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for a walk.” She didn’t say “far away from this jerk,” but she might as well have. Her meaning was abundantly clear.
    Natalie Wilson turned on her heel and marched away with Miller walking placidly beside her.
    “Where on earth did Jeannine Phillips find that piece of work?” Ernie Carpenter wanted to know.
    “I believe she fell off the rodeo circuit,” Joanna replied. “She used to be a barrel racer.”
    “Figures,” Ernie said disapprovingly. “Women like that are always a handful.”
    That parting remark might have been a lot funnier if Joanna hadn’t taken it so personally. Not only did she suspect it was absolutely true, there was something else that bothered her. Her very own daughter, fourteen-year-old Jenny, had her own heart set on the world of rodeo. Being sheriff was hard work, but it was easier for Joanna to discuss murder and mayhem than it was to consider her daughter’s plans for the future.
    “Come on,” Joanna said, climbing into the Yukon’s passenger seat, where she immediately fastened her seat belt. “Let’s go take a look at that dead body.”

CHAPTER 3
    AS THEY DROVE AWAY FROM THE GATE, JOANNA WAS STILL THINKING about Jenny and her rodeo-riding ambitions when Ernie brought her back to the case.
    “I left Deb with the witness,” Ernie said.
    “What witness?” Joanna asked. “The man who found the body?”
    “Seems like a pretty squared-away guy. His name’s Maury Robbins. He’s a 911 operator from Tucson, and he’s also an all-terrain vehicle enthusiast. He comes down here on his days off whenever he can. What he told me is that he drove down late last night after his shift ended. He got here about three A.M. The gate was open, but he didn’t think that much about it. He drove on in, set up his Jayco—”
    “His what?” Joanna asked.
    “His Jayco. It’s one of those little pop-up camper things. He carries his ATV in the bed of his pickup truck and drags the camper along behind.”
    “So there’s an actual campsite here?”
    “Yes, but it’s pretty primitive,” Ernie replied. “No concrete pads, no running water. People have to haul in their own water and the only facilities turn out to be a few strategically located Porta Pottis. Maury’s camper has its own facilities. News to me. The Jayco I had years ago sure as hell didn’t.”
    Joanna smiled to herself. When she had first arrived on the scene, Ernie had apologized whenever he used a bad word around her. She liked the fact that they had both moved beyond that. And right now, Joanna wasn’t especially interested in either Ernie’s language or his old camper.
    “So this is private property?” she asked. “Action Trail Adventures isn’t situated on state or federally owned land?”
    “Yes,” Ernie said. “That’s my understanding. It’s privately owned. Robbins told me he pays an annual fee that gives him access through a card-activated gate. That way he can let himself in or out as needed. There’s also a keypad where you can punch in an entry code to open the gate.”
    “Anyway,” Ernie continued, “Robbins got in last night. This morning, when he took his ATV out for a ride, he found the body lying facedown in the sand with the dog standing guard over it. Once we finally managed to drag the dog away, Robbins was able to take a closer look at the victim and give us a tentative ID. He says the guy’s first name is Lester. He had no idea about his last name, or any next of kin, either.”
    “Lester’s last name is Attwood,” Joanna said, but she was thinking about the number of times so-called good citizens calling in reports of a homicide turned out to be perpetrators.
    “Do you think Mr. Robbins might be involved in whatever happened here?” she asked.
    Ernie shook his head. “Not to my way of thinking. At any rate, as you said, the name we got back from Animal Control on the dog’s license is Lester Attwood. According to Records, Attwood’s driver’s license is suspended. His rap