Devil’s Claw

“No one’s seen her since then?” Tica asked.

“Not that I know of. The last person I saw her with was Marliss Shackleford,” Joa

“Mr. Singleton said he sent his corporate jet to Tucson International to pick her up, but she wasn’t there to meet the plane when it arrived. He contacted the limo company, but they said her driver dropped her off at the airport late last night. He claims he knew nothing about a private jet being sent to get her. He says she asked to be dropped off at the ticketing level. He assumed that meant she was catching a plane. According to Mr. Singleton, she never showed up at home. He hasn’t seen or heard from her since. He seems concerned that she may have been kidnapped and is being held for ransom.”

Joa

“Will do.”

“Also,” Tica continued. “Kristin wanted me to let you know that you’re to contact Sheriff Forsythe up in Pima County. He left a number. Do you want me to give it to you?”

“Please.”

While Joa

“Thanks,” Joa

That year, neither winter nor spring rains had materialized in southern Arizona. According to local meteorologists, the previous six months had been the driest on record. As a result, not even the usually hearty mesquite and paloverde had yet leafed out. Coming through the barren, badly eroded gullies south of town, Saint David, with its patchwork of artesian-well-irrigated fields, seemed even more of a desert oasis than usual. Beyond the fields stood a line of ancient and majestic cottonwoods whose sturdy presence marked the path of the now dry San Pedro River bed as it wound through the valley that bore its name.

Holy Trinity Monastery was set in among a grove of those old-growth cottonwoods just south of town and not far from the river itself. The monastery consisted of a tiny church, a ragtag collection of haphazardly parked mobile homes, as well as a library and a few other permanent buildings. It functioned throughout the year as a retreat center for Catholic clergy from the Tucson Diocese.

As soon as Joa

“Why, Sheriff Brady,” he said, hand extended. “How good to see you again, although I wish it were under somewhat less stressful circumstances. We really must stop meeting this way. But that reminds me: How’s my friend Junior doing these days?”

“As far as I can tell, he really seems to like living with his new guardians, Moe and Daisy Maxwell,” Joa

“I’ll have to stop by and check on him one of these days,” Father Mulligan said with a smile. “Now, I trust Sister Celeste has brought you up to speed with our latest little crisis? We do tend to gather unconventional strays around here.”

Joa

“Big Red and Lucy? I’m afraid the hawk was keeping far too close an eye on the fish in our reflecting pond,” Father Mulligan responded. “I suggested Lucy take him down by the riverbed in hopes he can rustle up something for di

“Which way did they go?” Joa

Father Mulligan pointed. “Do you see that path between the church and the cemetery?” Joa

As Joa

“No, Sister Celeste,” Father Mulligan said firmly. “That’s not necessary. Sheriff Brady will manage just fine on her own. I’ve seen this woman in action.”

Sister Celeste made as if to protest, but Father Mulligan shook his head and took her by the arm. “Come on,” he added. “Let’s you and me go into the rectory and wait there. I’m sure Brother Gregory will be happy to pour us a nice cup of his special herbal tea.”

Grateful to the priest for ru

“Sheriff Joa

The man who came on the line seconds later sounded far different from the person Joa

“I know Dr. Daly,” Joa

“Yes, I understand you do,” Sheriff Forsythe said quickly. “She mentioned something to that effect. Anyway, she’s completed the Melanie Goodson autopsy. She tells me the victim died of homicidal violence-smothered, to be exact. Whether it was done with or without the benefit of drugs remains to be seen. The toxicology report will take something over a week. At any rate, Dr. Daly suggested that we work in conjunction with your detectives on this one.”

Thank you, Fran Daly, Joa

“So,” she added, testing the water, “do your detectives have any theories so far?”

Bill Forsythe paused momentarily. “Melanie Goodson has a real estate investment partner by the name of Edward Masters. My detectives have been trying to locate him for the better part of two days. No success so far, I’m afraid.”

At that juncture, Joa

The groomed path that led from the church to the riverbank was an immaculately maintained mini nature trail complete with homemade hand-etched signs and arrows identifying the various plants along the way. Halfway to the river, Joa