The rest was easy.
While I retrieved the gun, Rhonda closed the briefcases and put them back up in the rafters the way she had found them. Then, with all evidence of breaking and entering carefully concealed, we hurried out to the cars. We drove back out to the guard shack in the same cars we'd used to drive in, with me pausing long enough to tell the security guard that the Rothmans wanted me at the church after all.
Once out of sight of the guard shack, I stopped and waited for Rhonda, then we switched vehicles so I could use Ralph's mobile phone to begin pulling the rope tight around JoJo and Marsha Rothman's necks.
Ames had followed my instructions to the letter and had herded everyone, including a protesting Delcia, back to his house as soon as the service was over. Delcia sounded angry when I first began to explain the situation, but as soon as she grasped what was going on, she was ready to leap into the fray and assemble search warrants and whatever local law enforcement personnel might be necessary.
"And you? What are you going to do?" she demanded, as soon as I had finished briefing her.
"I'm coming back to Ralph's house to put my feet up," I told her. "This is Arizona, not Washington, remember?"
"I'm glad you do," she returned.
When we reached Ralph's house, Delcia's car was long gone, but the Owenses' borrowed Buick Regal-which actually belonged to Colonel Miller-was parked out front. Driving the Fiat, Rhonda followed me into the driveway. She had driven with the windows open, so her cheeks were flushed and her hair disheveled.
She got out of the car patting her hair self-consciously. "Do I look all right?" she asked nervously.
"You look fine," I said, taking her arm and propelling her toward the house.
No wonder she felt awkward. She had seen Michelle Owens once-Michelle, the girl who would never exactly be her daughter-in-law but who would forever be the mother of Rhonda's only grandchild.
At the time of that first encounter, the younger woman had been unconscious, lying in a drugged heap on the ground where the fleeing Monty had dropped her. So the two of them-women who had nothing in common except an inexplicable love for Joey Rothman-were about to meet for the first time.
I rang the bell, and Ames opened the door.
"Anybody home?" I asked.
He nodded. "They're in the other room," he said.
I led Rhonda Attwood into the expansive living room. Guy Owens, sitting on the low leather couch, began to struggle with his crutches in order to rise to his feet. Michelle, sitting beside him, seemed glued to her seat. She opened her mouth as if to speak but changed her mind. Her braces caught the sunlight, reminding me once more of how very young she was and how unsure of herself.
Rhonda looked around the room and sized up the situation instantly. She motioned for Guy to sit back down. As he sank gratefully back onto the couch, she smiled warmly at Michelle.
"I'm Rhonda Attwood," she said to the girl. "But I believe you can call me Grandma."