Devil’s Claw

“Just shut up and drive,” he told her. “Get us the hell out of here! Step on it.”

He slammed the door shut, and the white car’s engine roared to life. Too stu

Lucy had earnestly prayed for her mother’s death, and now that prayer had been answered. Sandra Ridder was dead, and it was all Lucy’s fault.

Several long minutes passed before Lucy finally calmed herself enough to creep from her hiding place. By then her eyes had once again adjusted to the moonlit darkness. She barely paused at the blood-spattered spot of sand where her mother had been shot. Instead she raced down the roadway to retrieve her bike. Once on it, she went pumping after the long-disappeared vehicle as if by overtaking it she might somehow be able to help.

Within a hundred yards or so, she knew it was hopeless. She stopped and stood still. As soon as she did, Big Red came gliding down out of the darkened sky and landed once again on her handlebar.

Walking the bike now because she was crying too much to see to ride, Lucy continued down the roadway. “It’s got something to do with this stupid blank disk,” she told Big Red. “It’s why my father died and it’s why my mother is dead now, too. And if that guy ever figures out I have it, he’ll kill me as well. And maybe even Grandma Yates. What are we going to do, Red? Where can we go?”

Big Red gave no answer, but he made no effort to leave either. And for right then, that was answer enough. At last, squaring her shoulders, Lucinda Ridder climbed on her bike and rode back the way she had come to retrieve her bedroll.

CHAPTER 2

“Mom,” Je

Sighing, Joa

But even as she said the words, she knew it was hopeless. Tigger, Je

“There,” she said, pointing at the water dish. “That’s where you’re supposed to drink.”

Except, even as Joa

That’s odd, Joa

Clayton Rhodes was Joa

“Did he forget to feed you guys, too?” Joa

At the mere mention of the magic word “eat,” Tigger left the water dish and began his frantic “feed me” dance. Shaking her head and half convinced the dogs were lying to her, Joa

“Poor babies,” Joa

For Clayton Rhodes, forgetting to feed or water animals was totally out of character. Joa

“Early to bed, early to rise,” he had told Joa

A few minutes later Joa

“You may not have school,” Joa

Je

Joa

Her penalty for ru

“Let your mother have her fun,” Butch had said early on. “What can it hurt?”

Famous last words. Little had Butch known that once Eleanor Lathrop Winfield took the bit in her teeth, nothing would stop her or even slow her down. Since she had missed her daughter’s first wedding, Eleanor was determined to make this second one a resounding social success. Butch had said those fateful words before the guest list had burgeoned to over a hundred and fifty-a crowd that would fill the sanctuary of Canyon United Methodist Church to overflowing. It would also test the considerable patience and capabilities of Myron Thomas, the man who ran the catering concession at the Rob Roy Links in Palominas, the county’s newest and most prestigious golf course and the only place in Cochise County where what Eleanor termed a “four-star reception” could be held.