“Obviously this whole experience made a big impression on your mother.”
Jay Quick nodded. “She talked about it for years afterward. Every time she came to Tucson to visit—and she came every winter—she’d get to wondering whatever became of Lucinda Ridder. Once she even talked about taking a drive out to Pearce to try to find her, but we never quite got around to making that trip, and I don’t think Mother ever did anything about it on her own.”
“So, as far as you know, your mother and Lucy didn’t maintain any contact after that?”
“Right. Not as far as I know.”
“Lucy Ridder is fifteen now. Almost sixteen. Do you have any idea why, after all these years, she would try reaching your mother now?”
Jay shook his head. “None at all,” he said. “I’ve been trying to figure that out ever since Saturday morning when she called. I’ve been wondering about it even more today, ever since I heard about this latest mess on the news.”
“While I was on my way here, I had one of my officers trace the call that came to your house on Saturday morning,” Joanna told him. “You were right about hearing trucks in the background, but Lucy’s call wasn’t placed from a truck stop. It came from a freeway rest area in Texas Canyon on the other side of Benson.”
“What are you going to do now?” Jay asked.
“Look for her.”
“Will you be able to find her?”
It was Joanna’s turn to shake her head. “I don’t know,” she said. “We’re trying, but the trail is several days old. I’ve just dispatched my canine unit to the rest area to see whether or not they can pick up her trail there.”
There was a long, heavy pause. “What will happen then?” Jay Quick asked. “Do you think she really did kill her mother?”
Joanna shrugged. “I don’t know. I can’t say for sure at this time, but it is a possibility. Lucy disappeared on the same night her mother was shot. According to Lucy’s grandmother, Lucy and her own mother have been estranged for years—for as long as Sandra Ridder was in prison. We believe Sandra Ridder died of a gunshot wound, and we know from Lucy’s grandmother that Lucy had a handgun with her when she ran away from home. As I told you on the phone, all those things don’t necessarily make her a suspect, but they do make her a person of interest. We need to find her, talk to her, and ask her some questions.”
Jay sighed. “I hope it’s not true that she’s a killer. But if it is—if it turns out Lucy Ridder really is responsible for her mother’s death—then I’m glad my mother didn’t live long enough to see it. Finding out that one of her favorite students ended up like that would have broken Mother’s heart. I don’t think she could have stood it.”
Having gleaned as much information as possible, Joanna thanked Jay as he escorted her outside. “I appreciate all your help.”
He nodded.
Joanna was about to climb into the Blazer when once again the control-tower-looking building caught her attention. “What is that?” she asked. “It looks like it belongs on an airport.”
“Right,” Jay said. “It does. This complex used to be called Freeway Airport. When they rezoned the land and shut down the runways, the control tower became the only part of the airport they left standing. It’s sort of a memorial, I guess.”
The sound of a ringing telephone drew Jay Quick back inside while Joanna climbed into her overheated Blazer. Once inside with the air-conditioning running, she used her cell phone to dial information. Seconds later a second call was answered across town at a convent on South Sixth Avenue.
“Santa Theresa’s,” a woman said. “Sister Emelda speaking.”
“I’d like to speak to whoever’s in charge,” Joanna said uncertainly.
“That would be Sister Celeste, but she won’t be home until after five.”
“This is Sheriff Joanna Brady, from Bisbee. Is there somewhere else where I could reach her in the meantime?” Joanna asked. “It’s urgent. I really do need to speak to her as soon as possible.”
“She’s over at the school,” Sister Emelda said. “But she has a faculty meeting that’s scheduled to start at three and won’t be out until around four o’clock. Is that too late?”
Joanna glanced at her watch. It was only a little before three, but waiting until after four to speak to Sister Celeste would make it chancy for her to do an interview, drive out of town in rush-hour traffic, and still make it home to Bisbee in time for Eleanor Lathrop Winfield’s command performance dinner.
“Could you give me her office number?” Joanna said. “Maybe I can catch her before she goes into the meeting.”
“You can try,” Sister Emelda said dubiously. “But one thing about Sister Celeste. She’s very prompt, and she expects other people to be the same.”
Seconds later, Joanna was speaking to a secretary at Santa Theresa School. “Sister Celeste, please,” she said.