Random Acts by J. A. Jance Page B

long.”
    Dennis returned with his book, his “blankie,” and two very devoted dogs. “You go read,” Butch said. “I’ll clear up.”
    Joanna and Dennis snuggled into an easy chair in the living room. Green Eggs and Ham was Dennis’s all-­time favorite book, and it wasn’t so much a case of Joanna reading the book aloud as it was a responsive reading, with Joanna beginning each sentence and Dennis finishing it. At this point he wasn’t actually reading the printed words. He simply knew the whole book by heart.
    Two pages from the end, Chief Deputy Hadlock turned up. He stayed in the kitchen with Butch long enough for Joanna and Dennis to finish the story. Then, even though it was still a little before seven, Dennis was ready to brush his teeth and go to bed.
    â€œYou do that,” Joanna told him, kissing him good night. “Daddy will come tuck you in.” Out in the kitchen, Tom Hadlock, hat in hand, stood just inside the back door as if uncertain of his welcome.
    â€œAny news?” Joanna asked.
    â€œThe storm we had this afternoon played havoc with the roads. Right now Gold Gulch is running bank to bank, so going by way of the rifle range is out of the question, and from what I hear, the other route isn’t much better.”
    â€œWe should get going, then,” Joanna said, giving Butch a quick hug. “See you later.”
    â€œStay safe,” he said.
    She nodded. It was what he always said when she headed out for duty, and she knew he meant it every single time.
    Dusk fell as they drove back toward the highway on High Lonesome Road. There had been enough rain this summer that usually dry washes had been running trickles of water most of the time. Forty-­five minutes earlier, after the drenching but fast-­moving storm, swiftly flowing muddy water had been hurtling through several recently installed culverts. Now the high water had mostly subsided—­at least right here. That was one of the things that made flash floods so dangerous. They were unpredictable. They could arrive with no warning and with no rain in sight, flowing downhill from a storm miles away. The good thing about them was that they disappeared almost as quickly as they came.
    â€œSorry about calling you out on this,” Tom apologized.
    â€œDon’t give it another thought,” Joanna assured him. “After all, a potential double homicide counts as serious business, and we’ll need all hands on deck on this, mine included.”
    As they drove toward the crime scene, Tom brought her up to speed. Earlier in the afternoon, two boys, thirteen-­year-­old Marcus Padilla and his younger brother, Raul, had left their home in Bisbee’s Warren neighborhood and set out on a hike, planning on doing a little skinny-­dipping in the water hole that summer rains had left behind in a natural basin near the base of Geronimo.
    According to Tom, Marcus and Raul had evidently pulled the same stunt several times over the course of the summer, and they were accustomed to having the area all to themselves. This time, however, they discovered a red Jeep Cherokee parked at the end of the roadway. Closer to Geronimo itself and near the water hole, they had come upon a seemingly deserted campsite that included a tent, bedroll, and camp stove along with a selection of cooking and eating utensils. Worried about running into the camper, the boys had given up on the idea of skinny-­dipping. They decided to climb the mountain instead, hoping to get up and down before the threatening rainstorm arrived. As they started their ascent, they discovered the two bodies, lying one on top of the other at the base of a rocky ledge. With no ser­vice available on his phone, Marcus climbed high enough on the mountain to locate a cell signal. Once he had one, he called 911.
    â€œThat was when?” Joanna asked.
    â€œAbout four,” Tom said.
    â€œBut if the ME just now got