Free Skeleton Canyon by J. A. Jance

house felt almost chill. As Joanna followed the shuffling, heavyset housekeeper across a smooth saultillo tile Boor, she was struck by the scale of the house. The ceilings were high and broken by walls with clerestory windows that provided light without letting in heat. The housekeeper led the way down a long hallway that was almost twice as wide as those in most private homes. The white walls were adorned with groupings of carefully lit and lavishly framed art. Some of the pieces looked familiar. Walking past, there was no way for Joanna to tell whether or not any of the pieces were originals or whether they were simply extremely well-executed reproductions.
    Surely they’re not originals, Joanna thought. No one in his right mind would bring a valuable collection of original art right here to the border... .
    But then, thinking about the razor wire–topped chain-link fence and the ATV-mounted security guards, the video monitoring system, and what was no doubt a trained guard dog, she reconsidered. Maybe this was original artwork after all.
    Al the far end of the long hallway, the housekeeper paused. “You wait,” she said.
    Before Joanna, set in an alcove that had clearly been designed for that specific purpose, sat an exquisite, two-foot-tall marble statue of the Madonna and Child. The baby was roly-poly and clung to his mother’s waist with one chubby bare leg. The young mother’s face seemed almost alive with a benevolent, welcoming smile. Her one free hand reached out in graceful, openhanded greeting to all who looked upon her. Beneath the statue sat a polished rosewood prie-dieu. On the prie-dieu lay an open Bible, an onyx-beaded rosary complete with a gold crucifix, and a single lit votive candle. The brown leather of the padded knee rest glowed with the patina of long and faithful use.
    Feeling as though she were standing in a chapel, Joanna gazed up at the statue while running an admiring finger over the satin-smooth grain of the wood.
    “Sheriff Brady?”
    Like a child caught doing something she shouldn’t, Joanna turned to face the lady of the house. The luxury automobiles parked under the covered portico, the spaciousness of the beautifully tiled hallway, the elegance of the artwork had all led Joanna to expect that Katherine O’Brien would be someone equally elegant—slender, fashionable, and maybe even a little on the delicate side.
    Joanna was surprised to see before her a plain-faced and sturdy woman in her early to mid-fifties. She was dressed casually in a tank top, Bermuda shorts, and leather thongs. Her brunette hair, going gray around the temples, was drawn back in a casual, foot-long ponytail. As soon as Joanna saw the woman she realized she had seen her before—in the grocery store and post office on occasion—without having the smallest glimmer of who she was.
    “I’m sorry,” Joanna apologized. “The wood is so lovely I couldn’t help touching it.”
    Katherine smiled sadly and nodded. “I know what you mean. I’ve spent the better part of the afternoon on my knees there, praying. Both pieces, the prie-dieu and the statue, came from a Sisters of Silence convent in upstate New York. When the Cistercian Order closed the place down, they asked Sotheby’s to auction off all the contents. The prie-dieu and the statue had both been in the mother superior’s private chapel. I was glad David was able to buy them so we could keep them together.”
    Katherine stopped abruptly, as though the customary graciousness of telling visiting guests about her objets d’art had somehow outdistanced the painful circumstances that had brought this particular visitor into her home. “Sorry,” she said. “Detective Carpenter and my husband are out back by the pool. If you’ll come this way.”
    Katherine O’Brien led Joanna past a formal dining room and through a large kitchen where the housekeeper was busy cooking something meaty that smelled absolutely wonderful. Beyond the kitchen was an informal