Outlaw Mountain

“Are you all right?” she asked solicitously. Her double chins waggled when she spoke. So did the ample cleavage that showed over the top of her peasant-style blouse.

“Goddamn it, Nancy!” Clete Rogers grumbled at her. “I know if I’m fine or not! Leave me the hell alone. Don’t hover, and get back to work!”

Behind red-framed glasses, Nancy ’s enormous blue eyes filmed with tears. Her lower lip trembled right along with her chins, but after a moment she seemed to pull herself together. “Well, excuuuse me!” she snapped back at him, and flounced off.

Clete Rogers looked after her. “Sometimes it’s hard to tell who’s the owner around here and who’s the employee.”

Even though Frank Montoya had warned Joa

Finished with what appeared to be an unwarranted attack on Nancy, Clete turned his attention back to Joa

“We’ve located her car,” Joa

“Where?”

“A group of juveniles were stopped while attempting to take it across the border into Mexico.”

“What about Mother?” Rogers asked. “Where’s she?”

“We don’t know,” Joa

Clete Rogers took a swig of his juice. “What exactly does that mean?”

“Just what I said. It means we’re looking for her. So are authorities from Pima and Santa Cruz counties. According to Frank Montoya, they’ve just received what they regard as an informed tip up in Tucson. There’s a Search and Rescue group heading out there now. They’ll be concentrating their efforts along Houghton Road between I-10 and Old Spanish Trail.”

Clete Rogers raised his hand. Despite having been ordered not to hover, Nancy appeared from nowhere as if she’d been hanging fire to see what, if anything, her lord and master might require.

“I’m leaving,” he a

“Excuse me, Mayor Rogers,” Joa

“And let me remind you, Sheriff Brady, that the person those people are searching for is my mother,” Rogers put in. “Like it or not, I’m involved, and I’m going to stay that way.”

Inside her purse, Joa

“Really, Mr. Rogers,” she said. “I don’t think your showing up there is wise. As I said before, the more people milling around a crime scene, the greater the chance that important information will be overlooked or destroyed. I believe we’d be better off if-”

“I didn’t hear anyone asking for your advice or your permission, Sheriff Brady. Are you coming with me or not?”

It took all of two seconds for Joa

“Not,” she replied. “I’ll head on up to Tucson as well, but I’ll drive my own vehicle. In fact, I think I’ll leave right now. How much for the coffee?”

What Joa

“Never mind about the coffee,” Clete Rogers said. “It’s on the house.”

Reaching into her purse, Joa

“I’ll see you there.”

Out in the car, Joa

“Frank Montoya just called in. They’ve found Alice Rogers.”

“Alive or dead?” Joa

“Dead, unfortunately. The kid-Morales-showed them where he and his friends found the car. Search and Rescue turned a dog loose, and he went right out and found the body. It’s six miles east of I-10 on Houghton in a big stand of cholla on the south side of the road.”

“They’re sure it’s Alice Rogers?”

“Pretty sure, pending an official identification from a relative. The clothes the dead woman is wearing match the ones Susan Jenkins told Frank her mother was wearing when she came to di

“What did she die of?”

“No way to tell. Not so far. According to Frank, they found her in the middle of a grove of cholla. He says she’s full of spines. She must have fallen down in the stuff. Not a nice way to go. Frank was hoping to give you a heads-up while you were still in Tombstone so you could let Clete Rogers know.”

Glancing in the rearview mirror to check for traffic, Joa

“Negative on that,” she told Dick Voland. “You’re too late. I’m already on my way to Tucson. So’s Clete Rogers. If you want to give anyone a heads-up, Frank’s the one who’s going to need it. Let him know Rogers is coming so he can pass the information along to whoever’s in charge for Pima County.”

“Clete’s going to the crime scene?” Dick Voland asked. “The boys from Pima County aren’t going to like that at all.”

“No kidding!” Joa

CHAPTER FOUR

Two miles east of I-10 on Houghton Road, Joa

“Well, if it isn’t Sheriff Brady,” Fran Daly drawled, dropping a man-sized equipment case onto the ground between them. “Long time no see,” she added, wiping her hands on the worn leg of her jeans before proffering one of them in greeting. “We’ve got to stop meeting like this.”

Fran was a tough-talking chain-smoker who had, during the previous summer, worked on a series of homicides with Joa