by J. A. Jance
Butch, barefoot and clad only in a pair of shorts, came into the family room. “Who are you talking to?” he asked.
“The dog,” Joanna said. “I’m telling Lady all about it.”
“It’s late,” Butch said. “Shouldn’t you come to bed?”
“I can’t sleep.”
He settled down on the couch beside her. Lady opened one eye and looked at him, but made no effort to move away. He put one arm around Joanna’s shoulders and the other on Lady’s hip. “Then maybe you’d better tell me about it, too,” he said.
And so she did.
“Will it come out in public?” Butch asked when she finished. “The part about who Nathan’s father really was?”
“Not if I can help it,” Joanna said. “It’ll be tough enough living down the fact that his mother was a murderer who committed suicide. As far as Nathan is concerned, Denny Adams is his only father. They’ll both be better off if we can leave it that way.”
Butch nodded thoughtfully. “What about the other little girl?”
“Cecilia?”
Butch nodded again.
“I’ve been thinking about her. For one thing, we’ve got Pam Davis and Carmen Ortega’s film. I’m hoping that’ll be enough to get the Mojave County sheriff off the dime. And Andrea Mossman told me she has at least one undercover contact inside the Lassiter compound. One way or another, we’ll get that little girl out of there and pack Harold Lassiter off to the slammer. Cecilia’s only twelve, for God’s sake, Butch. She’s a whole year younger than Jenny.”
“Supposing you do rescue her from that situation, what will happen to her then?”
Joanna sighed. “I’m not sure. Child Protective Services will have to be called into play. I would imagine her mother is still in Mexico. The problem is, her mother is also hooked in with The Brethren.”
“If you send her back home, she might be going from the frying pan into the fire.”
“Exactly,” Joanna said.
“So what are you going to do?”
“Talk to Andrea Mossman, and to Edith. Cecilia is Edith’s granddaughter. And she’s Andrea’s half sister. They may be able to work with CPS and establish some kind of custody arrangement. That’s probably about the best we can hope for.”
Butch yawned and looked at his watch. “Wrong,” he said. “The best we can hope for is an hour or two of sleep. Come on. We’ve got to go to bed now. You’ve done all you can for one day.”
Joanna persuaded Lady out of her lap, then the two of them followed Butch into the bedroom. Butch was asleep again within minutes. So was Joanna. It seemed like only minutes later when he was shaking her awake. “Rise and shine or rise and barf,” he said. “It’s late. We’re due at Dr. Lee’s office in half an hour.”
Joanna looked at the clock and was astonished to see that it said nine-thirty. “I’m late for work,” she objected.
“No, you’re not. I called Frank and told him you’d be in after your doctor’s appointment. I know you. If I let you go into the office for even a minute, you’ll forget.”
Joanna would have argued with him about that, but there wasn’t time. She had to race for the bathroom.
An hour later, with the physical part of the prenatal exam behind her, Joanna—now fully dressed—and Butch sat in Dr. Thomas Lee’s office in the clinic portion of the Copper Queen Hospital. Dr. Lee frowned in concentration as he consulted a calendar.
“From the date of your last period, I’d estimate your due date to be March 7. Of course, human pregnancy isn’t an exact science,” he added. “I can tell you the due date but the baby will arrive when it’s ready—before or after, depending. Are you going to want to know in advance whether it’s a boy or a girl?”
“Yes,” Butch said at the same time Joanna was shaking her head no.
Dr. Lee laughed. “Welcome to parenthood,” he said. “This is only the first of many things the two of you will need to discuss and decide on. Let me know next month, when you come in for your next appointment.”
“What about morning sickness?” Butch asked.
“What about it?” Dr. Lee replied.
“Is there something she can take…?”
“Never mind,” Joanna put in quickly. “It’s not that bad, and it’ll probably go away in a few more weeks. It did last time.”
Dr. Lee nodded. “If you can tough it out without taking medication, it’s usually better for the baby. There can be side effects, you see…”
“I know,” Joanna said. “I’ll be fine.”
For the next several minutes, Dr. Lee went over a list of general dos and don’ts. Finally he looked at Butch. “This is your first?”
Butch nodded.
“If you plan to be in the delivery room with her, you’ll both need to sign up for a Lamaze class.”
Butch looked at Joanna. “Is that what you want?”
“Of course it’s what I want, silly. If you think I’m going through that all on my own, you’re nuts.”
“All right, then,” Butch said. “Tell me where and when to sign up and I’m there.”
It was close to noon by the time they finished up with Dr. Lee, so they stopped by Daisy’s for lunch. Wednesday was Cornish pasty day, and Butch and Joanna split one of Daisy’s massive, plate-sized meat pies.
“You’re sure you don’t want to know the sex in advance?” Butch asked.
“I’m sure.”
“But that means we have to come up with two names—one for a boy and one for a girl.”
“That’s right,” Joanna agreed. “So start thinking.”
They had driven into town in separate cars. When lunch was over, Joanna kissed Butch good-bye in the parking lot. While he returned to High Lonesome Ranch, Joanna headed for the department. She felt slightly guilty about showing up late on a day when there was bound to be so much catch-up paperwork to do, but then again, she didn’t feel that guilty.
She was at her desk and surveying the damage when Andrea Mossman called. “I heard about it on the news,” she said. “I just got off the phone with Denny.”
“How’s Nathan?” Joanna asked.
“About how you’d expect. He’s pretty broken up.”
“And your grandmother?”
“She’s a tough old bird,” Andrea said. “She’s doing remarkably well.”
“I have a note here from my chief deputy,” Joanna said. “Police officers in Obregón have been dispatched to the ranch to notify Kelly and…”
“…and Dad’s other wives,” Andrea supplied.
“Do you have any idea what kind of arrangements will need to be made as far as your father’s remains are concerned, once the autopsy is done and the body is released?”
“I don’t care what happens to him,” Andrea said. “And I doubt Grandma does, either. Talk to his other families. If they want him, they can have him—as long as they pay for shipping. I already discussed this with Grandma. She’s not paying a dime, and I’m not either.”
“What about Cecilia?” Joanna asked.
“Grandma and I have an appointment with a CPS caseworker later on this afternoon. I wanted to talk to them before somebody brings Cecilia out of the Lassiter compound. Cecilia hasn’t ever met me, and she probably has no idea her grandmother even exists. But if Grandma and I can help her, we will. I do have some experience with this kind of thing.”
“What about the boy?” Joanna asked.
“What boy?” Andrea returned.
“Josiah. The one in the Lassiter compound who helped Pam Davis and Carmen Ortega film the wedding.”
“We’ll try to get him out at the same time,” Andrea said. “If old man Lassiter figures out who was responsible, he’ll make his life hell.”
As if it wasn’t already, Joanna thought.
After she got off the phone, the day turned into a marathon of paperwork. In addition to the usual day-to-day e-mail and correspondence, there were reports to be read—reports from Jaime Carbajal and Ernie Carpenter. And there were case
-clearing phone calls and faxes back and forth between the Cochise County Sheriff’s Department and Sheriff Trotter’s office over in Hidalgo County. Joanna should have felt triumphant, but she didn’t. Too many people were dead—too many lives ruined. Clearing cases under those circumstances made for hollow victories.
It was almost three o’clock when Kristin came into the office. “Sorry to interrupt, Sheriff Brady,” she said. “But there are some people here to see you.”
“Who?”
“They wouldn’t give their names.”
They would have if you’d tried a little harder, Joanna thought wearily.
Sighing, she rose and followed Kristin back out into the lobby. Outside her office, she found two Hispanic women—a young one and one much older—seated side by side on the love seat facing Kristin’s desk. They were both dressed in black. The younger woman’s hair was loose. The older one’s hair was in a long gray braid that was wrapped around the top of her head like a silver crown. Over her head and shoulders she wore an old-fashioned mantilla.
The younger woman rose and stepped toward Joanna, holding out her hand. “Sheriff Brady?”
Joanna nodded.
“My name is Gabriella Padilla. This is my mother, Ramona Quiroz. Maria Elena Maldonado, the woman who died after that car wreck the other day, was my cousin, my mother’s sister’s child.”
“Oh, yes,” Joanna said. “Won’t you come in?”
Gabriella went back to her mother and helped the old woman rise to her feet. Her hands and fingers were twisted and gnarled by arthritis. It was painful for her to walk and painful to watch her do it. Gabriella led her into the inner office while Joanna hurriedly pulled out a chair at the conference table, which was far closer to the door than the chairs in front of her desk.
“I’m sorry for your loss,” Joanna said when they were seated. She waited while Gabriella translated.
“Gracias,” Mrs. Quiroz returned and then added something more in Spanish.
“She says it is God’s will,” Gabriella explained.
It has nothing at all to do with God’s will! Joanna thought savagely.
“The funeral was this morning,” Gabriella continued. “In Tucson. Maria Elena’s husband, Tomas, is…well…if he tried to take them back home for a funeral, he wouldn’t be able to return.”
“He’s illegal?” Joanna asked.
Gabriella paused and then nodded. “That’s why they were coming—to be with Tomas. He paid for them to come. But since he can’t go back, Maria Elena and Little Eddie will have to be buried here.”
“I’m sorry,” Joanna said again.
Gabriella’s eyes filled with tears. She nodded. “I’m sorry, too.”
There was a pause. During the period of silence, Joanna was aware of Ramona Quiroz’s steady eyes examining her face with unblinking scrutiny. What is she looking at? Joanna wondered. Is there something wrong with me—with what I’m wearing, with the way I look?
Finally Gabriella continued. “I apologize for dropping in on you like this, but I work—in the tortilla factory in Barrio Anita,” she said. “They let me have today off for the funeral. After the service, my mother insisted that I bring her here.”
“Why?” Joanna asked.
“Mother spoke to Maria Elena in the hospital. Tomas was on his way, but Mother was the only one there. Maria Elena told Mother about you—about the red-haired woman who found Eduardo and brought him to the helicopter. You are that woman, aren’t you?”
Joanna felt a lump constrict her throat. “Yes,” she murmured. “Yes, I am.”
“Maria Elena must have known she was dying. She asked Mother to come to you and ask you to please show us that spot. She wanted us to put up a cross for Eduardo—a single cross—but we would like to put up two—one for Eduardo and one for his mother as well.”
Still Ramona Quiroz continued to stare. She said nothing, but when Gabriella stopped speaking, the old woman nodded almost imperceptibly.
“Would you take us there?” Gabriella finished.
“Yes,” Joanna said at once. “Of course. Now?”
“Please. If it wouldn’t be too much trouble.”
Joanna stood and went to the door. “I’m going out, Kristin,” she said.
“When will you be back?”
“I have no idea.” Joanna turned back to the two women, where Gabriella was busy translating what had transpired.
“We can take one car or two, whichever you like,” Joanna offered.
“The things we need are already in mine,” Gabriella said. “So it would probably be better if we took that.”
“All right,” Joanna said. “But if you’d like, you could bring it around here to the back, to my private entrance. That way your mother won’t have nearly so far to walk.”
Gabriella left to fetch the car. When the door closed behind her, Ramona Quiroz spoke on her own for the first time. “You are very kind,” she said. “Thank you.”
“De nada,” Joanna replied.
“So you went out there with them?” Jenny asked. It was after dinner. Jenny was sprawled on the family room floor next to Tigger. Lucky, worn out with playing, was stretched out on Jenny’s other side. Both dogs were sound asleep. Joanna and Butch were on the couch and Lady, with one watchful eye on Butch, was tucked into a tight curl at Joanna’s feet.
“Yes,” Joanna answered. “The walls of Silver Creek are so steep right there, I didn’t think Mrs. Quiroz could possibly make it down and back up again. But she did. She was very determined. And Gabriella had brought along everything they needed—two matching crosses, flowers, a shovel.”
“And they put the crosses at the exact spot where you found the little boy?”
Joanna nodded. “Even with the storms we’ve had, I was able to show them where I found him. And that’s where they put both crosses, under a clump of mesquite. If it rains as hard as it did the other night, it could be the crosses will be washed away, but that’s where they wanted them.”
“Why did they do that?” Jenny asked.
“It’s a kind of remembrance,” Joanna said. “And it seemed like a nice thing to do.”
“Is the guy who wrecked the van even going to jail?” Jenny asked.
“I don’t know,” Joanna said. “I doubt it. I think the feds have made some kind of deal with him.”
“That doesn’t seem fair,” Jenny remarked.
Joanna looked at her daughter. At thirteen, Jenny still saw the world in terms of right or wrong, good or bad, black or white.
“It doesn’t seem fair to me, either,” Butch added.
Joanna sighed. “It’s the best we can do. If we can put the heads of the syndicate out of business and hand some of them jail time, maybe we can keep some other poor families from being slaughtered the same way.”
She stood up then. Her whole body ached. She was still paying the price for the three hours she had spent the night before lying on hard rocky ground. “I’m going to bed,” she said. “I’m so tired I can barely hold my head up.”
She went into the bedroom and slept so soundly that she never heard Butch come to bed. During the night she dreamed she was out on High Lonesome Road, attempting to plant a flower-covered cross in the middle of the road at exactly the same spot where she’d discovered Andy’s helpless body all those years ago—where she’d found her husband unconscious and lying in a pool of his own blood.
Again and again she tried to pound the cross into the hard, unyielding ground. Again and again, the rock-hard caliche rejected it. When Joanna awakened, the sun was just coming up, and her face was wet with tears. She looked across the bed to the spot where Butch lay, snoring softly. It was a dream Joanna didn’t understand, but she knew, whatever it meant, she probably wouldn’t be telling Butch about it.
Lady lay on the rug on Joanna’s side of the bed. The dog sensed Joanna was awake, and she raised her head warily as if she expected a mad dash to the bathroom, but it didn’t come. For some reason, the nausea was in abeyance th
at morning. Joanna reached down and patted Lady’s head, then she motioned for the dog to join her on the bed. Carefully, without disturbing Butch, Lady eased herself up onto the covers. Then, after circling three times, she nestled herself against Joanna’s body and, with a contented sigh, fell back asleep.
Moments later, Joanna did, too.
Twenty
On Friday morning, when Joanna arrived at the county offices for the weekly board of supervisors meeting, she was astonished to find the usually empty parking lot crammed full of vehicles, which forced her to park at the far end of the lot. On her way to the door she was greeted by a milling group of protesters, all of them carrying placards. BOARD OF SUPERVISORS UNFAIR TO ANIMALS several of them said. Others said SEVENTEEN TOO MANY. And then she knew. The folks from Animal Welfare Experience were at it again, only this time they were targeting someone besides her.
At the door to the building, Tamara Haynes was busy berating Charles Longworth Neighbors, the newest and Joanna’s least favorite member of the board of supervisors. “Have you even been to Animal Control?” Tamara demanded. “Do you have any idea how shorthanded they are?”
Joanna was gratified to see the AWE activist tackling somebody else for a change. And now that Sally Delgado, one of the first office clerks, had quit the department to work full-time on Ken Junior’s campaign, Joanna was relatively sure her information leak had been plugged.
“Ms. Haynes,” Neighbors began as Joanna edged past them, “you have to understand—”
But Tamara Haynes was on a roll, and she paid no attention. “And why did you deep-six that animal-adoption program they wanted to start—the one that would have taken strays to various shopping centers in hopes of finding owners? We need to get unwanted animals off death row, and if you think we don’t vote, Mr. Neighbors, you’re in for a rude awakening. Right, folks?”
The last comment was greeted by cheers all around.
For the first time, Joanna was forced to consider that perhaps Tamara Haynes did care about animals, after all. Perhaps the demonstration outside the Cochise County Justice Center had been something more than a strictly political plot to further Ken Junior’s chances of winning the election.