By J. A. Jance
A chilling tale of lethal hope and chilly homicide from New York Times bestselling writer J. A. Jance
A lovely, renowned youngster by no means lower back from her mystery tryst in Skeleton Canyon. probably it was once younger rage or savage ardour that ripped the lifestyles from a toddler of privilege and deserted her damaged physique to the chilly Arizona evening. or even she stumbled onto whatever negative, anything too harmful to grasp. Now darkish secrets and techniques a couple of destiny hideously destroyed are pulling Sheriff Joanna Brady of Cochise County right into a deadly nest of lies and greed, hidden in a desolate nook of the Southwestern Desert—where the following blood that feeds the parched earth should be her own.
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Additional info for Skeleton Canyon: A Joanna Brady Mystery
She had died a few years later of what her son now suspected was probably an early case of heterosexually transmitted AIDS. Frank and Yolanda had raised the boy as one of their own, watching in wonder and with no small pride as this towering foster son of theirs totally eclipsed the physical, academic, and athletic accomplishments of their four natural children. For almost five years, Nacio had worked in Frank’s gas station after school, on weekends, and during the summers. He was dependable and personable.
Bree’s best friend on the squad, sixteen-year-old Kim Young, hurried after her. “Wait up, Bree. ” “You can’t ‘just walk out like this. ” “Ms. Barker will have a fit. ” “I don’t care it she does,” Bree replied grimly. Kim stopped in her tracks and wavered hack and forth as if undecided about whether she should follow Bree or go back to where the others stood waiting. Being elected cheerleader at the beginning of her junior year was Kimberly Young’s sole claim to fame. S. student body, not only for this year but for her senior year as well.
He was struck by the irony of their living a real-life version of the Romeo and Juliet roles they had played all those months earlier. According to Bree, her father hated Mexicans, and Ignacio’s Aunt Yolanda was forever pointing out the folly of mixed dating, which inevitably led to the far worse folly and inevitable heartbreak of mixed marriages. Such warnings had fallen on two sets of determinedly deaf ears. Brianna O’Brien had returned to Nacio Ybarra’s hazy line of vision while he was still so groggy from the anesthetic and painkillers that at first he had imagined her to be some kind of ethereal being—an angel perhaps—rather than the same flesh-and-blood, blond-haired beauty whose lips had breathed fire into his one hot June night in Tucson several months earlier.