Using her radio, Joanna ran a check on the license plate. The results came back with gratifying speed.
“The car belongs to Elvira and Luther Hollenbeck,” the records clerk told her. “The address listed is 6855 Paseo San Andreas in Tucson.”
“The Hollenbecks didn’t happen to get picked up along with the rest of our crew of born-again monkey wrenchers yesterday, did they?” Joanna asked.
“No,” the clerk said. “I don’t see anything at all at that address in Tucson. No police or criminal activity, anyway. There’ve been several nine-one-one calls, but those all turned out to be medical emergencies of one kind or another. The last one was three months ago.”
While Joanna had the Records clerk on the line, she asked for any available information on Rob Evans as well. That check, too, came up empty.
After Joanna finished with Records, she sat for the better part of a minute staring at the Legacy. Although there was nothing to say that Elvira and Luther Hollenbeck were connected to the monkey wrenchers, there was nothing that said they weren’t, either.
Keeping one hand on her Colt and holding her breath, Joanna exited the Blazer and made her way to the driver’s side of the Subaru. Only when she discovered both the front and back seats to be empty did she take another breath.
She returned to the Blazer and to her radio. “Dispatch,” she said. “Try to raise Deputy Gregovich for me.”
Moments. later, Terry’s voice came hiccuping through the radio. There was so much static in the transmission that he might have been in Timbuktu rather than a mile or so away. “What can I do for you, Sheriff?” he asked.
“Have you been on the firebreak this morning?”
“I’ve been up and down it two or three times. Spike and I have been going around the perimeter to make sure no one tries to come in via the back door.”
“I think someone has come in that way now anyway,” Joanna said. “I drove due west from the construction shack to where the road ends. I’m about half a mile north of there now, parked behind an empty Subaru Legacy that’s sitting in the middle of the road.”
“That’s strange,” Terry said. “I didn’t see it an hour ago when I was by there last. Anyone around?”
“Not that I can see, but I’d appreciate it if you’d come down and give me some backup, just in case.”
“You bet, Sheriff,” Terry said. “Spike and I will be there just as soon as we can.”
While she waited, Joanna got back out and walked up to the Legacy once again. In the fine dust behind the vehicle she saw several sets of footprints. All the prints seemed to have been made by the same pair of shoes. It looked as though the same person had come and gone several different times.
Joanna was crouched down examining the prints when a woman walked up behind her. “Who are you?” she asked.
The woman, a spare gray-haired lady in her late sixties or early seventies, had approached in such complete silence that Joanna almost jumped out of her skin. “Elvira?” she stammered, lurching to her feet. “Elvira Hollenbeck?”
“Yes. That’s right. Who are you? What do you want?”
“My name is Brady, Sheriff Joanna Brady. What are you doing here?”
“It’s a nice day,” Elvira answered. “I’m taking a walk.”
But not up in the mountains, Joanna thought, noting Elvira’s dusty hiking boots and thick leather gloves. Joanna also noticed that the woman had approached from the direction of Oak Vista rather than across the fence in the Coronado National Forest. Still, she didn’t appear to pose any threat. With her iron-gray hair pulled back in a bun and a broad-brimmed sun hat shading her face, Elvira Hollenbeck looked like the most ordinary of grandmothers. She didn’t seem to be the least bit upset or agitated.
In fact, the woman seemed so totally harmless that Joanna began to feel a little silly for having summoned Terry Gregovich. “You’re not from around here, are you?” Joanna asked.
“Tucson,” Elvira answered.
“Well, then, you may not be aware that we’re currently having some difficulties at this location. Some people object to the construction of this new subdivision. In fact, there was a near riot on this property yesterday, and there’s likely to be another one this afternoon. I’m afraid I’m going to have to ask you to leave.”
“All right, then,” Elvira said. “I’ll go.”
Elvira Hollenbeck was moving toward the car door just as Terry Gregovich drove up from the opposite direction. Stopping with the front of his Bronco nose-to-nose with the Legacy, the deputy jumped out. Then he opened the Bronco’s back door and Spike bounded out after him. Terry turned and started toward Joanna and Elvira, walking along the passenger side of the Subaru.
“Everything under control?” he asked.
Joanna was just nodding yes when a sudden transformation came over Spike. He stopped dead. His long ears flattened against his head. A low growl rambled in his chest.
Terry froze too and stared down at the dog. “What is it, boy?” he asked. “What’s wrong?”
“Get him away from me,” Elvira yelled. “That dog is vicious. Get away! Shoo.”
But instead of going in the other direction, she charged toward the dog, screeching and flapping her arms. Spike stood his ground. In fact, the dog paid no attention to the flailing woman. His whole being seemed focused on the car—on the back of the car.
Joanna looked at the vehicle, too, and saw nothing. Just inside the window was a cloth shelf that seemed to conceal a small covered trunk space. Other than that, the backseat appeared to be totally empty. Spike, however, continued to growl.
Not knowing the dog well enough, Joanna turned to Spike’s handler. “What does it mean, Deputy Gregovich?” Joanna asked.
“I don’t know, ma’am,” he replied. “Spike’s never done this before. What is it, boy? What are you trying to tell me?”
Joanna turned to Elvira. “What’s in the vehicle?”
“Nothing,” she snapped. “You can see for yourself. There’s nothing there.”
“The dog seems to think otherwise. Open the trunk.”
“I won’t,” Elvira Hollenbeck declared. “You can’t make me. You don’t have a warrant, and I haven’t done anything wrong.”
“Yesterday this site was the scene of a riot, Mrs. Hollenbeck,” Joanna observed. “The dog’s unusual behavior is enough to suggest that you have something dangerous concealed in your vehicle. In other words, probable cause. Now, are you going to open that trunk, or are we?”
“I won’t.”
“All right. Fair enough. Deputy Gregovich, if you’ll check in the backseat of my Blazer, you’ll find a toolbox with a crowbar in it. Go get it, please, and then come back and pry this thing open.”
“But my car,” Elvira objected. “You’ll wreck my car.”
“Then open it yourself,” Joanna told her. “It’s your choice.”
Leaving Spike where he was, Terry walked to Joanna’s Blazer and brought back the crowbar. He was just starting to place it between the hatch and the frame when Elvira stepped forward. “Don’t,” she said. “Someone will get hurt.”
“Why?” Joanna asked. “What’s in there?”
She expected Elvira to answer “Dynamite,” or “Blasting caps.” Something explosive. Something that would blow pieces of Mark Childers’ earth-moving equipment to kingdom come. What Joanna didn’t expect was Elvira Hollenbeck’s one-word answer.
“Snakes,” she said.
“Snakes?” Joanna echoed.
Elvira nodded. “Rattlesnakes. Fifteen or so. I had another one that I was bringing back to the car, but when I saw you parked here, I had to let him go.”
Joanna was dumbfounded. “You have a carful of rattlesnakes? How come?”
“I collect them,” Elvira said. “They’re worth a lot of money these days. When a developer comes through and clears land like this, they’re here for the picking. Besides, with their habitat all torn up and with winter coming on, they’ll all die anyway.”
/> “You collect snakes and sell them?” Joanna asked. “Isn’t that illegal?”
Elvira looked Joanna directly in the eye. “It may be,” she said. “But it shouldn’t be. What should be against the law is this.” She gestured off across the great expanse of yellowed grassland with its wide gashes of bulldozed red earth where not a single tree or blade of grass had been left standing. “We don’t leave homeless dogs and cats to die long lingering deaths,” she continued. “The SPCA sees to that. Snakes are God’s creatures, too.”
“So that’s what you’re doing?” Joanna asked. “Operating a one-woman humane society for the benefit of displaced snakes?”
Elvira clamped her lips shut and didn’t answer.
“Open the trunk, Mrs. Hollenbeck,” Joanna ordered. “I want to see for myself what you have inside.”
Elvira moved forward and unlocked the hatch. As soon as she began to raise the lid on the inner trunk, Joanna heard the telltale buzzing. As the hairs rose on the back of her neck, Spike’s low-throated growl turned to a frenzied bark.
“That’s enough,” Joanna said. “I don’t need to see any more.”
Elvira shut the lid. “What happens now?” she asked. “Am I under arrest, or what?”
For a moment Joanna didn’t know what to say. “Deputy Gregovich,” she said finally. “Why don’t you take Mrs. Hollenbeck over to your vehicle and let her have a seat.”
While Terry and Spike led Elvira back to the Bronco, Joanna returned to her Blazer. Knowing the radio was out of the question, Joanna used her cell phone instead. “Dick,” she said, when Chief Deputy Voland answered the phone. “Any suggestions about what to do with a Subaru full of rattlesnakes?”
“I beg your pardon?”
“We’ve picked up a woman whose trunk is full of rattlesnakes. What do we do with them?”
“How would I know?”
“Get on the horn and check with somebody from Arizona Fish and Wildlife,” Joanna ordered. “Tell whoever you talk to that the snakes were picked up from a construction site at the base of the Huachucas and that their habitat’s pretty well destroyed. Ask if we should turn them loose, or what.”
“Don’t tell me, let me guess.” Dick Voland groaned. “The Subaru’s on Oak Vista Estates.”
“Right you are,” Joanna told him cheerfully. “Where else would it be?”
Eleven
IT TOOK almost an hour and a half for the ranger from Fish and Wildlife to show up and take charge of both Elvira Hollenbeck and her snakes. By then Joanna was sick to death of Oak Vista Estates. She had hung around with the snake lady longer than necessary in hopes Mark Childers would finally return from his endlessly long lunch. Finally, Joanna left Deputy Gregovich and the ranger to sort things out and drove on into Sierra Vista. After locating Dena Hogan’s office on Fry Boulevard, Joanna was told by the receptionist that Mrs. Hogan was in court—in Bisbee.
Frustrated, Joanna gave up and decided to head back there herself. On the way, her phone rang once again. “Where are you?” Butch Dixon asked.
“Just over the Divide.”
“Since we seem to be engaged, don’t you think we should meet for a late lunch?”
“What about Junior?”
“I’ll bring him along. Not very romantic, I know, but that’s the way it is.”
“How’s he doing?” Joanna asked.
“All right. Once I got him started on video games, he finally stopped driving me crazy about the badge.”
“I have one for him,” Joanna said. “Remind me to give it to him at lunch.” She paused, needing to ask and not wanting to. “Well?” she said.
“Well what?”
“What happened with Eleanor?”
“We had a nice chat.”
“Butch, when it comes to my mother, there’s no such thing as a nice chat. What did she say?”
“She asked if I was going to marry you, and I said yes. End of discussion.”
“Just wait,” Joanna predicted. “She isn’t going to let me off that easy.”
“Of course not,” Butch agreed. “You’re her daughter. Maybe we could work out a deal. You talk to my mother, and I talk to yours.”
“I don’t even know your mother.”
“It’s just as well.”
“You never talk about her.”
“For good reason.”
“Is she going to be happy about this?”
“About our getting married? Sure.”
“Then why don’t you want to talk to her about it?”
“Probably for a lot of the same reasons you don’t want to talk to yours,” Butch admitted. “That’s why I know how to handle Eleanor. It’s familiar territory. Those two women are birds of a feather. My mother and yours could be twins.”
“Oh, great!” Joanna said. “That should make for a really interesting wedding.”
“Right,” Butch said. “We’ll turn our mothers loose on each other. Bisbee, Arizona, will never be the same. When it comes time for the rehearsal dinner, your mother can complain about having a sheriff for a daughter, and mine can gripe about having an ungrateful son who left Chicago—where they’re currently having an early winter ice storm, by the way—and won’t come back. Speaking of which, have you thought about it at all—about what kind of wedding you want? Where? That kind of thing?”
“Butch, give me a break. I’ve had my hands full with a gun-toting construction crew and a Gray Panther who evidently supplements her Social Security checks by illegally collecting rattlesnakes. I haven’t exactly had a chance to pick up the latest copy of Bride magazine.”
“Well,” Butch said. “Maybe we can talk about it at lunch.”
Walking into Daisy’s, Joanna hurried to the back booth where Butch and Junior were already seated. Both of them seemed overjoyed to see her. Joanna planted a kiss on the top of Butch’s smoothly shaved head. “‘Yes, dammit’ isn’t a very good answer,” she said.
Butch grinned up at her. “It works for me,” he said.
It turned out, however, that Daisy’s Café in the early afternoon was neither the time nor the place to discuss wedding plans. For one thing, the addition of a very noisy Junior to the mix made Butch and Joanna’s presence the object of more than the usual amount of curiosity. Several people stopped by to chat, but talking was merely a subterfuge to check out what was going on in their booth.
Hoping to quiet Junior, Joanna finally gave him his new badge. He greeted the gift with exuberant glee. When Daisy Maxwell showed up to take their order, Junior was so delighted that he practically bounced out of the booth.
“What have you got there?” Daisy asked, pulling a stubby pencil out of her stiffly lacquered beehive hairdo.
“Mine!” Junior announced triumphantly, waving the badge before her eyes. “Put on,” he begged. “Put on, please.”
Before Joanna could do as he asked, Daisy had slapped her order pad and pencil down on the table. “All right, I will,” she said. “But you’ll need to stand up, and you’ll have to be very still.”
Grinning, Junior bounded out of his seat and then stood ramrod-straight while Daisy Maxwell carefully pinned the badge to his shirt pocket. “There now,” she said, patting it in place. “Isn’t that something!”
Joanna was touched by Daisy’s easygoing kindness and also by the fact that Junior’s khaki shirt and slacks had been washed and neatly pressed. The people who lived in Bisbee—even new arrivals like Butch—were generally pretty good folks, and Sheriff Brady was proud to be one of them.
“You from around here?” Daisy asked as Junior resumed his seat.
Junior’s face clouded. The grin vanished. He shook his head sadly, then he pointed at Joanna. “Take Junior home,” he said. “Me go home.”
“Well,” Daisy said, “lunch first. What’ll you have?”
Junior looked at her in bewilderment.
“How about a hamburger,” Daisy coached. “You like hamburgers?”
He nodded. “Like.”
“And
to drink. What about a milk shake? Chocolate, maybe?”
The grin returned. Junior beamed. “Yes. Junior like.”
After Joanna and Butch placed their orders, Daisy started away from the table. Then she turned back. “So where’s he from really?” she asked.
“We don’t know,” Joanna admitted. “He was left behind at the arts and crafts fair in Saint David over the weekend. His name is Junior, but that’s all we know about him. No last name. No idea of where he’s from. Nothing. He’s staying over at Butch’s house for the time being—until we find out where he belongs.”
“How are you going to do that?”
Joanna shook her head. “I have no idea. If we had some clue about where he was from, it would be a big help. But we don’t. He could be from somewhere in Arizona or from someplace out of state as well. It’s snowbird season again. According to Father Mulligan at Holy Trinity, the arts and crafts fair drew visitors from all over the country.”
“So he could be from almost anywhere,” Daisy said with a thoughtful frown. “That would make it tough.”
Joanna smiled at her obvious concern. “If you come up with any bright ideas, we’re open to any and all suggestions.”
“I’ll think about it,” Daisy said. “But before I do that, I’d better turn in your order or you won’t ever get any lunch.”
Daisy disappeared into the kitchen, and Joanna turned back to Butch, who seemed suddenly subdued. “That does take some getting used to,” he said.
“What’s that?”
“The fact that you’re always on duty,” he said seriously. “The fact that your pager can go off anytime of the day or night and you have to go. You’re like a doctor on call, and it’s the same way for Marianne. She’s always on duty, too. I think the only time she ever lets her hair down is when she’s around you. Look what happened to her and Jeff after Esther died. Grief should be private, but it seems like theirs is everybody else’s business. It’ll be exactly the same thing when it comes to our wedding, Joanna. You think your mother is bad, but just wait. You’re a public person around here. Everybody in town—no, make that everybody in the whole county—is going to have a vested interest in what happens to you. To us. Are you going to be able to handle it?”
Outlaw Mountain : A Joanna Brady Mystery (9780061748806) Page 16
