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periodic fits of coughing. A sixty-something peroxide blonde, Madge had worked for county government all her adult life, moving from one department to another because no one had balls enough to put her out to pasture. Madge’s last remotion, one that had moved her out of the county office complex, had landed her in the M.E.’s office. Like Joanna, Madge had gotten along just fine with Doc Winfield. Her relationship with Dr. Machett was something less than smooth sailing.
    Dr. Machett was a man with a very high opinion of himself, someone who felt he was doing the world a favor by sharing his vast knowledge and abilities with the lowly folks in Cochise County. Unfortunately, there weren’t many other people who agreed with that assessment.
    â€œSheriff Brady,” Joanna said. “Is he in?”
    â€œI believe he’s on the other line,” Madge said. “Can you hold?”
    In the old days, Joanna would have passed the information along to Madge with no further muss or fuss because Madge would have informed George of the situation. These days it didn’t work that way, and both Joanna and Madge knew it.
    â€œSure,” Joanna said. “I’ll hold.”
    While she waited, Joanna tried to imagine what had been going on when Debra Highsmith was gunned down. There was no way to tell where the victim had been standing in relation to her killer. As far as addresses were concerned, High Lonesome Road was a fine place to live—Joanna had lived there with Andy and she lived there now with Butch—but it struck Joanna as a hard place to die. It had been true for Andrew Roy Brady and it was equally true for Debra Highsmith.
    â€œWho’s calling?” Guy Machett asked when he came on the line.
    Madge Livingston knew very well who was on the phone. Not telling her boss who was calling was his secretary’s way of getting a little of her own back.
    â€œSheriff Brady,” Joanna said. “We’ve located a body on High Lonesome Road.”
    â€œWhere the hell is High Lonesome Road?” he demanded. “Sounds like it’s out in the sticks somewhere.”
    â€œIt is. It’s just down the road from where I live,” Joanna told him, “also on High Lonesome Road. Take Highway 80 east from Bisbee and take the turnoff to Elfrida. Turn left almost immediately. That’s High Lonesome Road. Come north three miles. You’ll probably need four-wheel drive to get here.”
    â€œIs that how you got there?” Machett asked.
    â€œNo,” Joanna said quite truthfully while at the same time trying not to betray the grin that had suddenly tweaked her face. “I came on horseback.”

CHAPTER 3
    JOANNA’S NEXT CALL WAS TO BISBEE’S CHIEF OF POLICE. “WE found Debra Highsmith’s body,” she said without preamble.
    â€œYou’re sure it’s her?” Alvin Bernard asked.
    Joanna sighed. “Yes, I am.”
    â€œWhere?” Chief Bernard wanted to know. “When?”
    â€œMy daughter went out for an early-morning ride and found the body on High Lonesome Road, about three miles north of our place. I’m no medical examiner, but I’d say she’s been dead for more than a day.”
    â€œHow?” Alvin asked.
    He seemed to be stuck in the world of one-word questions.
    â€œI counted at least three gunshot entrance wounds in her back and one in her leg. I’d say he used the leg shot to bring her down and then finished her off execution style.”
    â€œUgly,” Alvin said.
    â€œYes,” Joanna agreed. “Very, but since this looks like a joint case, I’m calling to see if you want to send out a detective.”
    â€œDue to budget cuts, I’ve got only one investigator to my name, Matt Keller. He does the whole nine yards—property, homicide, whatever. I’ll be glad to send him along.”
    â€œDoes he have a four-wheel-drive vehicle?”
    â€œAre you kidding?