

"What the hell you want? I'm an old lady. Leave me alone." A voice from within the rickety old trailer squawked as the door opened and the largest, most unattractive woman Fred had ever laid eyes on walked out onto the porch. The muumuu she wore must have come from Flint Tent and Awning. Stains on the front had to come from yesterday and the day before. Her gray hair stood out from her head in uneven sections reminiscent of an egg beater having its way with her head. Her feet were clad in bunny rabbit slippers, once pink, now a dirty shade of brown. The arms that stuck out of the sleeves of the muumuu shook like whipped cream on top of a slab of Jell-o as she closed the screen door behind her. She was so ugly; she would have made a freight train take a dirt road.

"Mrs. Hattie, I'm Fred O'Neil, this is Detective Wolfe. Do you know where your daughter is?"

"Which one? I got three." Fred watched her chins wobble up and down with her dialog.

"We're looking for Jennifer Tribble." Oriole said.

"She's working and doing time in county. Whadda ya want her for? She's already paid for her crime. It's just not right you harassing a poor innocent kid like her." The chins bounced in time with the extra large boobs as she became more indignant.

"She quit her job and did not show up at the jail. We're trying to track down anyone that might know where she would go." Oriole's eyes were trying to adjust to the bouncing body parts.

"Well, it's probably your fault she didn't show up, what with you harassing her and all." Spittle dropped onto her over sized bosom.

"Who are some of her friends? Where does she hang out when she isn't in jail?" Fred looked over Mrs. Hattie's right shoulder so he wouldn't have to watch the gelatinous movement of her enormous body.

"It's none of your business. Now get the hell out of here and leave me alone or I'll sic my dog on you." She reached back, opened the screen door and the scroungiest dog Fred had ever seen poked his head out the door and growled deep in his chest. The dog's shoulders reached the tub of lard's waist.

Fred put his hand on his service weapon in preparation. This wasn't the first time he had encountered an unfriendly animal. The last time it was a pit bull and he shot it through the chest mid jump. Oriole took two steps to the left in order to have a better line of fire should it become necessary. She didn't want to shoot the old lady if it could be prevented.

"Ma'am. Put your dog back in the house and shut the door. Now! Or I shoot." Fred's voice carried authority and Mrs. Hattie put her dog back inside.

"Don't shoot my dog. He's back in the house. Now get out of here and leave me alone."

"We'll get a warrant and be back." Oriole backed out of the gate to the waiting SUV while she covered Fred's back.

Inside the car, both detectives took a deep breath. They were used to covering each other in tense situations, but the adrenaline still ran high in circumstances like this.

"Boy, someone beat her with an ugly stick. So Mama wasn't too cooperative. Wonder why? Tomorrow let's talk to the probation officer and see if we can find anything more about Mug Shot Jenny. Let's cut over to Williamson Valley Road off of Outer Loop and head on home." They left Chino Valley for the ranch.

Chapter 20

Summer and Chalcey were working on supper when Fred and Oriole arrived. Chalcey had marinated steaks, fired up the barbeque, and was guarding the dinner with a watchful eye. Summer had pulled tomatoes, squash, lettuce and sweet peas from the garden. Marlowe set the table with the everyday dishes and opened a bottle of Pro-mis-cuous, a combination wine of Chardonnay, Gewurztraminer and Chenin Blanc. Fred and Oriole locked up their service pieces, washed up, and joined the family in the oversized country kitchen.

"Uncle Fred, I did the steaks all by myself, well, Summer helped a little just to make sure I didn't goof. I fixed the sauce and started the barbeque, and watched just like you told me. I might now be number one. Aren't you glad you taught me how?" Chalcey's enthusiasm bubbled over.

"Well, aren't you something? Number one is a big responsibility. How about we share number one? Then I still have a job. I don't want to work my way out of the only job I really enjoy." Fred gave Chalcey a hug.

"Come and get it before I throw it out." Summer called from the range.

They all sat down at the table. Food was passed. Murmurs of appreciation were expressed as the steaks were sampled.

"Larapin, Chalcey. You did good." Fred expressed his appreciation for Chalcey's hard work.

"Thanks, Uncle Fred. Maybe this weekend you can teach me some more recipes."

"Well, I have this weekend off for the first time forever. I was thinking maybe Marlowe and I could do something. I haven't even had a chance to talk about it."

Marlowe looked up from her dinner plate. "What did you have in mind, Slick?"

Fred blushed, "ah, ah, I don't rightly know. Got any ideas?"

"Since I'm on call and Fred isn't, I think the two of you should go away somewhere and enjoy each other's company without all of us hanging around." Oriole gave a crooked smile to her mother.

"Does that mean I can't go with them?" Chalcey almost whined.

"We'll do something special this weekend. Let's let the old folks have their fun." Chalcey's mom put a kibosh on the idea of Chalcey intruding.

"Why don't we go up to the cabin? Grandpa's cabin is a perfect weekend getaway. It has everything we would need, except meat and beer. The shelves are stocked with canned vegetables, coffee, tea, spices and anything else you can think of. We could trailer Lady and Smokey and take them up to the BLM land. That would give us a chance to ride the fence line and check on any breaks. It would also give us a chance to check the roof for leaks and the cabin for unwanted critters. I don't have anything this Friday. We could leave early if you can get off." Marlowe's ability to organize and plan, showed through.

"Wow, okay. Let's do it. After dinner I'll check the horse trailer, air up the tires, check the brakes, make sure the saddles are in place. Tomorrow night I'll get provisions organized and we can leave early Friday morning." Fred joined in the planning.

"Don't you worry about the provisions, Fred, Chalcey and I'll pack the food and then you'll have a double surprise: what to eat and how to fix it." Summer offered.

Oriole decided she needed to get in the act too, "Okay, I'll help Fred pack the horse trailer and get the lariats and tack ready."

The family continued through dinner and discussed the upcoming weekend trip. Fred suggested taking fence mending tools and traps, as well as stuff for mending the roof. Chalcey made suggestions about what food should be taken: cake, pie, cookies, chips and salsa--to the amusement of the adults.

The cabin sat on the original homestead of Summer's Grandfather's ranch north of Seligman. It was more a log house than a cabin, 1200 square feet, two bedrooms and a loft, kitchen dining combo, even indoor plumbing that had been added by Summer and her first husband. Old Ty had sold off the main part of the ranch over many years, but hung onto the homestead 40 acres and cabin and deeded it to his progeny on the proviso it would never leave the family. The four generations made the trek up to the homestead at least twice a year, spring and fall, and more often when they could get away. Even though the property was fairly remote all the creature comforts made it a relaxing getaway.

In one corner of the great room rose a huge fireplace Ty built by hand for his lovely bride to cook in and use to heat the house. Twenty years after she passed on, Ty modernized the cabin and added a propane kitchen stove, electricity and a real live bathroom with a real live toilet that flushed. The loft had been converted to an office/library and sometime bedroom for Chalcey.

Ty's foresight in planning the house resulted in a wraparound porch extending 8' from the cabin and covering all four sides. Shade from the porch cooled the house in summer and protected it from the elements in the winter. Summer evenings were spent on the west porch rocking the sun down.

It was nothing to see bobcat, coyote, jackrabbits, elk, deer, javelina, and raccoon all in one day. Occasionally, a mountain lion or bear would traverse the acreage creating havoc with the cattle the Bar 9 ran. The hands who rode for Bar 9 carried rifles as preventative care. After Summer's first husband passed away, she leased the acreage to John Sabo to allow him to run his longhorns. Her property was the only place with a year round creek running through it. For over 30 years, the Bar 9 had kept the creek clean and free of debris.

Fred and Marlowe left the ranch by 10:00, early considering the cumbersome efforts needed to load the horses. On the one and half hour trip, they discussed the weekend.

"Marlowe, since we're still in the early stages of a relationship, I think we need to talk about some stuff." Fred was uncomfortable with the discussion but desperately needed to set some boundaries. He wasn't in to one night stands or casual sex and wanted to let Marlowe know he wasn't quite ready for the next logical step in their friendship.

"I am in total agreement." Lawyer discussion ensued. "There are two bedrooms, I'll take the master bedroom and you can have the guest bedroom. I'll shower first, because you take forever to get done in the bathroom. Then I'll start breakfast. By the time you're done, it'll be on the table. You can cook supper. We'll take turns on lunch. Okay, that's settled. What else do you want to talk about?"

"I guess that about covers it. That went pretty well I'd say. This talking relationship stuff is easier than I thought. When and if we get ready for the next big step, will you just let me know, so I don't have to stutter and stammer?" Fred laughed in recognition of the tense moment.

The weather remained cooperative, 80 degrees with a slight breeze to move the bugs around. The corral had been cared for by the Bar 9 hands and awaited Lady and Smokey. After off loading them and the alfalfa, Fred and Marlowe stored the provisions Summer and Chalcey had packed. Fred turned on the propane and flipped the switch for electricity that had been supplemented by solar panels. Marlowe cleaned the floors and counters of months of dust, dead flies, and pesky spiders. In less than two hours, they were settled in with lunch and iced tea.

They agreed that while Marlowe cleaned up the kitchen, Fred would saddle up so they could check the perimeter. Even with the Bar 9 patrolling the homestead, it had been hit by vandals more than once. The out building stored items used only when the women came for a visit. The last time the vandals struck, the pad locks had been hacked off and vandals had taken everything that had not been nailed down. To counteract the meth-heads need for stealing, Summer had reinforced the barn's doors with steel and the best locks from Home Depot. The windows and doors of the house had been secured with bars and security doors.

Marlowe and Fred rode the trail around the 40 acres and off into the BLM hills. The ease with which they kept company supported the shared belief that they were more companionable than could have been predicted.

"Just look at that land. This is truly God's country."

"Oh, my god, Fred, look. There must be 20 javelinas in that pack."

"Them damn pigs. I can't think of why God created them. They're useless as tits on a boar hog. And they ain't really pigs anyway. They're an oversized rodent. Good for nothing."

"Let's circle away from them. We don't need to engage them."

"Engage them? I'd like to shoot 'em."

"Well, you can't. It's not their season. As an officer of the court, I'd have to turn you in. Boy, wouldn't that look great."

They left the draw and rode up the ridge to the back side of the homestead. Three mule deer rousted out of a clump of pinyon pine and took off at the sound of the horses.

"This fall we should come up during buck season. Put up some venison for winter." Fred offered as he watched the buck and does over the rise.

"Now, I could go along with that. There's nothing like a venison roast. Tell you what, come fall you get a license, I'll get one and we'll come back up here and I'll pull one down before you do. Bet?"

"You're blowing smoke, Marlowe. I'll have one the first day."

"So mister smarty pants, what are you cooking for supper?"

"Chalcey packed some ground bison. I thought I'd take some onions and mushrooms, sauté lightly with garlic, stuff the bison and grill. Then I'm going to make a tossed salad with white balsamic dressing and follow it with apple pie."

"Apple pie? What, you're going to bake it?"

"No, Summer sent it 'cause she knows we both love apple pie."

"Well, I think I'll keep you around, at least for a day or two." Marlowe laughed and spurred Smokey ahead.

Lady spooked at a jackrabbit and Fred almost lost his hold on the saddle horn. They turned the horses in the corral and put away the tack. "Let's grab a beer and put the rocking chairs out. It's still too early to start supper. How about some cheese and crackers?" Marlowe was hungry, but didn't want to ruin the feast Fred had planned. While Fred brushed down the horses, Marlowe grabbed the snacks and chairs and met him on the west porch.

"Fred, the ride was delightful. I miss so much the peace that comes from riding the hills. Let's do this more often. We both need the relaxation and getting away from the phones and people. I can't think of anything I enjoy more."

"Sugar, that's one of the things I do so appreciate about you. You aren't high maintenance. You like the simple things in life. It's really eerie, you like the stuff I like."

"No, you like what I like. There's a difference. Since I'm four months older than you are, I'm the one who has first preferences." Marlowe was beginning to realize how much fun it was to spend time, real quality time with this man.

Fred reached out and took her hand, "Okay, you're the boss."

"Un huh, too easy. You got something up your sleeve. You've never given up that fast or that easy. Let go of my hand. You probably have horse shit on it and you're wiping it off on me." Marlowe pulled back her hand and bent over to kiss Fred on the check.

They sat in silence for most of the next hour watching jackrabbits bounce underneath the pinyon and gophers poking up in the flats, most of that time they held hands.

After supper, Fred patted his tight stomach, "I'm so full."

"That means you don't have room for that apple pie. It's all mine."

"No, not even. There is a special place in my stomach for dessert. It's round and about this big." Fred made a circle with his thumb and forefinger. "I always save room for a piece of pie."

"Tomorrow, how about we take the horses out to Fort Rock and look at the old ranch house and see what's left. I'll pack a lunch and you get the water. Let's plan for most of the day." Marlowe placed the leftovers in the frig and started the dish water.

"Are you psychic? That's what I was thinking." Fred put his arms around her at the sink and kissed the top of her head.

"I'll wash, you dry. Then let's go watch the sun set. Hey, how about a fire in the fire pit tonight?"

Saturday morning brought a chill and wind that bent the pines. Marlowe went to the closet and got out coats and water proof dusters for the ride. Fred saddled up and grabbed four canteens. They angled off to the southwest onto the million acre Fort Rock Ranch. Houses dotted the landscape where cattle once grazed. Wildlife scurried away as the horses stirred up dust and scraped rocks. Off in the distance on a ridge, they spied a small herd of elk.

Two hours and seven miles later, they arrived at the old ranch house. The historical society rescued the building in the late sixties and turned it into a museum housing ranch implements, kitchen devices, spinning wheels, butter churns, and branding irons. Volunteers kept the doors open with donations and grants.

Marlowe put a $20 in the donation can. Fred pulled out his wallet and found it empty. "You got another $20. I'm busted. I'll pay you back when we get home."

"You better, I know where you live." Marlowe laughed and put in another bill.

"We should look at some of the antiques at Bear Ranch and think about donating them. Most of them came from Great Grandfather's homestead and I don't see anything like them here. Will you remind me to talk to Summer about it when we get back? She's into that historical society stuff." Marlowe assessed the relics as she wandered around the museum.

"I'll write a note in my little black book and then when I'm looking for a date, I'll find it and remind you."

"Listen mister, that little black book is obsolete." Marlowe poked Fred in the ribs as Fred grinned from ear to ear.

Underneath the cottonwood trees, volunteers had positioned picnic tables for patrons' relaxation. Marlowe grabbed the lunch and joined Fred at the nearest one. They watched cowbirds and bluebirds steal scraps of food from visitors and enjoyed the turkey sandwiches Marlowe made from the roast Summer had sent.

Early afternoon, they headed back to the cabin the long way. The journey took them through scrub oak, cactus, pines and cottonwoods. By the time they returned to the cabin, the sun was starting to set and both of the travelers were bone weary.

Fred dragged the fire pit out from storage, gathered wood and kindling and placed the covered pit on the sunset side of the house. He returned to the barn and got lawn chairs and a little coffee table for their drinks. He went into the kitchen through the screen door to help with supper.

"Supper's on." Marlowe greeted him. "I took your turn so you can make me breakfast in bed tomorrow. I deserve it." She put her arms around him and kissed his cheek.

"Something smells good. What 're we eating?" Fred started to lift the lid on the pot when Marlowe reached out with the wooden spoon and slapped his hand.

"It doesn't matter what we're eating. Now stay out of the pot 'til I get it on the table." Marlowe reached out and kissed Fred full on the lips. "Go wash up."

"I don't care what it is. I'm so hungry my stomach thinks my throat got slit." Fred called over his shoulder as he made his way to the bathroom to wash.

Marlowe had warmed Summer's famous homemade stew, baked fresh biscuits, and added Chalcey's homemade jelly for a simple, but filling dinner.

"I really hate to go home tomorrow. It is so peaceful and serene here at the cabin. I don't miss the phones, people, TV, or any of it. Let's plan to do this more often. Maybe next time we can bring Chalcey. She really was disappointed she couldn't come with us." Marlowe sipped her wine and looked at Fred over the top of her glass.

"Well, don't just sit there, let's get these dishes done and go sit by my fire." Fred gathered up the dishes and took them to the sink. "I'm glad to hear you say you like this part of life. There's nothing better than being with someone you like, enjoying the same things, sharing the load. Thanks, Marlowe for a great weekend. The memory of it will carry me to the next time."

"I swear, Fred, sometimes you wax poetic."

Sunday morning Marlowe awoke to the smell of coffee and the aroma of bacon. She started to get out of bed when the door opened and in came Fred carrying a tray of coffee, toast, fried eggs and bacon and a wildflower he had gathered from the pasture.

"Holy smokes. I wasn't serious. I would have gotten up to make breakfast." Marlowe sat up in bed with utter amazement.

"Your wish is my command, my lady." Fred set the tray down and gave a mock bow.

"Where's yours?"

"I had to keep my strength up while I was slaving over a hot stove, woman. I already ate. And let me tell you it was delicious. Eat up and we'll take one last ride before we load up. I'll have Smokey ready for you." Fred turned to leave and Marlowe reached out for his hand.

"This is probably the sweetest thing anyone has done for me in 20 years. Thank you, Fred." She drew him down to her and kissed him long and deep.

Back at Bear Ranch, Summer had convinced Chalcey a trip to Tuzigoot and Out of Africa would replace her disappointment at not going with Fred and Marlowe.

Saturday morning, Summer packed a healthy lunch of sandwiches, carrot sticks, homemade chocolate chip cookies and juices and they jumped into the SUV and headed for the Verde.

B1Two prehistoric pueblos provide a wonderful glimpse into the lives of the southern Sinagua, an ancient culture that thrived in the Verde Valley for hundreds of years, before mysteriously departing in the 1400s. Built by members of the same tribe, around the same time period, Montezuma Castle and Tuzigoot offer surprisingly different experiences.

**Montezuma Castle** , a five-story, 20-room cliff dwelling, perched high above the valley floor, is considered one of the best preserved prehistoric structures in the Southwest. Built in the 1100s, this stunning work of masonry was abandoned in the 1400s for unknown reasons.ilt pueblo and is a easy stop on the way to the historic mining town

Even though Chalcey had been to both Tuzigoot and Montezuma numerous times, the beauty and architecture continued to intrigue her. After wandering through both places, Chalcey and Summer left for Out of Africa.

Out of Africa sits at the side entrance to the Justice Complex. 1Out of Africa Wildlife Park is an opportunity to see animals from all over the world, especially Africa. Visitors enjoy an authentic replica of a real African Bush Safari. Out of Africa is home to hundreds of wild-by-nature, animals: **l** ions, tigers, giraffe, rhinoceros, black bear, camel, ostrich, cobras, zebra, exotic birds, tortoise, wildebeest, jaguar, leopards, wolves, and hyenas. Chalcey had always enjoyed the ride through the bush to visit the Giraffe, who would take carrot sticks right out of her mouth.

Chalcey and Summer finished the day and stopped for dinner in Jerome at the Haunted Hamburger, a restaurant famous for its put together hamburgers and a view of all of Jerome. While they ate dinner, Chalcey recited what she could remember about the gold rush days of Jerome and the changes that had taken place to accommodate artists and renovations in the old Ghost town.

"Summer, Oriole, the horse trailer is coming down the drive. They're home. Let's go help unload and find out about their weekend." Chalcey's excitement caused her to miss the top step on the back porch. "Yikes, I'm so clumsy, I could trip over a cordless phone."

"Now, child, you don't say things like that. It's not true. Anyway when you speak those thoughts, you are inviting them to be a part of you. Say and think positive and that's what will come." Summer put her arms around Chalcey and hugged her tight.

"Gottcha. That step snuck up on me. But I'll see it next time, because I have the grace of a ballerina."

Summer couldn't help but laugh out loud.

Chapter 21

Fred and Oriole arrived at the office and took out their notes on the case. Each processed what they had for the other. "Betty Cline said Lisa was going to have lunch with Phil. Phil said he was having lunch with the boys. In fact, the foursome said he showed up about 1:30. We need to check that out." Oriole read from her notes.

"What about the Ativan? Have we found anything on that? And what about that damn check? How did she get to work that morning without her car? What about that letter 'To Whom It May Concern? Why did she write that? Have we talked to the kids?" Fred read through his notes and came up with more questions.

"Let's divide and conquer. You go back to see Phil 'cause you have developed such good rapport with him. I'll call the doctor and get some information from the bottle I got from Betty. I'll follow up on Mug Shot Jenny and Gelatinous Mama. You call the kids. Let's meet for lunch about 1:00 at say Lone Spur, I'm dying for a Chicken Salad and it is so huge I can't eat it by myself so you can have half." Oriole gathered up her paperwork grabbed the keys to a unit and left Fred sitting at the desk with his mouth open.

Fred shook his head in dismay. Oriole had usurped his position again and it happened faster than a knife fight in a phone booth.

Fred drove over to the condo not wanting to let Phil know he was coming for more information. He did a slow crawl through the complex checking to see if Phil's garage door was open and looking at Frances' place. He parked in front of Phil's place, got out and walked up the sidewalk to the small front courtyard. The place looked only half lived in. It had taken on the appearance of Lisa's death.

"Hi, Mr. Mason. Mind if I come in? I have some more questions." Fred made a valiant attempt at being congenial.

"Well, I was just leaving. Could this wait?" It was apparent Phil didn't want to talk to the detective.

"It'll only take a moment." Fred responded as he pushed his way through the open door. "I had a question about how your late wife got to work the morning she died."

"Why she must have driven the Toyota. I think I had the Mercedes so I could go golfing. Is that all? I really do need to go."

Fred closed the door behind him and moved into the foyer. "Well, see that is one of my problems. Betty over at American Mortgage says she can't remember seeing it in the parking lot when she got there. So she's not sure how Lisa got to work. Is there anywhere else she ever parks her car when she goes to work?" Fred was boxing Phil in a corner with the requested answers.

"How would I know?" Phil was turning surly with his responses.

"What about lunch that day? Do you know if she had any plans?"

"Originally, we were going to have lunch, but I had the golf game so we canceled." Phil was trying to think one step ahead of the detective's questions assuming he had some information about the calendar Lisa kept.

"When did you cancel the lunch appointment?"

"What? Well, I guess when she left that morning. I don't remember. Are we done here, I need to go." Phil was definitely getting agitated.

"We're done when I get the answers I need. We can do this here or at the office. Which would you prefer?" Fred's demeanor hadn't changed with the ramped up dialog.

"I'm sorry officer, I mean detective. I'm still reeling from the devastation. I didn't mean to be rude." Phil turned on the charm hoping to quell the detective's concerns.

"So you think she drove her car that morning. When was the last time she had the car serviced, if you know?" Fred was hoping to be able to track the mileage back to some definite date.

"It should be on the door of the car. She only used that car for work. Anywhere we went together, we used the Mercedes. It is more comfortable." Phil was trying hard not to piss off the detective. "What else can I provide for you?"

"Did your wife take any medications?" Fred's questions were designed to make Phil take a stand and then work from there.

"I don't know. You took everything from the medicine cabinet. Were there prescriptions in there? You see my wife and I slept in separate bedrooms and each bedroom had its own bath."

"When did this begin?"

"Oh, maybe five years ago. I snore and it disturbed her. I volunteered to move to the spare bedroom." Phil gushed with the information.

"Mr. Mason, when did you find out Lisa was going to divorce you?" Fred dropped his bomb and watched it explode.

"Ah, ah, what?" Phil stammered. "What are you insinuating?"

"Your late wife intended to divorce you. When did you find out?" Fred kept pushing for a definitive answer.

"I found out the night before she died." Phil's voice was barely above a whisper. "I was devastated. I loved her so much. I tried to reason with her. I just can't believe she's gone."

"And when did you find out she had changed her will?" Fred wasn't letting any water run under his bridge.

"That same night. She said she was considering it. I gave her the best years she had and she was going to throw me over. I'd be homeless." Phil was almost in tears, not for his long lost wife, but for his own predicament.

"Why did you lie to us when we asked you this before?" Fred's patience was worn thin.

"I was confused and scared. I just didn't know what to do." Phil hunched over on the couch trying to gather his composure.

"Let's go back and see if I can get some truthful answers from you. I'm going to Mirandize you."

"Am I a suspect in this?" Phil sat up straight.

"You have been acting suspicious. Miranda warnings are a precaution. Would you like to do this here or down at the office?" Fred pulled his card out of his wallet and read the warning.

"I think I want to talk to an attorney." Phil sputtered.

"Fine. Get your attorney on board and have him or her call me." Fred left a business card and returned to his car. "Oriole," he said as he reached her on her cell phone, "he lawyered up. What have you found out so far?"

"Why lawyer up if he doesn't have something to hide?" Oriole asked.

"Ask your mother, she's the criminal expert here. I'm just the cop on the beat."

"The doctor's office prescribed Ativan for her for depression. She's been on a very low dose for about two years. The prescription was last filled the first of May with 90 pills. The directions are to take one pill three times a day. She also had a liquid prescription filled at the same time. The liquid was for easier administration. The bottle at the office held 20 pills. Did you see the liquid prescription? I didn't when I went through her bathroom upstairs. I talked to the probation officer on Mug Shot Jenny. No word on where she disappeared to. Let's get lunch and then drive out to see Mama."

The Lone Spur Restaurant sits on Gurley Street right across the plaza from the courthouse. The western motif sports someone's left over boots, saddles, lariats, and lots of original paintings of western themes. But the food is what really draws people. Fred allowed Oriole to order her chicken salad and an extra plate for him. They quietly planned the remainder of their tasks.

When they left the restaurant, they had a game plan for the rest of the day which included Mama and Mug Shot Jenny follow up, a telephone call to Gerri and Bobby and brainstorming the lost check.

Having been once to the run down trailer, they were better prepared as they arrived in Chino Valley to take on Flint Tent and Awning. Oriole took charge of the shotgun, Fred had pepper spray plus the taser and they had the backup of a road deputy.

"Hello the house. Mrs. Hattie, Sheriff's Office. Please come out so we can talk." Fred used the loud speaker on the squad car to notify her they were there.

The screen door opened and a clean muumuu walked out. "What the hell you want now? I still haven't seen or heard from Jenny. Go away and leave me in peace."

"Good afternoon. Did Jenny call? We have reason to believe her cell phone was used to contact this residence." Oriole was bluffing but delivered the bluff straight faced.

"Are you tapping my phone?" As she spoke, multiple chins bounced and jiggled.

"Where was she when she called you?" Gelatinous Mama's answer prompted Fred with a more assertive inquiry.

"She wouldn't tell me where she was only that she was okay. It's your fault she's on the run. She lost her job because you harassed her. Now you're harassing me." She wiped her nose with the back of her sleeve. Her bunny slippers were replaced by open toed sandals showing crusty dirt and cracked heels.

"When she calls again, you tell her this is her only chance to avoid new charges. She calls me right away or I tell the county attorney everything I know about her escape and she goes down for hard time." Fred put the pressure on mama. "Here's my card. Have her call me." Fred, Oriole and the deputy drove down the alley to the main road and reconnoitered.

"Man, it would be a dark night at the well before she'd get a drink." The deputy offered as assessment of Jenny's woeful mama.

"Will you patrol here semi regularly. Jenny's car and license are listed on this mug shot. So you can identify her and her car. If you get anything call dispatch to call us. Really appreciate your help." Fred smiled at the sense of humor the deputy displayed.

As Oriole and Fred left the area, Oriole called Gerri on her cell phone. "Ms. Martin? My name is Detective Wolfe with Yavapai County Sheriff's Office. I'm investigating your mother's death. First of all, my condolences."

"Thank you. It has been such a shock. I know you must have questions. Go ahead." Gerri Martin came across as cool, calm, and collected, a refreshing quality for Oriole to deal with.

"What do you know about your mother's plans to divorce your stepfather?"

"First of all he is Phil Mason, not my stepfather. Second of all Mom told Bobby and me on Mother's day she planned to make some drastic changes, but wasn't specific. I assumed she meant divorce. Phil is a freeloader. When she came out to visit, she told Bobby and me she had told him he was done." Gerri drew in a breath.

"Wait a minute, you mean she told him back in May?" Oriole was writing in her notebook and hit the speaker button on the cell phone so Fred could hear.

"That's what she told us. She would have had no reason to lie to us. No more credit cards. No more checking account. And no more money from Mom. Now if he had been the one died, you'd want to look at me or Bobby for answers." It was more than plain that Gerri didn't like the man who mooched off her mother.

"Do you think he was stealing from her?"

"Well of course he was. Every time he took her credit cards or cashed a check he said it was groceries. That's stealing as plain as the nose on your face. What's more, he probably cashed in stocks and bonds, 'cause Mom said there were some missing from the account. She said she was sticking everything in the safety deposit box. When she was here Mother's day she gave me the key. She also said she was changing her will."

"Did she say when she was doing that and what she was changing it to?" Fred interposed as he drove.

"She said she was doing the will right away, but not what it was changing to include. But I bet she disinherited the swine." Gerri's voice carried animosity for Phil and what he'd done to her mother.

"Do you know anything about a check for $25,000.00?" Oriole asked.

"No. What is it?"

"We can't find it. Is there somewhere she would put it so no one could get to it?" Fred leaned over to the cell phone and spoke.

"Let me think on that. You never know with Mom."

"There was a letter she wrote. Did she tell you about that?"

"No. What was in the letter?"

"It'll be part of her estate and when the estate goes to probate you'll get a copy. What about Bobby? Would he know anything else?" Fred wanted to get as much as possible before Gerri was gone.

"Bobby wasn't as close, so I doubt he'd know anything, but call him. You never know, Mom might have confided in him too. What else can I tell you? I gotta pick my kids up at school." Gerri was moving on.

"That's it for now. Thank you. We'll be in touch and I will call Bobby." Oriole hung up the call.

"Well, butter wouldn't melt in her mouth. Philly boy is a liar and a cheat. Let's compile what we have, where he's lied, get him and his attorney down for a chat. Would you call dispatch and see if there's any word on Mug Shot Jenny?"

Chapter 22

Chalcey rode over to her friend's ranch off Williamson Valley Road to spend the day practicing for the rodeo parade. Stephanie, although the same age as Chalcey, was five inches shorter and pounds lighter. A big gust of wind could have taken her to Mohave County. Stephanie worked her Morgan around the corral taking the mare through her paces as Chalcey watched.

"Stephanie, will you show me how to get Red to make those turns?" Chalcey appreciated her friend's ability.

"I just learned from Mom. Maybe between Mom and me we can teach you."

"Why do you call your mom, Mom? I call my mom by her name and my grandma and great grandma by their names."

"Gosh, I never thought about it. She's always been Mom. Why do you call them by their name?"

"It's always been that way. I just don't know. Maybe I'll get the scoop from all of them tonight and let you know. Are you coming over tomorrow to work on the entrance for the first night?"

"Sure, I'll be there. We need to finish up, I gotta go now. I'm running into town with Mom to pick up a new outfit for the rodeo."

Summer had pulled a chicken out of the freezer for supper, made dumplings for her world famous chicken and dumpling casserole, added salad and corn on the cob. Chalcey helped with the place settings while sipping iced tea.

"Summer. Why do I call you Summer and Mom Oriole? Stephanie calls her mom and grandmother, Mom and Grandma."

"Gracious, child, the things you come up with. I guess I started it with Marlowe when she was little. My mother didn't want to be identified as a grandmother. She felt she was just too high faluting and way too young to be a "grandma". So I had Marlowe call her by her first name, Martha. Then Marlowe started calling me by my name instead of Mom. Then it just carried on to Oriole and on to you."

"What's for supper?" Fred asked as he walked in with Oriole.

"That's no hello, Uncle Fred." Chalcey hugged him.

"Corn pone and chittlings and you'll be glad to have it." Summer laughed.

"No, siree, we're having chicken and dumplings. Your favorite." Chalcey corrected her great grandmother.

"Are we waiting for Marlowe? Or do we start without her?" Fred asked.

"We wait. She'll be here shortly. She got hung up on a new case." Summer poured wine and iced tea.

"Here she is now."Chalcey said as the Mercedes stopped in the circle drive. "I'll go help her get her stuff in."

"Hi, Marlowe. How was your day?" Chalcey opened the driver's door and grabbed Marlowe's briefcase.

"Hey, punkin'. Thanks. Great day, just like all the others. What did you do today?" Marlowe walked her granddaughter up the steps and into the kitchen.

"Well, Stephanie and I worked our routine for the parade and the grand entrance. She's coming over tomorrow and we're going to work some more."

"Tell you what, Li'l Missy, I'll do chores tonight and you saddle up Red and show me all about it." Fred suggested to Chalcey as he handed a glass of wine to Marlowe and gave her a hug.

"Chalcey, you're probably never going to get another offer like that. Maybe after dishes, we can all watch you perform." Oriole encouraged her daughter.

The dinner conversation touched on the day's events and who did what to whom. "How's the investigation into Lisa's death coming?" Summer asked of the detectives.

Oriole looked across at Fred, whose head came up and gave her a knowing glance.

"Slow. Summer, where would Lisa hide something valuable and perishable?" Fred asked between mouth bites.

"Like what?"

"A cashier's check. It's missing and we can't figure out where it went." Fred answered hoping the matriarch would shed light on the hiding place.

"Lisa trusted Frances. Did you talk to her?"

"Frances had some documents, the will and a letter. But the check is nowhere to be found." Oriole added.

"When we were all younger, Lisa used to have an old fashioned roll top desk that had secret compartments. She used it for sentimental things she wanted to keep, you know, old love letters, birthday cards, her daddy's war medals. The kind of things she wanted close to pull out and look at every once in awhile. Did you look in there?" Summer started clearing the table.

"Didn't know about it? When we were there we looked in her desk in her office but didn't know to look for a secret compartment. Oriole let's expand our search warrant tomorrow and go back out to lover boy's house."

The inside chores were divided up and Fred and Chalcey went out to the barn to curry and saddle Red. After the women finished in the kitchen, they joined the other two at the corral to watch Chalcey put Red through his paces.

Fred and Oriole arrived at the condo with the expanded warrant.

"Mr. Mason, how are you today? We have a warrant to search the premises. Would you be so kind as to have a seat in the vehicle? This deputy will assist you." Fred told Phil as he was escorting him outside.

Fred and Oriole entered Lisa's office and proceeded to the desk. Fred lifted the roll top and began to poke around the cubbyholes looking for this secret compartment. Methodically, he inspected the top row, second row and third row of pigeon holes, but found nothing. He sat down in the chair and studied the shapes and sizes of the drawers, cubbyholes, and roll top. "What am I missing?"

"Move over and let a real puzzle solver take charge." Oriole teased her partner. "When I was a teenager, I could hide stuff Marlowe and Summer would never find."

Oriole sat in the desk chair and ran her hands over the exterior of the desk looking for a release button. Nothing. She moved the desk out and did the same with the back. Nothing. She opened the center drawer and felt underneath. "Whoa. There's a wood catch underneath here. Let's take everything out of the drawer and turn it upside down."

They laid the drawer on top of the desk, slide the wood catch open to reveal an envelope inside. "Put gloves on and let's see what we have." Fred said.

"The envelope is plain white. It's tucked, not sealed. And lookee here. A missing cashier's check. Now why would Lisa put the check in here? What was the purpose of getting a cashier's check?" Fred pulled the check out.

"She was fixing to divorce Phil. Maybe she wanted to have money on hand for the divorce. Or maybe it was a payoff to get rid of him. Or maybe she was hiding assets from him." Oriole posited.

"So, one more loose end tied up. Let's ask Phil to get his attorney and meet us downtown after lunch and see if we can tie up some more ends." Fred was moving toward the door when Oriole reached out and grabbed his arm.

"Wait. There's another compartment in this drawer. It's the same size and shape but the latch is different. It's sticking. You try."

"Never send a woman to do a man's job, Snoopy." Fred kidded as he took his knife out and gently pried the catch loose. "Presto. We have another cache. Looks like a notepad, one of those tiny little things about the size of a cell phone. It's in Lisa's writing. Last page is for May 2. In paging back, it doesn't look like she wrote every day. Here's one entry: 'MR tc off. PM od. fl 2 mr res. Jt tc re job. ' Looks to me like a code or shorthand. PM is probably Phil Mason. What do you think?" He handed the diary to Oriole.

"'tc' could be telephone call. 'off" could be office. What is MR? It could be Monique Richards. If we follow this logic, 'Jt' could be Jennifer Tribble. So Monique Richards called the office. Phil Mason is 'od'. Jennifer Tribble called re job. What is 'fl 2 mr res.'?" Oriole turned the notepad back over to Fred.

"'od' overdose, -------. Pull Monique back in on 'fl 2 Monique res'. What would res be? Reservation, responsible, research, residence? 'fl' could be flower, fly, floor. '2' could be number 2 or to or too." Fred was free associating with the letters and number.

"'od' could be overdrawn. 'fl' could be follow. Now what do we have.

"Monique Richards telephone call office. Phil Mason overdrawn. Follow Monique Richards to residence. Jennifer Tribble telephone call re: job. But which residence? Monique's or Lisa's or another? And what does it all mean? Why was she keeping a diary in a hiding place?" Oriole searched the rest of the desk for any clues and any more hiding places.

"Finished? Let's take this down to the office and use the shorthand we developed and see what else she may have written. I think we should insist on Happy Hubby joining us with his mouthpiece." Fred stated as he put the drawer back in the desk.

"How about you do that and I'll go see Monique. Then we can get two things done at once." Oriole suggested as they left the condo.

"Ms. Richards, thank you for seeing me on such short notice. I have a few questions about the late Mrs. Mason." Oriole asked knowing Lisa did not use the last name Mason, but wanting to see the girlfriend's reaction.

"You mean Lisa Woods? Not Mrs. Mason." Monique's voice was like fingernails on a blackboard.

"Why did you place a call to her in early May?" Oriole went for the throat. Baffle them with bullshit and assumptions.

"How did you find out about the phone call?"

"I'm the one asking questions, Ms. Richards. Why did you call her at the office?"

"I was looking to buy a foreclosure for investment and wanted some advice. Phil told me Lisa could give me an idea of the rates and if I could buy this one property for an investment or if it was one you had to live in."

The explanation was too pat to satisfy Oriole. There was something canned about the deliverance of the message.

"I understand that you and Phil have been meeting." Oriole was good about making a statement of fact and insinuating a whole other concept.

"Where did you hear that? From that nosey Frances?"

Oriole was moving ahead just by letting Monique put her foot in it. "How long have you been seeing Phil?"

"I've known Phil for several years. He may come to work in our office."

"I'm talking about something more than work. For instance, why was Lisa following you?"

The color drained from Monique's face, leaving the blush applied in the morning to stand out like clown spots. "She was following me? When? Why?" Monique drew her eyebrows together in consternation.

"You tell me." Oriole offered nothing.

"I think she was suspicious of Phil. Maybe even a little jealous, I guess." Monique dropped her gaze.

"Of course, she had reason." It was a statement, not a question. "Anything else you can tell me?"

"No." The answer came out flat.

As Oriole returned to her car, she turned on her cell phone to find a message from Fred to call. "Fred. What's going on?"

"Dispatch let me know they've found Mug Shot Jenny in Flagstaff. Our deputy is meeting a Coconino deputy at the county line for an exchange. She should be here in a couple hours."

"Good. Monique all but confessed to an affair with Phil. When are Phil and his attorney coming down?"

"They'll be here at 2:00. Will you make it?"

"I'm leaving here now. I'll be there before they get there." Oriole hung up and started her car.

The hard interview room was being used by another detective on a sexual assault case, so Fred and Oriole set up in the soft interview room. The soft room was usually used to interview victims and/or children. In order to make the room more unfriendly, they moved in extra chairs and a small end table and moved out the stuffed animals.

Phil Mason arrived on time with his attorney in tow. John Williams, well known criminal defense attorney from Flagstaff, presented as a tall, well dressed man in his mid 50's. The custom tailored suit, more likely for a mob mouthpiece, fit him perfectly. The pale blue shirt was creaseless. His red and yellow tie was matched with a handkerchief sticking out of the suit jacket pocket. His salt and pepper hair, recently styled added distinction to his presence. It was obvious that the recent hairstyle was accompanied by a manicure as his nails glistened in the sunlight.

"Detectives. John Williams. I'm Mr. Mason's attorney. He is here to answer your questions. Here's how it works. You ask a question. I determine if it is a question he can answer. I tell him to answer or not and we move on. I have to be back in Flagstaff in two hours so let's get started." He sat down and motioned for Phil Mason to sit next to him.

The room was equipped with audio and video capability. The video camera was positioned so that the officer usually sat with his back to the door to capture a better view of the person being interviewed. Either Mr. Williams didn't know or didn't care that he was facing full on to the video camera.

"Thank you, Mr. Williams and Mr. Mason. Mr. Mason, tell us about your wife's diary." Fred jumped in with both feet.

"My wife's...." Phil began and was immediately cut off by the attorney.

"Stop. You do not speak until I tell you to. Remember." He reached out and squeezed Phil's arm. Williams turned to the officers, "What is this diary?"

"We located a diary in Lisa Wood's handwriting. What do you know about it?" Fred continued talking to Phil rather than the attorney.

"Answer." The command sounded more like telling a dog to sit.

"Ah, nothing. I didn't know she had one. I've never seen one." Phil answered.

"In her diary, she mentions Monique Richards. Do you know why?" Oriole only partially told the truth.

"Do not answer." Suit barked.

Phil having learned his lesson remained silent.

"Monique called your wife's office. Do you know why?" Oriole continued.

"Do not answer."

"Lisa Woods had a cashier's check for $25,000.00. Do you know why?"

Williams leaned toward Phil and quietly asked, "Do you?"

Phil leaned toward Williams conspiratorially and answered, "No."

"The answer is no. Move on."

"Do you know how Lisa got to work the morning she died?" Fred decided to try a different tack.

"Answer."

"No."

"Why did you cancel your luncheon with her on the day she died?" Oriole peppered him.

"Answer."

"I had a tee time with my golf team and was supposed to have lunch afterwards." Phil was making it up as he went along.

"But you didn't show up for your tee time, did you? Why?"

"Don't answer."

"You lied about the luncheon didn't you?" Oriole kept at him.

"That will be it. We're done here. You failed to respect the perimeters of the meeting. You can charge him or we're leaving." The suit stood up and reached down for Phil's arm to pull him to his feet.

"Sorry, you see it that way. We're conducting an investigation into a homicide. I would think your client would want that solved as much as we do. If your client has nothing to hide, there's no reason not to answer our questions." Fred applied honey to the vinegar in his message.

"Look, Detective, I'm not a 1st year public defender. I've been down the road before with detectives just like you. You get an answer you don't like you twist it and make it into something it isn't. You get an idea in your head and then make the idea a fact by an innuendo. I'm telling you here and now, charge him or we walk. And send me a copy of the video and audio." Suit's face had deepened to a red shade matching his tie.

"Thank you very much for the opportunity to spend time with Mr. Mason. If you would like to continue this meeting, please call us. You are free to go." Fred reached out to shake Suit's hand and before Suit could think to react, he extended his hand.

Shortly after Suit and Mason left, the detectives got word that Jennifer Tribble had been booked into Verde Jail. They packed up and drove over to interview the absconder.

"Ms. Tribble, you realize you were on probation and absconded from jail time. Correct?" Oriole started the interview.

"I was so scared. I knew you would be looking at me because of the problems I had with Lisa. I just ran."

"Tell us about those problems." Fred leaned forward to make eye contact with the probationer.

"I wanted my old job back. I tried to tell her I'd learned my lesson. I wanted her to understand that I knew what I did was wrong and she wouldn't listen. I went off on her."

"When was this?"

"I wanted to see her so I could explain and she refused. I waited until I could get some time off of work and drove out to the office to wait for her to talk to her in person."

"When did you go out to the office?"

"The day she died." Mug Shot Jenny started crying. "That's why I didn't want to talk to you guys. I knew you'd think I did something bad. But I swear I didn't. I didn't have anything to do with her death."

Fred and Oriole looked at each other. Fred got out the Miranda card and recited it before they got into an area that an attorney could challenge.

"Tell us about that day."

"I drove over to the office. Her car was in the front parking lot. I walked around to the back door and knocked. She came to the door. She was real mad to see me. She stepped outside and yelled at me. She wouldn't even let me inside. She was so rude. All I wanted to do was talk with her about a job. She made me go away. I sat in my car for a few minutes; then I started to leave and saw her get into her car. Someone else came out of the office and got in her car with her. That's all I know." More tears fell as she started sobbing in earnest.

"Did you know the person getting in the car?" Oriole was now leaning forward.

"I didn't get a good look. It could have been anybody. The person had on a hat."

Fred and Oriole reflected on the first meeting with Phil Mason.

"Would you know the person, if you saw him or her again?"

"No, I didn't get a good look. I don't even know if it was a man or woman. I was leaving and just glanced in that direction. Look I'm sorry I ran. I was just so scared. Can't we do something to work this out? I need my job so I can pay restitution. Please don't charge me with new charges." She wiped her running nose with her sleeve and Oriole handed her some tissues.

"We'll be back shortly." Fred stood, as did Oriole and they left the interview room.

"Think it could be Mason? Or could it be someone we don't even know about." Oriole asked as they stood in the hall.

"Maybe. His whereabouts are unsubstantiated."

"Gad, you sound like Marlowe. I don't think we have enough for a warrant on his clothes. Suit isn't going to let us talk to him. Let's see if we can find anyone else who was involved with Lisa Wood. There is the accountant we need to track down as well as we need to find more about the embezzling and what about the appointment with MS. for 1:30. Is that Marlowe?"

"Let's get back to the office and start on some of the loose ends and see if anything shakes out."

"Sarge, we're done with Mug Shot Jenny. You can take her on back to her digs." Fred was ready to get on with the case.

Chapter 23

"Hey, Joan. Oriole here. Can you look to see if Lisa Wood had an appointment with Marlowe on June 7?"

"Let me pull up the calendar. Nope. Marlowe was in court all day. Anything else I can do for you?"

"Say hi to her for me. Gotta go." Oriole turned to Fred with the news that MS. must be someone else.

"Let's go see the accountant, Tom. See if he has any ideas about money or names." Fred and Oriole left for Prescott Valley and Tom Schumann's office.

"Mr. Schumann. Thanks for taking time to talk to us. We're looking for information about Lisa Wood's holdings, her finances, and anything else you might have. I have a search warrant that says you can give us anything you have relating to her estate." Oriole handed the accountant the paperwork.

"Thanks for the formality. It makes it easier to cooperate with you. Let me get her file up on the computer and see what we can see. Here we go. Just about everything was in her name solely. There was an insurance policy for both Lisa and Phil, Lisa paid the premiums. The triplex was in her name. Of course the condo was just in her name. She was a very savvy business woman and to be honest with you, I don't think she trusted him very much." Tom paged down through the computer file.

"We have a letter that she wrote and she questions some missing money. Know anything about her concerns?"

"I wasn't going to address that unless you brought it up because at first she wasn't sure, but since you brought it up. She came so see me about six weeks ago with a concern that money was missing from her brokerage account, significant money. I started a trace on the accounts to see what I could find and sure enough, money was being drained off the account. It looked to me like it was pretty sophisticated. Small numbers of stocks were being sold on a semi regular basis nearly every day. It looked to me like it had been going on for a long time. The account had pass words and security that were breached. It would take someone with brokerage knowledge. I'd guess the amount came close to a hundred grand. She believed Phil was involved, but not acting alone. Lisa said he didn't know enough about stocks and bonds to pull it off on his own." Tom turned to the detectives from his computer."That's about all I know."

"Did Lisa say who she thought may be working with Phil?" Fred asked.

"She didn't say, maybe she didn't know, or maybe she didn't want to tell me. I'm not sure. I do know she was considering legal action as soon as she put together the information. I assume she was going to confront Phil based on what she said when we met last."

"Do you know if she had done so? Confront Phil, I mean." Oriole inquired.

"No idea. I'm not sure she would have confided that with me."

"Have you had the opportunity to look to see if the drainage continued?"

"Good question. I actually did check when I heard about her murder. And yes, it was continuing. I haven't checked since then. Is that something you would like for me to do?"

"Can you do it right now or does it take some time?" Fred wanted the information as quickly as he could get it.

"It only takes a couple minutes. Hang on and let's see what we see." Tom Schumann tapped the keyboard and began making cooing noises as he worked. "Yes sir. We have continued activity right up through yesterday."

"Is there a way to freeze the accounts?" Oriole could see a major problem occurring if they didn't get a handle on the stealing.

"I asked Lisa if she wanted me to do that, but before she could give me directions, she was killed. I don't know if I have the authority to freeze her accounts. Whoever is her estate administrator will be able to do that. Is that Phil?"

"We'll find out. Thanks for your help, Mr. Schumann. May we take these printouts?"

"You're welcome. Hope you get the bastard. Lisa was a great lady. And yes you can keep the printout."

They left Tom's office and put in a call to Gerri Martin who was the administrator of the estate. "Gerri, this is Detective Wolfe. We need to meet with you as soon as possible. When will you get to town?"

"Oh. Hi. Bobby and I are driving in tomorrow. Will sometime early afternoon work? Can you tell me what's happening on Mom's case?"

"Early afternoon works for us. Say 1:30 at the Sheriff's Office. We'll talk about what's going on then. Okay?"

Gerri Martin and her brother Bobby arrived to meet with the detectives. A reincarnation of Lisa Wood, Gerri stood 5'6", natural blond hair to her shoulders, creamy complexion, and piercing blue eyes. Bobby Wood, three years younger, didn't resemble his sister at all. Dark curly hair, 6'3", 210, all muscle, dark brooding face full of questions, he was just the opposite.

"Let's see if we can make this go faster for the two of you. While Detective Wolfe talks to Bobby, I'll talk with you. We'll try to get you out of here just as soon as we can." Fred wanted to separate the siblings in a kind, gentle way. The detectives utilized separate interview rooms.

"Bobby, tell me what you can about your mother and Phil's relationship."

"Mom came out to California for Mother's Day. She told Gerri and me that the marriage was over and she was divorcing Phil. She thought he might be stealing from her. I never really liked him, but I tried to be nice because he was her husband, while Gerri on the other hand was openly hostile. That's about it."

"Your mother made out a new will recently. Are you aware of the contents of that new will?"

"She didn't tell us much about that. She did say things would be different though. Gerri and I took it to mean he'd get nothing. Mom wasn't rich, but she had worked hard and had some holdings. I'm guessing Gerri and I inherit, is that correct?" Bobby seemed to be less informed about his mother's wishes than he let on.

"The attorney in charge of probate will answer those questions. I was wondering if you've been out to visit your mother after Mother's Day." Oriole decided to pin Bobby down as to his possible involvement.

"No, neither Gerri nor I have been here recently. She's got the kids and I have been busy with a new construction project in Marin County. We were both concerned about Mom and her state of mind. We all planned to get together 4th of July for a vacation in Las Vegas. Now that will never happen."

"Tell me about your project." Oriole wanted more information about Bobby's activities.

"It's a small housing project. I'm in partnership with several other guys. I'm the construction manager. My job is to get the permits, crews, and materials. If we do this right, we'll get 150% return on our investment. You would think that with the economy like it is, construction would be down, but the opposite is true for us. It's booming." He warmed to the topic.

"What kind of investment are we talking?"

"Well, I was short on dollars, but with my abilities and skills it made up. So we're talking the project itself is about half a mil give or take. When we finish up, we'll split the profits. Course, my share will be different because my investment is more sweat equity. I tried to borrow to put in my share. Banks aren't loaning right now. I even tried to borrow from Mom, but she was short on cash." Oriole's senses perked up at the prospect of another motive.

"Gerri, tell me what you can about your Mom's affairs." Fred began as he shut the door to the interview room.

"I talked to the attorney. I'm the administrator of Mom's estate. Apparently, she'd been losing money. Her estate is worth about half what it was a couple years back. I haven't told Bobby about the division yet. I thought it'd be better to let the attorney. The thing that concerns me aside from who killed her is where did all the money go?" Gerri Martin seemed more concerned about what Lisa left than why Lisa was killed.

"One of the things we need from you as administrator is to initiate a hold on her brokerage accounts so we can get a handle on the money situation. The accountant said he could help you get that in place. What about Phil? I know you and he were polar opposites. Do you think he is involved in her death?"

"I can't see him killing Mom. He was more than likely involved in stealing her money, but he doesn't have the backbone to kill in cold blood. Is it possible it was just a random act? You know wrong place wrong time kind of thing. I've heard about people getting killed when showing homes. Sometimes Mom would go out to the houses to go through them with clients."

"We don't know yet. We were hoping you could shed light on the situation. Are there any other men in your mother's life? What about your father? Is he still in the picture?" Fred was interested in finding out more about the person in the parking lot with Lisa the day she died.

"My dad? He died years ago. Mom was never much of a man hunter. Phil saw a financial savior and swept her off her feet. Mom had a couple male friends in some of her committees, but that's all they were. Buddies. You know, a drink after a planning committee, lunch once in awhile."

"Can you give me their names and phone numbers? Anyone else you can think of that might have knowledge about your mother?" Fred could see this case spiraling out of control with more leads.

"I know their names, but not phone numbers. I'm not too sure how to say this and I feel really awful for thinking it, but you might want to look closely at Bobby. See, he wanted to borrow money from Mom and she was pretty adamant that she had loaned both of us the last dime. He was pissed. He tried a couple of times to change her mind. I think he even came over to see her to talk to her again." Gerri didn't realize she had just added another name to the growing list of suspects.

Fred and Oriole finished up with the siblings, acquired information about where they could be reached in Prescott and back home.

As the detectives compared notes, they realized they were farther from a solution than they had been when they started. Oriole decided to follow up on Bobby's possible involvement and whether he'd been in Prescott recently. Fred took his turn on the phone following up on issues Gerri had raised with Lisa's male friends.

Chapter 24

Marlowe and Joan were working on a new case involving a confidential informant drug buy. The client swore up and down and sideways he had never sold or bought drugs. Marlowe learned after maybe her second case not to believe everything the client said or everything the officers wrote in their reports. It could be selective memory, out and out lies, or just a mistake in communication.

"Marlowe, I spoke to Beverly over at Wilson's office. They have one just like this. Client says the same thing. Never did it. Same officer, but we need the name of the Confidential Informant to see if it is the same informant. Want me to send over a request to the county attorney assigned and set up some interviews to find out who the informant is?" Joan had handled enough of the paperwork in Marlowe's criminal cases to know which case could or would settle and which ones would go to trial. She also knew what needed to be done on a step by step basis on the cases.

"Yeah. Let's jump on this rapidly. I just talked to another guy in jail and he is saying the same thing. Wonder if it's the same CI and if there's some hanky panky going on. Set up the interviews and I'll get a contract investigator to work the case." Marlowe didn't often use an investigator, preferring to do the interviews and a lot of the investigation herself, but once in awhile there was an advantage to having a MAN on her side in the interview. Especially since the officer involved in the three drug cases was the same one that had threatened her a few years back.

Marlowe represented a client the officer wanted to get to work for him on some drug deals. The client told the officer he couldn't do anything without his attorney's blessing. Marlowe showed up at the office and the officer went ballistic. She told him he was violating her client's right to representation. The officer threatened to arrest her if she didn't leave immediately. She told her client to keep his mouth zipped and left to find the immediate supervisor, deputy chief or chief.

By the time she was through with the department, her client walked on the charges and the officer was under disciplinary actions. Whenever the officer and Marlowe's paths crossed, she took care to make sure he didn't frame her, harass her, or have the opportunity to further threaten her. After his actions on the case that got dismissed, she always had someone else in the interviews with that officer for safety's sake.

Joan got the interviews set up and the approval for an investigator on the cases. Marlowe met with the investigator prior to the interviews to apprise him of the cases and the concerns she had with the officer. Jake Judd was a former police officer from New Mexico, retired out of the State of Idaho, and now a private investigator in Yavapai County. Jake answered to his last name for his first name: Judd.

Judd stood nearly 6', slim, dark wavy hair, with more than a touch of gray. His attire was always Western: hat, boots, jeans, and underneath his blazer a .40 caliber weapon he had a permit to carry, even though he no longer needed the permit. Judd's experience had taught him that police officers didn't always provide accurate information. He had worked for the police department in New Mexico where his supervisor had falsified information and reports causing Judd to suffer the consequences. Judd's philosophy was: treat me right, I'll treat you right. Fuck with me, you go down. He hated a liar, a cheat and a crooked cop.

Judd met with Marlowe before the interviews with the officer, Dick Lloyd, and the deput county attorney, George Crisp to get up to speed on the cases.

"Ms. Sharpe, tell me where we're headed."

"Judd, these cases and the others involved look suspicious to me. The confidential reliable informant doesn't look good to me. This officer has crossed the line more than once. I don't trust anything he says. I think he's dirty. My clients say, as does Wilson's client, that this never happened. I'm concerned that the officer may be making it up as he goes along. I want you with me in interviews and I want you to be able to investigate other cases where the CI is listed. During the interviews, the County Attorney's office has to reveal the identity of the CI. Then we find out what that person is doing to cover his or her ass. During the interviews, take notes, ask questions, don't even ask me for permission, just jump in. Okay? And I'll tell you something else. We go together to the interviews in the same car. I don't trust him. He has my car license number and he wouldn't hesitate to call it in for whatever."

Judd listened to the hardened criminal defense attorney and could tell that this was going to become a high profile case. "Okay, we go together and leave together. Don't go to the bathroom or anywhere else without telling me. It's better to be hyper-aware than stuck in a room with an officer who wants to discredit you. We keep the tape recorder going at all times. You follow my lead. Are you good with that?" Judd took control and passed out assignments.

"I'm good with that. I've dealt with this officer too many times to stick my head in the sand where he's concerned. I learned my lesson the last time I interviewed him and he followed me in an unmarked car all the way home. As far as I'm concerned he's off the charts. You get to drive this time. I'll tell you how I work and what I expect out of this interview while we drive." Marlowe respected the investigator's job and his potential contribution to the case.

Judd parked the car in the blistering sun, grabbed his briefcase took out his tape recorder, put it in his pocket after turning it on and put his old duty gun in its holster in plain view. He went around to the passenger side and opened the door for Marlowe leaning down to whisper additional instructions. They signed in at the county attorney's office and were instructed to wait. And wait they did. The appointment was for 9:00. Marlowe looked at her watch-9:30 and no acknowledgment of their presence. She leaned over to Judd, "Is this called cooling our heels?"

"I'm sure the county attorney is instructing the officer, going over his testimony and telling him not to lose his temper, but I'm getting ready to shake it up." Judd whispered back as he got to his feet.

"Howdy, ma'am. Can you check on how much longer it'll take?" Judd applied his southern charm on the receptionist.

"I let him know you were here. He was meeting with someone."

"Maybe you could walk on back there and ask him?" Judd turned on a 150 watt smile.

"I was told not to disturb Mr. Crisp. The last time I interrupted him, I got my... I got in trouble." The receptionist replied nervously.

"Well, now, Miss, I sure don't want you to get into trouble on my account. I know it's us little people who get things done. So I tell you what I'll do, I'll place a call directly to his office then you're out of the loop." Judd pulled his cell phone out and paged down through contacts for Mr. Crisp's direct office number.

"George Crisp here."

"Mr. Crisp, this is Jake Judd. How much longer will it be?" Judd covered a smile at circumventing Crisp's directive.

"Ah, Ah, I'm busy right now. I told Melba not to put any calls through." Crisp stuttered.

"She didn't. I have your direct line and I want to know if you're through telling the officer what to say, so we can get on with this interview." Judd turned to Marlowe and gave a thumbs up.

"I'll be out to get you in a minute." Crisp hung up and turned to Dick Lloyd. "We can't stall any longer. You understand what you are going to say? If they get into an area that you think is confidential, tell me and we take a break. Okay?" Crisp stood to bring the attorney and investigator back to the interview room.

"Ms. Sharpe. Nice to see you again. Mr. Judd, I'm George Crisp. Nice to meet you. If you'll follow me, we're in the big conference room."

Marlowe knew that the big conference room was set up with video and audio recording and whispered to Judd, "Audio and video in the conference room. Let's sit somewhere other than where they want us." Judd nodded in understanding.

The officer was seated on the far side of the big conference room table with his files spread out in front of him. Judd walked right up to him, stuck out his hand and introduced himself and Marlowe. "Is it Sergeant or Lieutenant Lloyd?" Judd asked still holding Lloyd's right hand.

Lloyd stood and tried to pull back his hand. Judd held on for a moment longer, letting Lloyd take in the intimidation of control. "It's Detective Lloyd."

Judd immediately sat down in the chair vacated by Lloyd and moved Lloyd's files across the table. Judd patted the chair next to him, "Ms. Sharpe why don't you sit right here next to me?"

Lloyd turned a deep shade of anger. Crisp sputtered and grabbed his files and sat next to Lloyd.

"Anyone need water, or coffee or anything before we start?" Judd played the role of host. "No? Okay. Shall we begin?" He nodded to Marlowe who had pulled her files and tape recorder out.

After doing the date, time, identification of parties, Marlowe began, "Detective Lloyd you and I have interviewed before, but could you provide a thumbnail sketch of your law enforcement background, please."

"I brought my resume. Here." He handed his resume across the table just out of Marlowe's reach.

"I appreciate that. But since we are recording this, could you go through the highlights, please?" Marlowe did not reach for the resume.

"This is stupid. You have it in my resume, just read it." Lloyd spoke through clenched teeth.

"Let's just move along here. No need for anyone to get upset." Crisp attempted to calm the situation.

"She's just causing trouble like last time. I've had it with her."

"Can we skip this part and begin the interview?" Crisp was attempting to pacify everyone.

"Certainly, we can come back to this later in the interview. Detective, I understand you arrested my client based on your report. How did he come to your attention?" Marlowe inquired.

"A confidential reliable material informant told me your client was involved in selling drugs, specifically methamphetamine." The officer's answer was crisp.

"You said material informant. The report says confidential. Which is it?"

"It started out as confidential and then turned material."

"Does that mean that this person was under contract and then became a paid informant?" Judd asked knowing that money wasn't the only way a person became material.

"You could say that." Lloyd quipped.

"I'm asking. I'm not saying. Please answer the question."

"I need to speak with Mr. Crisp off record." Lloyd and Crisp left the room and returned within two minutes.

"Yes. The person is getting paid." Lloyd reluctantly answered.

"How much per case or buy?" Marlowe tried to move the interview along.

"It depends." Lloyd's vague answer almost set her teeth on edge.

"My question was, how much per case or buy."

"$100.00 for a solid case. $100.00 for each buy."

"Mr. Crisp I've filed motions asking for the name of the informant and any contract. I assume you have received those. I am formally requesting that name and file now."

"I'll have to request the file. It'll have to be redacted." Crisp had postponed the revelation of the CI/MI.

"I will, therefore, be requesting an opportunity to re-interview the detective based on not having received the information I have been requesting." Marlowe knew information in the file could cover any number of issues.

"Now wait just a minute. I'm here now. I don't have time for this bullshit. I'm not coming back so you can ask piddling questions." Lloyd turned red in the face as his voice rose.

"Dick. That's enough. She has the right to ask for an interview. She got it today. Let's finish here. Generally, she does not get a second interview."

"Mr. Crisp, need I remind you that you failed to provide disclosure. You are the one who has made this interview ineffective. I'm happy to file a motion for a deposition if you feel it is necessary. Is that what you want me to do?" In the past, Marlowe had officers and county attorneys try to stonewall her only to find the court sided with her.

"Let's all be reasonable here. Ask what you have on this case. If you find the necessity of another interview, I'll see what we can do." Crisp wiped sweat from his forehead.

Marlowe and Judd moved through the police report asking the questions they had put together. At the end of an hour and one half, they felt they had all the information available. They packed up the files, tape recorders and their notes and walked out to the parking lot.

"That went pretty well, about as well as a toothache." Judd said as he unlocked the car.

"Lloyd is leaving the county attorney's office. He just got into that unmarked car. Let's let him leave first." Marlowe watched Lloyd as he approached his car.

"We'll let the car cool down and see what he does." Judd started the car, opened the windows and turned the air conditioner on high.

Marlowe and Judd waited as the hot air inside the car was replaced. Lloyd did not leave the lot, instead they could see him through the tinted windows watching them.

"He's stalling waiting for us. We'll drive up to the court house and circle the parking lot just to see what he does." Judd believed the detective would follow them.

Lloyd put his car in gear and allowed them to drive the short distance up the hill before following. Judd took the back entrance to the thoroughfare leaving the courthouse parking lot. The configuration of buildings and driveways provided ample hiding room for Judd to conceal their vehicle. Lloyd drove slowly past the hiding place looking left and right trying to locate Marlowe and Judd.

"I'd say he was looking for us. What say you?" Judd turned to Marlowe. "Let's see if the scanner tells us anything." Judd turned on his mobile scanner.

"We can sit here for five minutes then leave and see where he might have gone, or just go home trusting he won't be waiting for us somewhere. But why would he follow us today?" Marlowe asked.

"Cause he can." Judd said.

They entered I-17 at 260 and headed back to Prescott. Halfway up the hill, they saw a State Police car and an unmarked car in the median.

"Speed limit here is 65. We maintain exactly 65. They'll stop you if you are under or over, if the car is dirty or clean, if a shirt is hanging in the back or not. Any excuse and they pull you over." Marlowe advised Judd.

"Any way he could have put something in or under the car?" Judd wanted to know if Marlowe had seen Lloyd near the car.

"Didn't see a thing. He might have had someone else though. I can't imagine he'd do anything like that. That would be totally crazy."

"Okay. We have a tail. State Police just pulled out and the unmarked is following. We'll just wait and see what happens." Judd looked in the rear view mirror to see both vehicles tailing them.

Going up the hill required trucks to slow down and pull to the inside lane. Traffic bogged down as faster trucks pulled out to pass slower trucks. Judd moved in between two trucks in the fast lane obscuring the view for the officers. As the small caravan crested the hill, the jam loosened up creating a space for Judd to move out ahead of the truck and squeeze in between a minivan and another 18 wheeler. He glanced up at the rear view mirror, but could not find the followers. Instead of taking the 169 exit, he proceeded on down the freeway sandwiched in between the two vehicles keeping exact pace.

Lloyd had provided information to the State Police officer who he was interested in Judd's vehicle. Trusting the information, the State Police officer offered a courtesy assist. The fact that the Dodge Durango had slipped in between two vehicles hiding from view confirmed the subjective concern regarding Judd's car. The State Police officer could tell the Durango had not exited at 169 and he radioed ahead for assist from another officer to intervene and stop if spotted.

Judd took the Orme Road exit and instead of turning right back toward Dewey and Prescott, he turned left, found a dirt side road almost covered by brush and parked.

"They knew we didn't exit 169, so they should be coming off here. They won't see any dust, but they may not realize we aren't down that road. Do you have cell coverage here?" Judd had pulled his cell out and was checking the signal strength.

"I have 4 bars. What do you have in mind?" Marlowe checked her phone and looked inquisitively at Judd.

"If they pull up, start your video camera recording and make sure audio is on and keep it running regardless of what happens. You take my cell. If things so south, dial 911 and keep dispatch on the phone. There they are. Lights and sirens. Coming our way. Get ready." Judd had his wallet out with his license and registration. He had also placed his weapon on the dash in full view. "Get a video started particularly of the gun on the dash. And place a call to 911 and keep an open line."

The State Police cars followed by Lloyd pulled up in defensive positions next to Judd's car. The officers opened their doors, crouched behind them, and pulled their weapons. Lloyd had exited his car and held a shotgun at ready. The officer Judd recognized from the hill pulled his mike and switched it to bullhorn status.

"Get out of the car. Get down on the ground. Now!"

Judd's scanner was outfitted with a microphone bullhorn. He pulled it and said, "Officers. My name is Jake Judd. My passenger is an attorney by the name of Marlowe Sharpe. This transaction is being video and audio recorded. Tell me your business. We will not exit the vehicle until we know what is going on. What is your probable cause for accosting us?"

The State Police officers looked at each other then over at Lloyd. This wasn't going down the way they expected. Both of them knew of Marlowe Sharpe and both knew her reputation as a square shooter. "Lloyd, what have you gotten us into?"

"I'm telling you they have contraband in their car. Call out the K-9. I'm giving you probable cause for a stop and a search." Lloyd spoke over the top of his unmarked car to the officers.

"Jim, call dispatch and get a sergeant out here."

Jim picked up the radio mike and requested back up from the shift sergeant. Dispatch indicated time of arrival would be 6 minutes.

"Judd carries a weapon. We have probable cause to force them out of the vehicle." Lloyd was pushing for action.

"Shut up. The sergeant will be here shortly. He can handle this and you." Jim spoke harshly to Lloyd. Over the bullhorn he said, "Ms. Sharpe, Mr. Judd. Just stay where you are. Do not exit the vehicle. Do not move. Sergeant Milkin is on his way. I told him what is going on. Please leave your hands where we can see them. Mr. Judd please put your hands on the steering wheel. Ms. Sharpe please put your hands out in front of you where I can see them."

"Marlowe Sharpe is recording this. You can see her right hand holds a cell phone and it is the video. Her left hand holds a cell phone and it is an open line to 911. I suggest you do not approach the car until Sgt. Milkin arrives." Judd used his mike to apprise not only the officers but the 911 operator of Marlowe's status.

"I'm calling for a K-9 unit." Lloyd reached for his radio.

"Lloyd don't even fucking move right now. Put down your shotgun and your duty weapon." Jim ordered.

"Jim what are you doing?" Lloyd looked at the State Police officers in amazement. "You both know me. You both trust me."

"Lloyd. I'm not going to tell you again. Until Sgt. Milkin can sort this out you are to follow my orders. I am ordering you to lay down the shotgun and your side arm. And if you have a throw away, you are to lay it down too. Then step back from your car." Jim had slowly turned aiming his gun at Lloyd as his partner had re positioned himself for better cover from both Judd's and Lloyd's cars.

Lloyd slowly laid the shotgun on the hood of his car, next to it he placed his 9mm, "I'm going to very slowly reach down and pull my ankle gun and place it on top of the hood." Lloyd recognized he was in deep trouble with the officers and did not want to take a chance at getting shot for a sudden movement.

They all heard tires on gravel as Sgt. Milkin arrived. He stopped his car about 30 feet back from the cluster, radioed Jim for an update. "I'm sure there is a logical explanation for what is going on. Make it short, sweet and to the point, please."

"Sarge, Lloyd asked for back up on a traffic stop. At that time we did not know who he wanted to stop, only the make and model. He told me they had contraband. I asked Bob for an assist. Then we get here and find out it is the defense attorney Marlowe Sharpe and her investigator, Jake Judd. Then everything goes south with Lloyd." Jim provided a thumbnail sketch of the situation.

"I'm going to step out of my car. Tell Ms. Sharpe and Judd. Tell Lloyd not to move. I'm coming over to your car first, then I will go over to Ms. Sharpe. Tell everybody not to get antsy." Sgt. Milkin took control of the scene and turned on his pocket recorder.

"Lloyd, tell me what the hell is going on here." Milkin spoke to the detective.

"I'm sure they have contraband. He has a gun. I have probable cause to stop and search. I told them to get a drug dog to confirm, but they wouldn't."

"Okay. You stay right here. Don't make any sudden moves." Milkin said and turned his back on Lloyd to cross over to Judd's car.

"Judd. How ya doing? Haven't seen ya for a long time. Ms. Sharpe. Good to see you too. Looks like things are a little crazy here. What's going on?" Milkin tipped his hat to salute Marlowe and Judd as he stopped about five feet from their vehicle.

"Sarge. Glad to see you." Judd spoke into the mike from inside the car. "I'm going to lower the window. I'm going to move my left hand to the door panel to do so. I will keep my right hand on the steering wheel. Marlowe will continue to record video and audio." Judd gave a step-by-step account of his movements to avoid being shot. "I'm now turning off my microphone and laying it down in the seat."

Milkin approached Judd's window, "Would you mind if I took your piece for safety's sake?"

Judd handed his gun to the Sergeant butt first. The sergeant ejected the magazine and placed the gun on the hood of the car. "Now, Sarge, Ms. Marlowe and I would like to exit our car. Me first." Judd waited for agreement from the sergeant.

"Allow me to open the door, Judd." The sergeant opened the driver's door and after Judd stepped out, leaned in to speak to Marlowe. "Ms. Sharpe there's no way you can crawl over the console in your skirt. Would you just wait for a minute please?"

"Sergeant Milkin, I don't plan on doing anything that would cause someone to mistake my actions. I'm waiting right here."

"Judd, tell me what's going on." Milkin spoke quietly with Judd.

"We were finishing up an interview at the county attorney's office in Verde. Lloyd got pissed. I got cautious. He followed us out of the complex for no good reason. We made a stop or two, drove south on 17, saw him in the median with Jim, saw them pull out to follow us and knew something was hinky. I pulled off here to wait for them." Judd spoke without gestures or movement of any kind.

"That matches what Jim told me over the radio. Would you mind if I walked around the car and assisted Ms. Sharpe to exit?" Milkin wanted Judd to know what he was doing and didn't want any interference from his officers or Lloyd as he raised his voice.

Milkin walked around to the passenger side, opened Marlowe's door and reached his hand in to assist her descent from the car. "Sorry, Sarge, I'm still recording as I was directed. I'll just keep both hands where you can see them and then swing my legs out and step down." Marlowe declined his assist as she placed her feet on the ground and butt slammed the door shut.

"Ma'am, I'm truly sorry about this incident. May I ask if there is any contraband in your car?"

"Sergeant I'm an officer of the court. We both know there is nothing in this car that I am aware of that is contraband. If there is contraband in this car, someone other than myself or Mr. Judd put it there."

"Would you mind if I search your car?" The sergeant asked.

Marlowe looked across the hood of the car to Judd and back at the grouping of officers and turned to the sergeant. "This is not my vehicle. It belongs to Mr. Judd. So I cannot give permission. Were it my vehicle, I would decline permission without a search warrant. I'm assuming you do not have a search warrant because I doubt you have probable cause to get a search warrant."

"Very well." Milkin turned to Judd. "Judd, would you give permission to search your car?"

"You heard my attorney. No probable cause, no search warrant, no search." Judd said trying to conceal a smile.

Milkin walked around the front of the car. "Officers, these people have declined permission to search their car. We do not have probable cause to detain them any longer. They are free to go with our apologies. Is that understood?"

Jim and Bob spoke in unison, "Yes sir." Lloyd remained silent, seething.

Milkin turned to Marlowe, "Will there be a follow up to this incident on your part, Ma'am?"

"I'm not sure." Marlowe did not want to commit herself one way or the other at that moment. "I certainly want a copy of the report your officers will submit and a copy of yours too." Informing Milkin that the issue was not put to rest.

"Judd, here is your weapon and magazine. Please accept my apologies for any inconvenience. Have a safe journey home." Milkin handed the gun to Judd and turned to speak with his officers.

"Jim, Bob. You will return to the substation and write out your reports separately immediately. I expect them on my desk in one hour. Understood? Lloyd, I'd like a word with you before the officers leave, please." Milkin made the request a command.

"My suggestion to you is to return to your office and write a report and forward that to me by email within the hour. I will be speaking with your commander. Understood?" Milkin wanted to make sure Lloyd knew this incident would not be brushed away.

Lloyd dared not say anything further, "Understood."

Judd drove off leaving Orme Road for I-17 and the 169 back to Prescott. "How are you doing, Marlowe? I gotta tell you, you're a trooper. I wasn't sure what you were going to say when he asked for permission to search. Why not let him?"

"I'm shaking inside just a little. I'm mad as hell. And there was no way I was going to let him search. I'm afraid Lloyd may have planted something. When we get to Old Cherry Road, pull off and let's do a thorough search and see if there is anything."

Judd left 169 at Old Cherry Road, traveled down the road to the first dirt turn off and parked. He waited for five minutes just to make sure they were not being followed and got out of the car. He pulled an old tarp out of the cargo area, laid it on the ground under the car and crawled underneath. "Marlowe, hand me the flashlight in the console."

Marlowe grabbed the flashlight and got out on her side. Handing the light to Judd she said, "Why search underneath?"

"The car was locked in full view of everyone in the complex. If he was going to conceal something, the most likely place would be underneath or in the wheel wells. If we find nothing, then I'll move to the inside."

Judd shone the light up at the wheel wells on all four tires and found nothing. He skinnied further underneath and started at the rear of the car. Up under the bumper, he found it, a small wrapped package the size of a playing card, jammed in between the bumper and the frame. "Marlowe get the camera and some gloves, we hit pay dirt."

Marlowe turned on the camera and handed him her cell phone. "Why would he do that? Isn't he taking a huge chance framing us like that?"

"Lady, the guy is out of control. In my briefcase is an evidence bag, will you throw it to me."

They took pictures of the contraband and the evidence envelope and signed the closure with both their names. "Now we know why he wanted a drug dog. The bad thing is that smell will remain long after the baggie is gone. I'm going to crawl around down here some more just to be sure. You look through the inside of the car. Look everywhere you can move stuff around, under the mats, inside the console. You get the picture."

They searched for fifteen minutes and found nothing but dirt and old receipts in and under Judd's car. Marlowe got handi-wipes from the dash and they both cleaned their hands. Judd replaced the tarp, stowed the contraband in his briefcase and started the car. "Who do you know we can turn this over to where it will be safe from us and the world?"

"I can't use Oriole or Fred. Let's see." Marlowe didn't want either of them involved in the mess. She pondered the issue, "We could take it to the Prescott Police Department. I know a Lieutenant who would mark it and put it into evidence. That will take it out of the SO and out of our hands."

"Good idea. Can you call him so we can drop it off?"

"Will do."

Chapter 25

Summer and Chalcey dug through the manure in the corral cleaning up and getting ready for the evening feeding. "Summer, what are we going to do about the virus?" Chalcey had listened to everyone's concern about the EHV-1 virus in Yavapai County and across the Southwest and was very concerned for Red, her POA Appy.

"Honey, Dr. Chris is going to let me know whether we should put Red in the parade or not. In fact, he is the one in charge of the Rodeo. If he says stay home, we do. I know this was your first year in the parade and opening ceremonies, but if he says stay home, we keep Red and Ruby, and Smokey home. It'll be a week or two before the vets know what's up with the virus. In the meantime, don't take Red anywhere, not even over to Stephanie's because we just don't know where the virus is. Promise me?" Summer knew how much this year's Rodeo meant to Chalcey and she was concerned that Chalcey might go off the reservation to meet up with Stephanie and work on their opening routine.

1Equine Herpes Virus (EHV-1) is a contagious viral disease of horses that can cause respiratory disease, abortion and occasionally neurologic disease. It is spread by 1aerosol (airborne) and fomites (feed, clothing, boots, hands, etc.). It hit Arizona and particularly Yavapai County hard causing the loss of numerous show horses.

Oriole and Fred arrived home to find dinner on the table. "Where's Marlowe?" Fred asked.

"She called in and said she'd be home a little late for us to go ahead without her." Summer responded.

"Fred, I'm really afraid of the virus getting our horses." Chalcey expressed her concerns to her favorite father figure.

"I heard it is under control. In fact, I heard on the radio that the Rodeo was a go. So it looks like you'll be able to ride in the parade right in front of us." Fred put his arm around the tall redhead and kissed her on the top of her head.

"Summer and I got the chores done. I was thinking maybe we could all play some poker tonight." Chalcey's mood lifted as her concerns about the virus were alleviated.

"Have you been practicing?" Oriole asked as she put plates and silverware on the table. "You know Fred's pretty good at cards."

"Summer says I'm cut throat. Is that good or bad?"

Oriole laughed and looked to her grandmother. "Yes?"

"We play whenever you and Fred are working late. I can honestly say, I've taught her everything I know about the game." Summer put bowls of fresh vegetables on the table along with chicken and dumplings.

"Being cut throat is good as long as you don't buy into the philosophy as a way of life, Sweetie." Fred helped himself to Summer's mother's favorite recipe.

"Any news on the case that you can share?" Summer asked the two detectives.

"More questions than solutions. Did you know there might have been a problem with Bobby and Lisa?" Oriole asked her grandmother who seemed to know everything.

"Lisa had mentioned she was getting the bum's rush from Bobby for more money. I know she was very disappointed that he still wasn't self sufficient. In fact, I thought I saw him the day Lisa died. I was downtown for supplies at the grocery store. I was dying of thirst and went next door to the coffee shop for something to drink and saw a guy talking to someone. I didn't have my glasses on so couldn't see either of them very well. But I had the feeling it was Bobby and Phil."

"Summer. Why didn't you tell us this a long time ago?" Oriole asked almost chastising her grandmother.

"I wasn't sure and you know I try to stay out of things where your investigation is involved. Anyway, I can't be sure it was either of them. They were at the far end of the restaurant and it was pretty dark." Summer stood up to Oriole's interrogation.

"What coffee shop was it, Summer?" Fred tried to lessen the mood and still get more information.

"The one in the Commerce Shopping Center. It must have been about 11:00. Jill and Mary were working that day. Who knows they might be able to tell you more." Summer finished eating and began gathering dishes and bowls for the dishwasher.

"This case just gets more complicated." Oriole whispered.

"Tomorrow we follow up on some of the stuff from today. Right now let's get the cards out and see who the real cut throat is." Fred wanted to put some distance between the job and the few hours of relaxation they had.

Chalcey got the cards and poker chips from the sideboard. Oriole finished clearing the table. Fred put the oil cloth over the table. Summer walked over to Oriole and put her arm around her.

"I'm sorry, honey, I never mean to make your life difficult."

"I know. I'm sorry I yelled at you. Thank you for all you do for Chalcey and us. I love you Summer." Oriole hugged her grandmother.

Chalcey dealt the cards and the game was on. Chalcey was up 30 chips when Marlowe opened the kitchen door. "Hi, Marlowe. You're just in time to see me beat the pants off of everybody." Chalcey guarded her run by not getting up to greet Marlowe.

"How about-"Hi Marlowe. How was your day? Young Lady." Oriole chided her daughter who was caught up in the fun.

"Oh. Sorry. How was your day?"

Marlowe looked at Oriole and then Fred. "We'll talk about it later. Looks like I've missed a great game. I'll just grab a sandwich and watch."

"Want me to fix you something. Chalcey has most of my chips. I'm out." Fred pushed back his chair and poured Marlowe a drink. He could tell she was troubled, but not willing to discuss it in front of the whole group.

Marlowe took her drink and sandwich out to the porch and waited for Fred to join her.

"So? Want to tell me about what happened?"

"Am I that obvious?"

"No, I'm a trained investigator remember."

And Marlowe related the events of the afternoon.

Chapter 26

Oriole and Fred organized the tasks that had surfaced on their case. Oriole took the coffee shop, Fred followed up with phone calls on male friends of Lisa.

Oriole showed pictures of Bobby and Phil to Mary and Jill and got confirmation that it could have been the two of them in the coffee shop on the day Lisa died. She called Fred to tell him of the new development, but got his voice mail and left a message. She decided to follow up with the accountant and Gerri to make sure the hold was placed on Lisa's investment accounts.

"Gerri. It's Detective Wolfe. Did you connect up with the accountant to get the hold placed?"

"I went over there to his office and it's shut up tight. I called the number and it says he retired and closed his office. It refers everyone to another accountant. What do I do now?" Gerri was more than a little perturbed.

"Gerri. Go to the other accountant explain the problem and show him the will and get him to help put a freeze on the accounts. Then call me back. I gotta go. Bye." Oriole wanted to tell Fred and see if he concurred on a BOLO on Tom Schumann. She disconnected with Gerri and immediately dialed the office rather than Fred's cell so she could get the secretary to track him down. When he came on the line, she gave him the latest updates. He concurred with the concerns about the accountant. He shared what he had found out about the other men friends of Lisa. They agreed to meet at Schumann's home.

"Mrs. Schumann. I'm Detective Wolfe. This is Detective O'Neill. Could we come in?"

Margie Schumann opened the door to the detectives and they could see she had been crying. "I'm so glad you're finally here. I called to report my husband missing and I've just been crazy with worry." She dabbed at her eyes with a wadded up Kleenex. "Won't you be seated? Would you like a cup of coffee?"

"If it's no trouble, coffee would be wonderful. Let me help." Oriole wanted to give Fred a chance to snoop around.

"Mrs. Schumann when did you husband go missing?"

"He didn't come home last night. I tried his cell phone, but it went directly to voice mail. I drove over to the office about 9:00 and it was closed. I mean really closed. There was a note on the door that he retired. We hadn't even ever talked about retirement. I called our daughter in Phoenix to see if she'd heard from him. Do you want sugar or cream? No. Betsy said she hadn't talked to Tom since Father's Day. What could have happened?" Margie picked up her cup, one for Fred and handed one to Oriole and moved into the living room.

The Schumann home sat smack dab in the middle of an oversized lot located in an upscale subdivision boasting of half million dollar homes. The entry way welcomed visitors with Italian marble butting up against off-white carpet throughout the great room.

Handpicked matching loveseat and sofa created a conversation center in front of a floor to ceiling stone fireplace that had never been used. Under the coffee table rested a hand woven throw rug half the size of Rhode Island.

Fred took the cup of coffee from Mrs. Schumann and set it on a coaster on a coffee table as he sat down on the couch next to Oriole. "Ma'am. Where would your husband go if he wanted to get away for awhile?"

"You mean a vacation? Or do you mean if he ran away?"

"Whichever."

"I have no idea. We haven't taken a vacation together for years. We were both too busy. I'm a teacher for the Montessori here and you know he works 50-60 hours a week at the office. We just never seemed to have time. But he wouldn't just run away. Who will take care of everything-the bills, the yard? I can't do it all. He knows that. He would never just walk away." She blotted her tears gently to avoid mussing her makeup.

"Have you checked your bank accounts to see if everything is copacetic?" Oriole sipped her coffee and looked at Fred over the rim.

"Bank accounts? Are you saying he stole our money and ran?" Margie sat up straight in her Lazy Boy recliner.

"Why don't you call the bank or maybe you can go online and check?" Fred put his coffee cup down and pulled out his notebook and started taking notes. "What is Tom's full name and date of birth? Is his car missing too?"

Fred excused himself and returned to his car to call in the additional information Mrs. Schumann had provided on the missing accountant. Dispatch had an update for him from an accident report involving the missing SUV belonging to the accountant. Fred called Oriole on her cell phone in order to get her outside to give her the update.

"Mrs. Schumann. I have to go now. Here's my card if you hear anything else. Thank you for the coffee." Oriole moved to the front door.

"But, I'm all alone here. What am I supposed to do? Aren't you going to send an officer to be with me?" Margie Schumann wrung her hands, whining.

"Maybe you could call your daughter in Phoenix." Oriole opened the door and said to both Fred and Margie, "I have to go now my partner needs me."

"Difficult departure. What did you find out?" Oriole asked as she climbed into Fred's car.

"His SUV was involved in a rollover accident on the way to Jerome. State and county are investigating. Haven't heard what they found. Let's take your car back to the office and go out there and see if he's there."

They met up and drove 89A to the Jerome turn off. It was obvious where the accident had occurred based on the number of emergency vehicles positioned on both sides of the road. Traffic had been limited to one lane as officers directed travelers to share the road. Fred and Oriole got out of their car and joined the investigators at the side of the canyon.

"Is the driver present?" Fred asked.

"We're getting a tow truck to pull it up from the bottom. We haven't been able to determine if the driver was inside." The State Police investigator responded.

The officers stood around waiting for the tow truck to arrive. The SUV was visible to the onlookers. It was crushed from rolling over and over. The windshield had shattered and the top had collapsed onto the seats. The tires had flattened with the impact. The officers scanned the surrounding area for an ejected driver.

The tow truck arrived and maneuvered through traffic to the side of the canyon. Reeling up the SUV took nearly an hour. When the chain was disconnected, officers approached looking inside and found nothing-no driver, no briefcase, no sign of anything.

"Either the driver was ejected and is down there somewhere or he walked away. Let's get a cadaver dog to search." Fred took charge of the situation.

The handler in charge of the cadaver dogs lived in Chino Valley. She and her three specially trained dogs traveled all over the United States assisting with searches for deceased individuals. Cindy Jance traveled the old road from Chino Valley to Jerome in less than an hour. She took Willy out of her air conditioned van and put him to work down the canyon. The dog traversed the rugged hillside by himself, but found nothing.

"Fred. Willy didn't hit on anything, not even some blood. Your driver didn't come down the hill with his car. Sorry we didn't find him." Cindy put Willy back in the van and left.

"Now we put out the BOLO on him. Let's go back to his office and get Mrs. Schumann to meet us there and see if we can find anything. I'll call in for a search warrant." Fred and Oriole left the scene to the traffic officers and returned to their office.

Chapter 27

At the office, Fred and Oriole mapped out the case and the still unknowns:

Where did the cord come from?

Why was Lisa at the Lampier residence and how did she get there?

Was Bobby meeting with Phil and if so, why?

What did Schumann's disappearance have to do with the case, if anything?

Where was the missing money?

Did Bobby meet with Lisa the day she died?

As the detectives compiled the list of knowns and unknowns, they attacked the issues with brainstorming, throwing out ideas and possibilities for further investigation. Fred took the issue of Bobby and Phil, while Oriole took on the Schumann development.

Fred called the diner to find out more about the meeting with Phil and Bobby and to see if either of the waitresses could remember anything significant. Both Mary and Jill remembered the meeting, but neither could remember any conversation that might have occurred.

Oriole met with Margie at the office of the accountant. Margie admitted to not knowing a lot about the business.

"Where would your husband keep important papers?"

"Probably in the safe. He always forgot the combination, so he switched to my birthday as the code. We can open it and see if there is anything in there."

"What would you expect there to be?"

"Why, I guess bank accounts, stocks, stuff like that. What are you looking for specifically?"

"That's the problem. Right now we aren't sure. We're looking for things that are missing that we expect to find. For instance, would there be any cash?"

"He would have kept maybe $50.00 in the office for supplies, but nothing big. He used to have a coin collection that was worth about $10,000.00 he kept here in the safe. I think the reason he had it here was so I couldn't get my hands on it."

"Go ahead and open the safe, Ma'am."

"Who would have thought it?" Margie exclaimed as she dragged documents, coins, and videos out of the safe.

"We probably need to stop right here. I'll call in for a search warrant specifically for the contents of the safe before we get into an area we shouldn't get into."

Oriole got the local magistrate on the phone and got a telephonic search warrant for anything and everything in the accountant's safe. In the process of a thorough search, Oriole discovered the videos were foreign kiddie porn, the coin collection was reported stolen from a Sedona couple, that come to find out, Tom Schumann had gone to their house to do their taxes. Oriole bagged and tagged everything in the safe, as well as documents relating to Lisa or Phil.

"Margie, it looks like there is an aspect of your husband that you may not have been aware of. Did you ever suspect that he may have engaged in illegal activities?"

"I'm dumb struck. I figured all the late hours he was really working, not loping his mule. How do you think I feel?" Everything always seemed to come back to it being all about her.

Oriole called Fred with an update and a suggestion of a call to the county attorney's office for permission to get an arrest warrant on Tom for the porn.

"I think we found the embezzler. There were all sorts of records on the transfers he made from Lisa's accounts. Looks close to $150,000.00 in fraudulent actions. Phil might be off the hook on stealing."

"Look, I've got some stuff I have to do before I get home. You go ahead and process the warrant and I'll be home in time for dinner."

"It's okay. I can wait for you." Oriole was a little surprised at his directive because they rarely, if ever, had secrets from each other.

"Its stuff I gotta do by myself. I won't be too long." Fred did not want to go into details of his errands.

Oriole finished up her paperwork and drove to Bear Ranch.

"Summer, did you notice anything odd about Fred today? He brushed me off for the first time ever."

"Now, honey, sometimes a man's gotta do what a man's gotta do. I'm sure he has a good reason and he'll tell us if and when he's ready. Supper'll be a little late, Marlowe's tied up with a late client and Chalcey is over next door." Summer washed the fresh vegetables and cleaned the fish in preparation for supper while Oriole locked up her duty weapon and changed clothes.

Chapter 28

"Frances. This is Fred O'Neill. What is the asking price of Crimson?"

"Crimson? Let me look it up. Here it is. Rod said to put a price on it that would reflect the market slump, but that if someone came along who really loved the place and would do right by it, he would work with them. Are you thinking about a purchase?" Frances knew from years of experience that the question asked may not be the question the person wanted an answer to. She was also Real Estate savvy to know every encounter could be a potential buyer.

"Well, actually, I was interested. It's right next to Bear Ranch. Rod's done a great job on the fencing and cross fencing. The house is in great shape, maybe a little paint here and there. The barn is incredible and it's not far to town. I still have the money from selling our place after Marvelle died and I need to get it reinvested or pay the penalties. Can we sit down this afternoon and talk money?"

"My time is yours. Say 2:30 at the office?"

"I'll be there. Will you call Rod and tell him I'm thinking about it and see what he thinks?"

"Rod, this is Frances. I'm meeting this afternoon with a potential buyer for Crimson. Did you get the home inspection done?"

"I can't believe it. Really? Yeah. I wanted the inspection to see if there were any problems like termites or water damage, so I could get them taken care of. Nothing, the report is perfect. Who's the buyer?" Rod's excitement bubbled forth.

"Well, you know the potential buyer. It's Fred O'Neill. He wants to know how you would feel about selling Crimson to him. What do you think?"

"Fred would take good care of Crimson and he'd be right next door to Bear and he could help them out. It'd be outstanding. Has he made an offer or is he thinking about it?"

"He's coming in to look at making an offer. Since I represent you, I want to keep you in the loop. Are you still thinking about the same price-market value?"

"Yes. Knowing its Fred, I'm good with the tax assessment value. He'll take good care of ole Crimson and I can come back anytime to see the progress he's made."

"Let's get this offer on paper. We should be able to close immediately what with Fred's cash offer and a perfect report with the inspection."

Frances processed the paperwork, Fred signed the documents, and Crimson had a new owner. Fred had not told any of the women from Bear Ranch about the deal for fear the sale might fall through. Once he took possession of Crimson, he planned a surprise party just for Frances, Rod and the Bear women.

Chapter 29

Oriole arrived at the office early before anyone else showed up. She had the BOLO, the warrant, and the request to cross county lines processed by 7:30. By 8:00, she was on her third cup of coffee, waiting for Fred to put in an appearance, and monitoring the email and fax regarding the warrant. At 8:15 the phone rang on her desk, "This is Detective Wolfe."

"My name is Sgt. Browley with Flagstaff PD. You sent out a BOLO on Tom Schumann?"

"Yes, we had one out and then sent the other just now. You got something?"

"I looked at the picture and the description you sent. It looks like this guy who took an apartment in my complex up here. He's been here about three weeks, but you don't see much of him and then all of a sudden he's here full time like maybe yesterday or day before. I saw him go into his apartment and then this morning I got the BOLO. Sure enough I'm 100% sure it's him. I have not approached him. I figured I'd better let you know first before I did anything." The excitement in Browley's voice carried the 100 miles to Prescott.

"Can you put him under surveillance? Can you make sure he doesn't know you're watching him?" Oriole sat bolt upright in her chair as she gripped the phone with white knuckles.

"I'll take a deputy and I'll go myself since I live in the complex. He'll never know. Are you coming up?"

"I'm calling my partner right now. We could be there in two hours. I'll get back to you shortly." Oriole hung up and picked up her cell phone and dialed Fred.

"Fred, where are you? We just got a break. Schumann might be in Flag. When can you get here?"

"I'm at the corner of Sheldon and Montezuma. I can be at the office in less than five minutes. I'll pick you up outside the sally port."

Eight minutes later they were on their way to Flagstaff, lights and sirens notwithstanding. The 1.5 hour trip was cut nearly in half with Fred's lead foot and the emblem on the side of the SUV. Oriole had called Browley for directions to the complex and an update on the suspect. Browley indicated that the department was available with a SWAT team if necessary and he was standing by at his residence.

Oriole and Fred pulled into the back parking lot of the complex to the back door of Browley's apartment at 9:05. Browley ushered them into his apartment and the living room behind closed curtains.

"His apartment is directly across the commons and one to the right. He is using the name of Tomas Wooden. I called the office, but didn't want to alert them just yet about their new tenant. Tell me what else you need from me."

"Can you tell if he is still in the apartment? And how sure are you it's our man?" Fred wanted information as to the course of action they would take.

"He is in the apartment. 99% sure."

"Good enough for me. Will you call your local judge and help me with a search/arrest warrant? We have the arrest warrant on the porn. Let's add an alias of Tomas Wooden. We're looking for evidence of embezzlement as well as kiddie porn, and we won't rule out murder."

"I'm on it."

The local magistrate issued the search/arrest warrant based on the affidavit and the arrest warrant from Yavapai County. Within five minutes it had been faxed to the complex office and in the hands of Sgt. Browley. The SWAT team moved into position after officers evacuated units on both sides of Wooden/Schumann.

"Let's create a diversion to get him outside. You knock on his door and identify yourself as maintenance and you're here to finish some project the parts just came in for. Can you carry that off?" Fred was directing although he would rather have been the actor.

"Sure. We've had installation of new microwaves over the last month because the original ones were defective and caused a fire. I'll just say his is now in and I need to make an appointment with him to take out the old and put in the new." Browley suggested.

"Okay. Our goal is to get him outside or us inside without any injuries to anyone. Get your foot in the door."

"Let's do it."

The detectives from Yavapai circled the parking lot while Browley donned a maintenance worker's uniform. Oriole took a position on the left of the apartment while Fred positioned himself on the right. Fred signaled Browley with the short wave radio they were in position and ready. Browley left the main office and meandered to Wooden's apartment and knocked on the door.

"Who is it?" Came from inside.

"Maintenance."

"What do you need?"

"I have your microwave here."

"Well just leave it and I'll install it myself."

"Wish I could. That's why we have to get all new micros. They were installed improperly into the oven/range unit to begin with. It will only take a minute of your time and then I can get on with the rest of my work." Browley was making it up as he went along.

"Okay. Hold on a minute let me get dressed."

Browley gave an imperceptible nod to the detectives to alert them he had succeeded. They slowly moved toward the front door and signaled the SWAT team to close in on the back door.

As soon as Tom opened the door to admit the maintenance guy, the detectives pushed into the apartment on his heels ordering Tom to the ground. For the next five minutes there was a lot of yelling and profanities and confusion. Tom complied with the directives issued, allowed himself to be handcuffed for officer safety, and sat on the couch in the living room. SWAT members entered the apartment and assisted with the search. The apartment was sparsely furnished so the search was completed fairly quickly. Of interest in findings were documents related to Tom Schumann's accounting business, Lisa Wood's accounts along with several others, and real estate property holdings in the name of Tomas Wooden.

Oriole read Miranda to Schumann while Fred bagged and tagged the evidence. "Do you understand your rights? And do you want to waive them?"

"Yeah I understand and yeah I'll waive them."

"I need you to sign this form so stating. I want you to know I'm tape recording as we speak. Tell me why you left Yavapai County."

"Are you kidding? You saw all that stuff. I screwed up. It wasn't really my fault. The money was taken. I admit that, but I didn't get any of it. It was that bitch, Monique Richards. She had her talons into me. She made me do it."

Oriole looked from Tom to Fred and back again. "You mean Monique Richards the stock broker?" Receiving a nod from Tom, Oriole went on, "What does she have to do with this situation?"

"I got involved with her, we had a hot and steamy affair and she found out about some stuff I was involved with and she started blackmailing me. Lisa Wood wasn't the only client. There were three or four others. She cleared close to a million through her blackmailing scheme. Somehow she had this so down pat, I bet I'm not the only one."

"What did you have to do with the death of Lisa Wood?"

"What?" Tom all but yelled. "No, not me. I'm positive it had to be her. Lisa started questioning her investment summaries and I told Monique. She was totally pissed. Monique said she was going to take care of the situation. I asked her what that meant and she said I'd see soon enough. Within days, Lisa was dead. It had to be Monique." Tom was now sweating profusely.

Oriole and Fred left Tom in the care of the sergeant and stepped outside. "What do you think of that disclosure?" Fred looked excited.

"Let's call the office and see if we can get a search warrant for Monique's bank accounts, office and home. We'll get someone to transport Tom back to Yavapai Detention Center and book him in and serve the search warrant on Monique."

Chapter 30

The search warrant was signed and served on Monique by 4:30 that afternoon. Oriole and Fred divided the search. Oriole took the office while Fred took the condo.

At the office, Oriole confiscated the computer, contents of Monique's desk, and her personal locker in the executive workout room. Oriole, with the assistance of a deputy, logged all the evidence and took it to the evidence locker. Of particular interest were ledgers containing information about numerous accounts and amounts, plus coded notes seemingly connected to other men Monique may have been involved with. When Oriole finished, she called Fred at Monique's condo.

"How are you progressing?"

"I just got here. If you're done, why not come and help me."

"I am just finishing up the paperwork. I'll be there in15 minutes. Save something for me."

"Where do you want me to start?"

"You take the garage. I'll start upstairs and work my way down."

Oriole opened the door from the condo to the garage to find an orderly accumulation of items. To the right were cabinets with labels affixed to the doors and to the left she found boxes of records and holiday items. First, she took pictures of the garage starting on the left moving to the right. Then Oriole systematically began searching the cabinets and boxes. Anything listed on the search warrant was bagged, tagged, and inventoried. Anything not listed, but of evidentiary value was set aside for a supplemental search warrant.

In a box in the far left corner, Oriole found a broken lamp and a cut electrical cord. She keyed her portable radio."Fred, you might want to come here. I think I may have something." While she waited, she took five photos of the box, lamp and cord.

"Whatta ya got?"

"Broken lamp and cord. Same thing Doc said could be the weapon. What do you think?"

"Let's take the whole box and get it to forensics immediately. When you're done here, come upstairs. I found some interesting stuff in the spare bedroom closet."

Oriole finished her search of the garage, but found nothing else of value and left the garage to join Fred upstairs.

"I found a little black book in a shoebox on the top shelf. Guess what's in this little book?" Fred held the book up and waved it in front of Oriole.

"Names of boyfriends? Recipes for zucchini bread?" Oriole knew Fred liked to draw out his revelation.

" Nope. And nope. It's a record of blackmail and a list of off shore accounts. The names of the victims are in some kind of code. There must be at least four vics and close to a million dollars in three different accounts. Also, there are names in some code that could be guys she was involved with. This matches up with what you found. Now we got something to arrest her for. Let's finish up with the rest of the house and get someone to pick her up."

They meticulously went through the rest of the house. In the office, they confiscated Monique's home computer and her bank records, as well as files from the file cabinet.

After logging in the evidence, they reached the on call county attorney and discussed an arrest warrant. It was determined they would go with a frontal approach while an arrest warrant was secured.

They staked out her condo waiting for Monique's arrival.

"There is nothing fun about a stake out. What if she's already flown?" Fred quipped.

"Get over it. If she isn't home by 2200, we call it a night and go home." Oriole poked Fred in the ribs and shifted in the driver's seat. Light was fading by the time Monique's BMW turned in the main driveway and the condo's garage door slid up.

Fred and Oriole left their vehicle and entered the garage on the heels of Monique's exit from her car.

"Ms. Richards. We need you to put your hands on the top of the car and do not move." Fred commanded cooperation from a frightened Monique.

"Wh...what's going on? Wh...Why are you here?" Monique stuttered in disbelief as she turned her head to look at the detectives.

"Just stand still. I'm going to pat you down for weapons. Do not move." Oriole began the search. "Now, very slowly, I'm going to take you left hand and put handcuffs on you for officer safety. Do not resist and do not fight me. Okay?"

And Monique Richards was taken into custody without incident. The trio proceeded to the SUV and Monique was placed in the back seat and secured. Fred drove to the Sheriff's Office, parked in the sally port and turned Monique over to the detention officer to secure until the detectives were ready for questioning.

Oriole called the Medical Examiner to ask about the electrical cord discovered in the garage. "Well, you've been a busy little beaver, now haven't you? The cord matches by eyeball. We'll need to send it to the DPS lab for 100% sure. Where did you find it?" Culpepper was ecstatic with the possible closure to the case.

"Found it in a box in a garage along with some other stuff. Will you go ahead and send it off with the chain of custody? And thanks."

Fred and Oriole set up the interview room, started the audio and video recording and had Monique brought to the room in standard orange jumpsuit.

"Why did you take my clothes? I can't be seen in this horrendous thing. Give me back my clothes." Monique stomped her orange plastic flip flop on the floor emphasizing her anger at being inconvenienced.

"Please have a seat Ms. Richards. I'm going to advise you of Miranda warnings." Fred read from the department issued card. "Do you understand your rights and will you waive them?" Fred had the consent and waiver in front of Monique with a pen at ready.

"Of course I understand my rights. I'm not stupid. Now get my clothes and let me out of here or you will face the biggest lawsuit this county has ever seen."

"Are you willing to waive your rights and talk with us?" Oriole asked as she pushed the paper and pen toward Monique.

"I'll waive my rights. I have nothing to hide." Monique signed the paper with a heavy hand tearing a hole in the form. "Now get my clothes and get me out of here."

"Sorry, ma'am. We can't do that. We need some information about your activities. I have here the search warrants for your house and office and an arrest warrant for you. Are you willing to try to clear up some of the confusion surrounding these activities?" Butter wouldn't melt in Fred's mouth.

"What do you mean? Activities? What activities?"

"We have some ledgers that indicate you may have had a role in some embezzlements. What can you tell us about that?" Oriole was taking her cue from Fred by being circumspect.

"Embezzlement? What are you talking about?"

"Here is the first ledger. It appears there is over a million in off shore accounts. The accounts are in your name. The ledger indicates the monies came from several sources. Can you explain it to us?" Fred turned the ledger toward Monique, keeping it just out of hands reach.

"Ah, ah, I'm not sure." The aggressiveness had left her and Monique became visibly smaller. "I think that ledger was a summary of money given to me by my ex-husbands."

"Ms. Richards, this ledger summarizes monies taken from brokerage accounts belonging to Lisa Wood and other individuals. Not your ex-husbands. When did you start stealing from Ms. Woods?" Oriole pressed Monique for answers.

"I kept that ledger for the accountant. That was his business. He needed a safe place to put it. I didn't have anything to do with stealing money. It was all Schumann. I had no idea what these ledgers were. He didn't want his wife to know about his money. Now if that is all, I'm ready to go home." Some of the bravado had resurfaced.

"We had a conversation with Tom this afternoon. He indicated you were the one who put together the idea of taking the money. He has confessed to everything. In fact, he gave us explicit details." Fred watched Monique's face as he delivered the news of her complicity.

"Tom is just trying to save his butt. You can't believe anything he says. He is a crook and the worst kind. Anyone who would take money from clients is a liar and cheat." Monique tried to divert attention back to Tom.

"Tom says you put this together because you had something on him. What did you have over him?" Oriole carefully laid the ground work for the blackmail charge.

"He's a liar. He's blaming me for all his problems."

"When did your affair with him begin?" Oriole continued to build on the charges.

"Affair? He's saying we had an affair? How pathetic is that?"

"He says you were blackmailing him because of his penchant for videos."

"Ah, ah. I don't know what you're talking about. Can I get a glass of water?"

Fred left the interview room for a bottle of water and Oriole continued, "So, the blackmail for access to his client list so you could bleed them dry without searching for victims. We have documentation in this ledger going back four years. How many more victims will we find in the other ledgers?"

"What other ledgers? What are you talking about? This is the only ledger. If Tom says there is another ledger, it's his not mine." Too late Monique realized she stuck her foot in it.

"How did Lisa find out about your involvement?" Fred asked as he handed Monique a bottle of water.

"That damn Phil let slip. He just can't keep his mouth shut. She told him she was going to divorce him and he panicked. He was sniveling about how he wouldn't have anything and she said he had already stolen most of her money and then he said it wasn't him but me and then the shit hit the fan." Monique continued talking and digging a deeper hole for herself and her cohorts. "Lisa called me and told me she knew about Phil and me and she knew I had been siphoning off the accounts. I convinced her to meet me to discuss it and I told her I had the money and I'd give it back to her. I had her meet me at her office and I called Phil and told him to be there to help me. I told her the ledgers were out at that ranch I had looked at buying in a secret place. She got in my car and I drove out there. I knew she was taking Ativan because Phil told me. I had coffee for both of us and in hers I put the liquid." Fred and Oriole sat and listened without interrupting.

"I had told Phil to go out to the ranch and put his car in the garage. Once we got out there, I convinced her that the ledgers were upstairs. Phil was already upstairs waiting. He strangled her and put her in the closet. I couldn't let her destroy what I had worked so hard to achieve. Don't you see, it was her fault she died. If she would have just kept her nose out of it, everything would have been fine. Phil and I could have been together. We'd have enough money. We could have traveled and lived the high life. But she just wouldn't leave it alone." Monique unscrewed the lid on the bottle of water and drank long.

"Monique, how did Lisa's car and purse get to Shuttle One?" Fred asked very quietly.

"Well, I couldn't drive it. I had to have Phil drive her car. He thought of Shuttle One because so many other cars park there. I met him at Pioneer Shopping Center and we put Lisa's purse in the car and he drove over and left the car and I picked him up just around the corner." Monique's eyes had glazed over and she had gone somewhere other than sitting in the interview room.

"What about Tom? What did he have to do with Lisa's death?" Oriole followed up.

"Nothing. It was just Phil and me. Tom wasn't even around that morning. Tom doesn't have the nerve for that, he likes kids, not murder." Monique lowered the hatchet over Phil's neck. Monique looked directly at Fred, her focus returning, "You would never have got onto me if not for Tom. It was a perfectly executed plan. Phil had no choice. We would have waited a few months and left separately. Even with Lisa changing her will, no one would have suspected, if only Tom wouldn't have caved in."

"Monique, anything else you want to tell us?" Fred asked.

"No. There is nothing else. I do want my clothes though. I don't like this jumpsuit. It's too rough. Also, I have an appointment tomorrow to get my nails done. What time will you be releasing me?" Monique raised her hand in front of her face to survey her French manicure.

"If you will excuse us for a minute, we'll be right back." Oriole looked to Fred and they both got up.

"Pretty bizarre don't ya think. She's still thinking she's leaving. Is she over the top or crazy or out of touch or what?" Oriole asked as she leaned against the wall outside the interview room.

"Snoopy, I'd say that woman is so self-centered she cannot imagine a reality of responsibility. Did we miss anything? Blackmail, conspiracy, murder, theft, porn? What else could there be?" Fred ticked off the crimes solved by the narcissist Monique.

"Let's turn her over to detention, get the paperwork filed and go get Phil." Oriole moved down the hall to get an officer.

Chapter 31

Fred got the duty county attorney to assist on the search warrant and arrest warrant for Phil Mason, while Oriole finished up with charges and processing of Monique Richards. The partners gathered their paperwork and vests and drove over to the condo to meet and greet Phil Mason.

"Mr. Mason. May we come in? We have another search warrant. You may want to call your attorney because we also have an arrest warrant for you for first degree murder of Lisa Wood. I'm going to Mirandize you." Fred read the warning and pulled out his handcuffs.

"I can't make a phone call handcuffed. Will you release me so I can call my attorney?" Phil's tan faded to a pale yellow.

"We can release your right hand and handcuff you to this chair. Will that work for you?" Fred exchanged the handcuffs and handed Phil his cell phone.

"It's late at night. I don't know if I can reach Mr. Williams. What will I do if I can't reach him?" Phil fumbled the phone while trying to dial the Flagstaff attorney. "There is no answer. I'll just leave a message."

"Phil. We're going to lock the condo and take you down for an interview." Fred unlocked the handcuffs, repositioned them behind Phil and escorted him out to the SUV.

Once the detectives had Phil set up in the interview room and audio and video going, and had re-Mirandized him, Fred began."The reason we have an arrest warrant is Monique told us what happened. She said you were the one who strangled your wife and she was just there. She said you wrapped the body in the carpet and dropped off the car. She said it was so Lisa couldn't file divorce papers. Anything you want to tell us?"

"That lying bitch. She killed Lisa. She strangled her and told me to get the car and meet her. She's the one who did it all. I'm innocent. I never would harm Lisa. Monique has been pushing for the divorce. I've been putting her off. All of a sudden, Lisa found out everything and was done. Monique is the one who wanted to cover up the money and our affair. She's the one that lured Lisa out to the ranch and killed her. She told me I had to move the car or she'd blame me for Lisa's death. That's the honest to God's truth. You gotta believe me." Sweat beaded on Phil's shiny forehead as he finally stopped talking.

"Phil, we're going to book you on conspiracy, theft, hindering prosecution, tampering with evidence and anything else I can think of. Tomorrow we may be adding murder. A lot depends on which one of you the county attorney believes and who comes forward first with a believable story. I'm going to leave you here for a few minutes and get the paperwork started. Need water or anything?" Fred stood and opened the door.

Oriole met Fred at his desk and pulled up a chair. "So who do we believe? She seems pretty vindictive. He seems pretty pathetic. Let's charge them both and let the courts sort it out."

"Whether he did it or she did it, they both were in on it. It'll be a long time before either of them walks the streets. I'll call the CA and tell her what's happened. You add murder and conspiracy to both of them. Then let's dictate our reports, put them in transcription box and go home."

Chapter 32

The county attorney advised the detectives that the charges were appropriate and to let the court sort it out. Fred and Oriole wrapped up the investigation into Lisa's death, the pornography, the embezzlement, and the blackmail. It was well after midnight when they left downtown Prescott.

"You guys got home late last night. Any news on your case?" Summer asked over coffee at 9:00 the next morning.

"It's a wrap. Three suspects, three separate cases, lots of charges." Oriole said in between bites of toast and bacon.

"There's a lot of finger pointing going on. We may never know who did what, but at least the dirty hands are in custody." Fred chimed in sipping coffee and stuffing his face with waffles.

"Whose hands are dirty?" Chalcey came in through the screen door from doing chores looking at her hands. "I washed up in the barn."

"Not you, honey, the case we just finished. Come here and give your ma a kiss."

"Are you and Fred taking the day off? Does that mean we get to do something fun? Will you guys work with me on the opening ceremonies?"

"Cupcake. We're going to take the whole day off. I'll saddle up Red and you eat breakfast and then we'll put him through his paces. Your mom can go soak in a tub or wash windows or whatever her little heart desires. She did one heck of a job. You have a right to be proud of her." Fred put his arm around Chalcey and kissed the top of her head while grabbing his hat and winking at Oriole.

The day was spent in ranch leisure, scooping, mending, stacking, hauling, and watering. The physical labor was a welcomed end to weeks of tension and paperwork. Summer prepared a celebratory supper of baked cod with garden salad, fresh garden vegetables, and homemade bread.

"I think we all deserve a party to celebrate our solution to the case. What say we get something going for Saturday? We could put together a picnic and go for a trail ride. I have a new trail I want to investigate." Fred spoke slowly and clearly although anyone who really knew him would have been able to tell he was excited about something.

"Fred, you've been secretive about something for weeks now. What's up with you? Are you sick or something?" Oriole asked as she cocked her head to one side to scrutinize her partner.

"I've no idea what you're talking about. I think we all deserve some down time and I'm willing to put it together so we can have fun and relax. What's wrong with that?" Fred mustered up his best look of insulted hurt.

"Look Fred, if you're up to something, tell me. I can keep a secret with the best of them. I'm dying here."

"Saturday will be here before you know it and we'll all saddle up and ride this new trail. Now leave it be, Snoopy."

Fred left Oriole twisting in the wind, placed a call to the deli for sandwiches and salads and drinks for Saturday, then called the florist shop to have them deliver a big bouquet to Crimson Ranch house, and finally Fred drove into town to buy a new pair of jeans and a Resistol for the occasion.

Dawn broke Saturday morning to find Fred in the barn getting everything organized for the trail ride. Saddles were oiled, tack checked for tears and breaks, horses hooves were examined for stones, and Gus the mule was lined up for work. Fred's excitement carried on the air, electrifying the animals.

By 10:00 in the morning everything was ready for the Bear women. Sensing fun was afoot, the women had donned their best trail outfits: Summer wore a soft leather split gaucho riding skirt with matching bolero; Marlowe had chosen brand new Q Baby stretch boot pants with a leather fringed jacket and Luchese boots in dark mahogany; Oriole, never to be bested by her mother or grandmother, wore chaps and spurs, with her best Levis; and Chalcey chose her rodeo outfit of royal blue sequined top and tan trousers.

The riders moved out at a gentle pace following the trail to the south pasture and up over the rise to the creek beyond. The women would take turns riding with Fred to ask about this special trail they were seeking, but Fred kept silent drawing out the "excitement."

Marlowe had moved Buttercup up to join Fred, "Okay, Mr. O'Neill, tell me where we're going. Is there a trail I've missed over the 50 years I've been riding?"

"My dear, you will just have to wait like all the others. Shortly, your questions will have answers." Fred smiled and rode ahead.

As they rounded the knoll and eased into the valley that abuts Crimson Ranch, Fred called a halt to tighten his cinch. "When was the last time any of us looked in on Crimson to see how things were holding up with Rod gone?" He asked in general.

"I haven't had time to go over there since right after Rod moved out." Summer offered.

"Maybe we should take a detour from our leisure and check the barn and the fences and the house just to make sure nothing is out of place." Fred suggested surreptitiously, moving the women toward his new home and his surprise for them.

The five horsemen rode into Crimson's yard and dismounted. Fred walked rapidly up to the front door and turned the knob. "Hey, the door's open. Maybe we should check the house first."

The women approached the door, Oriole in the lead, as Fred opened the door and stepped back to display the banner of welcome home and the bouquet of flowers announcing the new owner.

"Oh my God, Fred that's why you've been so secretive. You bought Crimson. Congratulations." Oriole put her arms around Fred and gave him a tight hug.

"I'm glad to see Crimson with you. You will be good for each other. Welcome neighbor." Summer looked Fred in the eye and hugged him.

"Uncle Fred, you can't ever leave now. And you can teach me all the things a kid my age should know and we can train Pelo together. I'm so excited." Chalcey put her arms around Fred's waist and squeezed.

"My turn." Marlowe moved in closer to Fred and the others all took a step back. "This means you're truly settling down and really moving on with your life. If I remember right, you have some delicacies on that pack mule and Rod left a dining room table. Let's eat. Chalcey you and Oriole pack in the food, Summer would you be so kind as to help them." Taking the hint the others left Marlowe with Fred.

"I'm so happy, but I'm also sad. I liked you hanging out at the ranch. I liked seeing you at the end of the day. I enjoy our time together. Maybe I'm a little jealous or disappointed. Maybe I'm feeling sorry for me." Marlowe put her head on his shoulder and he put his arms around her.

"I'm not gone. We can get together here even more than at Bear and with fewer prying eyes. Not that anyone of them is nosey. I don't mean that. And it's not that I'm saying you have to spend the night, I mean not unless you want to and you don't even have to spend the night if you worry about the ones back home. Oh, hell, Marlowe. Help me here. Every time I try to tell you what you are to me, I get all tongue tied and you sure as hell don't help. I went to the hardware store and made two extra keys-one for you and one for Summer to keep like she always did for Rod. Here." Fred handed Marlowe a jeweler's velvet box. Marlowe opened it to find a shiny new key on a Kokepeli key ring.

"Fred, how absolutely romantic. Can I show the others?" She kissed him on the cheek.

"No, you cannot show Chalcey or Oriole. Summer probably knows simply because she knows everything all the time anyway."

"What do I know all the time anyway?" Summer pushed open the door and carried the basket to the dining room table.

"Nothing, Summer. Fred was just admiring the fact that you are so wise." Marlowe smiled up at Fred, winked and whispered, "Our little secret."

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1M. Alex Harris lives and works in Prescott, Arizona. Born in Oregon, she attended the University of Oregon and Northwestern School of Law at Lewis and Clark College in Portland. For the last two decades, she has served as an attorney, judge, mediator, and teacher, handling a wide variety of cases: death penalty to special education issues. She and her husband have an Appaloosa,(Spottypants), two goats, two dogs and at last count, five grandchildren. For the last 30 years, she has taught at community colleges and universities sharing her love of education with others. As a former law enforcement officer, her husband, Kevin McCarthy, provides technical advice for her books

You are also invited to read Murder at Bear Ranch at Smashwords.com. Book three is in the works, so watch for it at Smashwords.com.
