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Joa
The very fact that Joa
Maybe, Joa
“Where did you go?” Maria
“I was thinking,” Joa
Maria
Daisy Maxwell brought their lunches right then. That was pretty much the last chance the two women had to talk. During the course of the meal, several people stopped by to visit with one or the other of them-parishioners from Canyon Methodist Church who were worried about how the organ repairs were going, or someone trying to sign them up to bake cakes to be sold at a local charity auction.
Joa
“Somebody’s probably trying to burn down Brewery Gulch again,” Daisy Maxwell quipped as she took Joa
“Let’s hope not,” Joa
Out in her vehicle, Joa
Beyond the underpass, a traffic circle had been installed to facilitate movement of traffic on Highway 80 and in-town vehicles moving from one area of Bisbee to another. Half a mile east of the traffic circle, Joa
Joa
Traffic had come to a halt, backing up for the better part of a mile, almost as far as the traffic circle itself. Turning on both flashers and siren, Joa
“Dispatch,” she said. “‘This is Sheriff Brady. I’m just east of the traffic circle on Highway 80. What’s going on?”
“We’ve got a fire at the Buckwalter Animal Clinic,” dispatcher Larry Kendrick answered.
“I can see that from here,” she returned. “What kind of fire?”
“It’s confined to the barn.”
“Not the clinic?”
“No, the clinic is fine.”
Joa
“That’s because of the body,” Kendrick answered. “One of the deputies on the scene just radioed in asking me to locate Ernie.”
Veteran Detective Ernie Carpenter was the Cochise County Sheriff Department’s lead homicide investigator.
“What body?” Joa
“There hasn’t been time. The deputy on the scene only called a few minutes ago.”
Just as he said that, an ambulance pulled out from the clinic grounds and came shooting west along the highway, leaving Joa
Sitting there waiting for the ambulance to drive past, Joa
It didn’t take much imagination to figure out that whoever was dead was most likely Bucky Buckwalter. If that was the case, it followed naturally enough that his killer would turn out to be none other than Hal Morgan, the bereaved, sign-wielding protester.
Joa
Too much, she thought grimly, clutching the steering wheel. Too damned much!
THREE
By the time Joa
The some-assembly-required shed was a mini replica of an old-fashioned barn slapped together over a concrete slab. Beyond that was a corral. At the far end of the corral, tethered to the fence by a halter but dancing nervously from side to side, was Bucky’s winter-coated, eight-year-old quarter horse, Kiddo. A young woman Joa
“How bad is it?” Joa
A long-time sheriff’s department officer, Voland had served as chief deputy in the previous administration, and he had actively opposed Joa
Balding and massive at six-four, Dick Voland shook his head. “Bad,” he said. “We’ve got at least one dead body inside. There could be more.”
Joa
Voland shook his head. “Can’t say for sure. Right off the bat, though, the doc would be my first guess.”
“Who left in the ambulance, then?”
“The perpetrator,” Voland growled. “I understand the guy’s an acquaintance of yours, Sheriff Brady. Somebody named Hal Morgan. According to Deputy Pakin, a few hours ago you seemed to be of the opinion that Morgan didn’t pose any kind of threat to the Buckwalters. Looks to me as though you were wrong about that.”