J. Jance - Devil’s Claw

Joanna laughed. “When Slim Barco was making the sign for his wife’s new beauty shop, he added the extra e because he thought it would make the place sound classier.”

“Oh,” Butch said. “I see.”

“But you didn’t need to make an appointment for me,” Joanna continued. “I’m perfectly capable of doing my own hair.”

“Tell that to your mother,” Butch replied. “She insisted, and in case you haven’t noticed, Eleanor Lathrop Winfield can be very persuasive.”

“She’s a bully,” Joanna said. “Did she say anything else?”

“She wanted to know what’s all this stuff about Clayton Rhodes’ daughter?”

“What did you tell her?”

“Nothing. I’m not dumb enough to get sucked into that kind of deal. I told her that if she wanted information she’d have to go straight to the horse’s mouth-to you.” He grinned.

Joanna shook her head. “Great. That means I can expect my phone to be ringing the moment I come back from lunch.”

“Sorry,” Butch said. “But I was afraid if I said anything more than that, I’d probably stick my foot in my mouth.”

“You’re right. I’m the one who should handle it. She is my mother, after all.”

“She’s also inviting us over for dinner tonight. You, Jenny, and me, and my folks as well. She wants us all to have a chance to get acquainted.”

“What did you tell her on that score?”

“I asked her what time and told her we’d be there.”

Joanna found herself bridling. She didn’t like having someone else tell her where she’d be going and when, but then she thought better of it. After all, she had told Eleanor that Butch was in charge of wedding logistics. It was time to shut up, take her lumps, and let him do it.

“What time?” she asked.

“Six-thirty.”

Daisy came and took their order. “What’s going on at work today?” Butch asked after Daisy left for the kitchen.

As Joanna prepared to answer, she worried about restarting the previous night’s quarrel. “Dick Voland came around for those fingerprints.”

“Did you give them to him?”

“Casey Ledford did. I told her to.”

“All right, then,” Butch said. “I suppose you know what’s best.”

And that was the end of it. They went on to enjoy their lunch. They were done with their burgers and drinking coffee when Joanna’s distinctive cell phone with its roosterlike ring crowed in her purse.

“Sheriff Brady,” Tica Romero said when Joanna answered. “A call just came in from Tucson. The man first asked to speak to one of the detectives. When I told him neither of them was available, he asked to speak to the sheriff. Do you want me to patch him through?”

“Please,” Joanna said. “What’s his name?

“Quick,” Tica said. “Mr. Jay Quick.”

“And where’s he from, again?”

“Tucson.”

“Did he say what this was about?”

“No,” Tica replied. “Just that it was important, and he wanted to speak directly to someone in authority.”

“I guess that’s me, then,” Joanna said. “Patch him through.”

Moments later a male voice came through the phone. “Hello? Sheriff Brady?” he said.

“Yes,” Joanna said. “This is Sheriff Brady.”

“Sorry,” he said uncertainly. “I thought I was still talking to the nine-one-one operator. I didn’t expect the sheriff to be a woman.”

Joanna laughed. “You and a lot of other people, but I really am the sheriff. What’s your name again?”

“Quick. Jay Quick. I live in Tucson.”

“What can I do for you, Mr. Quick?”

“I just heard a report on the radio about a homicide down in your neck of the woods. The report said the dead woman’s name was Sandra Ridder and that she had recently been released from prison. Is that true?”

“Yes,” Joanna replied. “That’s correct.”

“And is that the same Sandra Ridder who went to prison several years ago for shooting her husband up here in Tucson?”

“That’s also correct, Mr. Quick, but why are you asking? Do you know something about this case?”

He hesitated before he answered. “The report also said that Sandra Ridder’s daughter has disappeared and that she’s a person of interest in her mother’s death. Is that true as well?”

Joanna found herself sitting up straighter in the booth. Her grip on the telephone tightened, as though, by holding the device more firmly in her fist, she could somehow force Jay Quick to get to the point and tell her why he had called.

“Yes,” she said smoothly, trying to keep from betraying her rising excitement. “Lucinda Ridder-Sandra Ridder’s fifteen-year-old daughter-has been missing since the night her mother was killed. She is a person of interest in that case. She’s not a viable suspect at this time, although in the course of our investigation, she may turn into one.”

Now it was Joanna’s turn to pause. She waited for Jay Quick to say something. When he did not, she continued. “Why are you asking these questions, Mr. Quick? Do you know something about the missing girl-something that would help us locate her?”

“Lucinda Ridder called my house at three o’clock last Saturday morning. She was looking for my mother. I wondered about it, but I didn’t think anything more about it until a few minutes ago, when I heard about Sandra Ridder on the news.”

“You say Lucy was calling your mother?”

“Yes. Evelyn Quick, my mother. Years ago she used to be Lucinda Ridder’s ballet teacher at the Lohse Family YMCA here in downtown Tucson. Lucy sounded very upset on the phone, and what I had to say didn’t help. My mother’s dead, you see. She died two-almost three-years ago. When I told Lucy that, she just started sobbing. It broke my heart. I asked her what was wrong and was there anything I could do to help, but she said no, no one could help her now. Do you think it’s possible that she killed her own mother, Sheriff Brady? She sounded desperate on the phone. The poor girl’s been through so much trauma for someone her age. I wonder if she didn’t just snap.”

“Did you ask where she was? Get a phone number?”

“I asked, but she wouldn’t tell me. I could hear what sounded like trucks in the background, though. My guess is she was using a pay phone at a truck stop.”

“Whereabouts are you, Mr. Quick?”

“At my office. Quick Custom Metals out on Romero Road in Tucson.”

“Give me your phone number. And your home phone number as well. I’ll try contacting my detectives. If one of them can’t meet with you this afternoon, I will.”

As Joanna hung up the phone, Butch was looking at his watch. “And where exactly is this Mr. Quick?” he asked.

“In Tucson, on Romero Road.”

“And you’re thinking of going up there, seeing him, and still being back in time for dinner at your mother’s?”

“I’m sure I can make it if I have to.”

Butch sighed and shook his head. “Good luck,” he said. “But I’m not holding my breath.”

It was shortly after noon when Joanna left the restaurant. Her cell phone rang the moment she closed the car door. “I just got lucky,” Frank Montoya said.

“Lucky,” Joanna echoed. “Why, Frank, I didn’t know you were even dating.”

“Not that kind of lucky,” he replied wryly. “I got to the Board of Supervisors meeting and found out it was canceled. They had their annual retreat over the weekend at a guest ranch up in the Chiricahuas. This morning the whole bunch of ”em is sicker “n dogs.”

“What was it?” Joanna asked. “Food poisoning?”

“I guess. That’s what it sounds like. So since I happen to have all this unscheduled free time on my hands this afternoon, I was wondering if there was anything in particular you needed me to do.”