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Rogers.”
    “She’s missing?”
    “Evidently. According to the family, she drove to Sierra Vista yesterday afternoon to have dinner with her daughter and son-in-law, Susan and Ross Jenkins. Ross owns Fort Apache Motors, the Chrysler dealership on Fry Boulevard. According to the daughter, Alice left their place around eight-thirty, but she never made it home. At least, that’s the way it looks so far. And if that wasn’t bad enough, there was also a problem earlier at noontime between Susan Jenkins and her brother.”
    Joanna cut in. “I know about that. Mayor Rogers himself called to give me a full report.”
    Frank Montoya groaned. “Which was probably none too complimentary regarding yours truly.”
    “Right. Clete couldn’t understand why you didn’t arrest her. I’ve been wondering about that myself. If the woman was doing property damage, why didn’t you?”
    “Because they were both out of line,” Frank Montoya replied. “I don’t suppose Clete mentioned that.”
    “No.”
    “No surprises there,” Montoya continued. “I’ve worked with the man long enough to know that when it comes to points of view, he has only one—his. I can also tell you that Clete Rogers doesn’t exactly exude sweetness and light. By the time brother and sister finished bitching one another out in the middle of the restaurant, I had two choices. I could either arrest them both or let them off the hook. It was a judgment call, Joanna. Considering the current political climate, I chose the latter. I sent Susan Jenkins on her way. Told her to go home and cool off. She didn’t, however. Instead, she went over to her mother’s house looking for her. My guess is she planned to raise a little more hell, except her mother wasn’t home. The Sunday paper was still on the porch.
    “Afraid her mother might be sick or something, Susan let herself inside. She had a key. Once there, she found the place looked like it had been ransacked. Instead of calling us, she climbed right back into her car and drove out to Gleeson and proceeded to raise more hell, this time with Farley Adams.”
    “Her mother’s boyfriend,” Joanna supplied.
    “Right,” Frank responded, “although that’s not what Susan Jenkins called him. Scumbag, for one. Gold digger, for another, along with a few other choice expressions that shouldn’t be repeated in mixed company. I tell you, that woman’s a piece of work!”
    “You were there?”
    “For part of it. He told her to leave—he lives in a motile home parked at Alice Rogers’ mining claim on Outlaw Mountain. When Susan refused to leave, he called for reinforcements. After what happened at the restaurant earlier, I didn’t waste any time getting there. She was still raising holy hell with the man when I drove up. That’s when she told me her mother was missing. I asked Susan if she suspected foul play, and the woman fell all apart on me. She went to pieces—hyperventilating and the whole nine yards. I ended up having to call her husband to come drive her home. The thing that really corks me is that Clete Rogers is probably right on this one—I should have arrested her to begin with.”
    “Where is she now?”
    “Back home in Sierra Vista. Once I unloaded her, I went back to Tombstone and checked out the mother’s house myself. And she’s right. It looks as though the mother has disappeared, all right. At least she didn’t come home overnight. Her car’s gone. Somebody has ripped through the old woman’s house and torn it to pieces, although there’s no way to tell what, if anything, is missing.”
    “Did you have a chance to talk to the boyfriend?” Joanna asked.
    “A little. Not that much because, like I said, I had my hands full with this Jenkins woman. Then, after that, I was helping with the car wreck.”
    “What did Farley Adams have to say?” Joanna asked.
    “He claims the last time he saw Alice was when she came out to his place yesterday morning. According to him, she planned