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transaction had been rung up. Then I took one of the store's cards in case I thought of something I just couldn't live without, not a likely event.
    At the corner was a wonderful mystery bookstore. I went in and looked at the titles. I thought this might be a fine place for me to find some new writers to introduce to the students in my class on mysteries. After half an hour of browsing and chatting, I walked out with three books, looking forward to starting one when I finished the one I had brought along.
    It was now after three. My shopping had been successful, and I drove back to Phoenix, avoiding the rush hour. It was late when I finally saw Joseph. She called me on the hotel phone and invited me to come down to the bar and have a drink with her and some of the participants of her conference. I had been reading and was glad for the chance to meet people and talk. The bar was filled with nuns, in and out of habit, and a handful of priests. I found Joseph and sat in the chair she had saved for me. When the waiter came, I ordered a glass of sherry.
    The other nuns at the table were from different orders: a Sister of Charity, a Sister of St. Joseph, and a Dominican. The discussion was about the focus of the conference, the waning reserve of new nuns, the aging of the current nuns, and where to lookfor a resolution. As the conversation progressed, I could see fatigue in all the women's eyes. They were not used to staying up late; they awoke early. As soon as the first one looked at her watch and decided to leave, the party broke up.
    “It sounds as though you're big on problems and short on solutions,” I said to Joseph when we were in our room.
    “No one expects to find a solution this week. I did, however, get some comfort from one of the discussions today.
    The fact that St. Stephen's has a college goes a long way toward keeping us alive. We're not just a group of aging nuns; we perform a vital service that most convents do not.”
    “I'm relieved to hear that.” It has been a constant worry of mine that the convent would be closed down, the nuns scattered to other, more viable convents.
    “Did you shop today?”
    “Did I shop! Joseph, look at what I have.” I opened the little boxes in my bag and showed her everything, telling her about the shop I visited last.
    She drew in her breath when she saw the turquoise pendant. “This is magnificent. She will love it. What a find.”
    I showed her the other things and she admired them. “Nothing for yourself?”
    “I don't need anything.”
    “That's my Chris. Oh, I am so tired. Thinking is every bit as strenuous as physical exercise. I am getting ready for bed.”
    The following day I drove to a few other places the AAA had marked for me. I didn't buy anything except a T-shirt for Eddie, but I took a lot of pictures. This was the second and last day of the conference. We were checking out in the morning and driving to Tucson with a stop at Picacho Peak Park. I had the file on Heinz's death with me, Deputy Gonzales's phone number, and a full tank of gas. In a way, my personal adventure would begin in the morning.

On Wednesday we had a large breakfast in the hotel, then packed, and checked out. A clerk assured us it would be an easy drive to Tucson.
    From the parking lot, I called Deputy Gonzales on Joseph's cell phone. As the General Superior, she required one when she was away from the convent. The deputy gave me an estimate of how long it would take to drive to our meeting place. I told him to add an extra fifteen minutes— we might not drive as fast as Arizonans. He laughed and said he would do that.
    Joseph drove and I navigated. Once we were on I-10 headed for Tucson, there was little for me to do. We just stayed on the road until we got off for the park. The mountain peak loomed ahead of us for half an hour, on one side of the road or the other, before we reached our exit. The shape was distinctive, and I hoped we wouldn't have to hike to the top. My guidebook