Free Skeleton Canyon by J. A. Jance Page A

dining room and a family room complete with a massive entertainment unit. French doors from the family room led to a fully enclosed patio complete with black wrought iron furniture, a permanently installed canopy, a hot tub, and a lap pool. The interior wall of the patio was lined with raised flower beds that held an astonishing assortment of vividly colored, dinner plate—sized dahlias.
    An empty wheelchair sat parked next to the edge of the pool. In the pool itself, a silver-haired man Joanna recognized as David O’Brien swam back and forth. Meanwhile, Detective Ernie Carpenter, overdressed as usual in his customary double-breasted suit, sat sweltering under the canopy.
    As soon as Joanna and Katherine came out onto the porch, O’Brien used two swift strokes to propel himself over to a stainless steel pole that stood next to the wheelchair. Turning his hack to the side of the pool, he did something that activated a whirring motor. Moments later, he emerged from the water seated on what was evidently a one-person lift. The lift stopped when David O’Brien was exactly level with the seat of the chair. Using the strong, well-defined muscles in his arms and shoulders, David swung himself from lift to chair.
    A stack of terry cloth towels sat on the table. David O’Brien rolled his chair over to the table. Taking the top towel off the pile, he draped that over his deformed and useless legs. He used a second towel to dry his hair, face, and upper body.
    “It’s about time you got here, Sheriff Brady,” he grumbled. “Maybe now you can get Detective Carpenter here to stop asking all these damn fool questions about Bree’s friends and start doing something useful like actually looking for her.”
    “They are looking for her, David,” Katherine reminded her husband gently. “Detective Carpenter already told us that they have deputies and the highway patrol searching all the roads between here and Playas....”
    “But she didn’t go to Playas!” David O’Brien exploded, pounding the table with his fist. The powerful blow sent Ernie’s almost-empty glass of iced tea skipping across the surface of the table. The detective managed to catch it, but only just barely.
    “What would you like us to do, Mr. O’Brien?” Joanna asked. “Call in the FBI. Get some manpower on this thing.”
    “The FBI?”
    “Hello, Sheriff Brady,” Ernie said, nodding in greeting. He was a solidly built, beetle-browed man in his early fifties. His tie and stiffly starched white shirt were wilting fast.
    “Mr. O’Brien here is under the impression that his daughter has been kidnapped.” He finished his tea and returned the emptied glass to the table.
     “Kidnapped,” Joanna repeated. “Why? Has there been a ransom demand?”
    “Nothing like that,” Ernie replied. ‘‘Not so far.”
    “What about the pay phone call? If that wasn’t an abortive tall for ransom ...” David O’Brien interjected.
    “What phone call?” Joanna asked.
    “The O’Briens have caller ID on their phones,” Ernie said. “A call came in a few minutes ago, just about the time I got here. The monitor reported it as a pay phone call. I traced it to a location near the Kmart down in Douglas. The problem is, whoever it was hung up.”
    “So you didn’t actually speak to anyone?” Joanna asked Katherine.
    “No.”
    “And there was no request for ransom?” Joanna continued.
    “‘That’s true,” Katherine agreed.
    “But that’s where ransom calls usually come from, isn’t it?” O’Brien interrupted. “From pay phones so the calls can’t be traced back to the kidnapper’s residence or place of business.”
    “It could have been nothing more ominous than a wrong number,” Joanna suggested. “What makes you think otherwise? Have there been kidnapping threats in the past?”
    “No. Not really. But look around,” O’Brien said brusquely, with an expansive gesture that took in both the patio and the opulent home beyond it. “My wife and I