by J. A. Jance
“Henry?” he asked tentatively. “Is that you?”
Uncle Henry smiled broadly. “Jimmy B? I’ll be damned. The last time I saw you, you were still in short pants. It’s a shame that it takes such a sad occasion to get together after all these years. I mean, I barely remember what the original argument was about all those years ago, and now it doesn’t matter.”
“Uncle Henry?” Joanna asked.
Jim Bob nodded. “He’s my mother’s second-oldest brother. He and the rest of the family had a falling out years ago, when I was just a boy. Uncle Henry, this is Joanna, my daughter-in-law.”
Uncle Henry nodded. “Glad to make your acquaintance, and this is Cora. She’s actually my third wife’s niece—my wife’s dead now—but that’s too confusing, so we just say she’s my niece. She’s a dancer during the weekends, but she helps out in the office during the week.”
“Office?” Jim Bob asked. “What office?”
Uncle Henry waved impatiently. “Now that I’m too old and broke up to go out prospecting any more, I’ve got me a little one-man office in Searchlight. Sell a few things now and then, lease a few mineral rights here and there. That’s where Andy’s little windfall came from, by the way. Over the years, I’d put one of the grandnephews’ names on a claim, and if that one came in, I’d send them the money. Told ’em not to say where it came from, of course. Didn’t want ’em to get in trouble for having anything to do with an old black sheep.”
Cora blew her nose. “You’re not so bad for a black sheep,” she said. “And none of those kids ever turned the money down, either.”
“Including you,” he said with a smile.
She nodded. “Including me.”
“And you only give the gifts in cash?” Joanna asked.
Uncle Henry straightened in his chair. “Young woman, the Income Tax is the most abominable piece of illegal legislation ever palmed off on this land, but it exists. And to my mind, the only thing lower than a revenuer is a banker, so I try to conduct my business in a way that keeps those vermin out of it. If I give away less than ten thousand dollars at a time, nobody gets excited. And if I do it in cash, I don’t have to deal with banks. If I have a gift to be delivered, Cora usually handles it for me on her days off from the casino. I don’t like banks, but it’s still a very bad idea to send that much cash through the mail, understand?”
“Yes,” Joanna answered. “I believe I do.”
“Where are you staying?” Jim Bob asked.
“Well, I had thought we’d stay at a place called the Copper Queen Hotel, but evidently, that’s not too easy to get in and out of in a wheelchair, so we’ve got a couple of rooms at a place called the El Cobre Lodge.”
Joanna was still trying to sort things out. “So the money Cora gave Andy was from some kind of mining claim?”
“Some guys out of Elko,” Uncle Henry said. “They leased it for exploratory purposes, and I gifted half of what they paid to Andy. Those guys’ll have six months with an option for six more after that. I can’t tell if they’re for real or not, but their money was good. If there’s more coming, believe me, you and your little girl will get it.”
“Thank you,” Joanna said. “Thank you very much.”
Not long after that, she headed home, glad to have escaped the crush of people in the mortuary, but knowing that back home at the ranch, there would be more of the same. And she was right. When she drove into the yard, she counted at least ten cars scattered here and there. Inside the house several of the ladies from the church choir were busily trying to find places in the burgeoning refrigerator for yet another donated covered dish.
Joanna paused in the kitchen long enough to pour herself a glass of white wine, then she wandered into the living room. It wasn’t exactly a party. It was her home, but she wasn’t exactly the hostess and she wasn’t exactly a guest either. The women managing the kitchen were most insistent in telling her that she was expected to mingle and not lift a hand to do any of the work.
On the couch at the far end of the room she spotted Milo Davis sitting with Jenny. When she got close enough, she saw that Jenny had dragged out her old copy of Winnie the Poohand was patiently explaining to Milo the origin of her new dog’s name.
“Hi, Mom,” Jenny said, when Joanna sat down on the couch behind her. “Mr. Davis never heard of Tigger before. Can you believe that?”
Joanna smiled and nodded her head. “I can believe it all right,” she said.
“Did you try any of the lemon chiffon pie that Mrs. Davis sent over? It’s my favorite.”
“Maybe I’ll have some later.”
Eventually Jenny got up and wandered away. Joanna turned to Milo Davis. “They tell me you’re promoting Joanna Brady as a candidate for sheriff. Are you trying to get rid of me?” she asked.
“That’s not exactly what I meant,” Milo returned. “It’s just that sometimes the best man for a job is a woman, at least that’s what my mother always used to say. I think she was a little before her time.”
“Milo,” Joanna said seriously, “I don’t want to be sheriff of Cochise County. I happen to likeselling insurance.”
“Who else is going to do it?” he asked. “Look what you did the other night.”
“What I did that night was personal, Milo. Jenny and my mother were at risk. My husband was murdered. Most people in my position would have done exactly the same thing.”
Milo Davis shook his head. “What you did for this county was a lot more than settle a personal score. That drug business and the corruption in the sheriff’s department must have been going on for years, and it would have kept right on if you hadn’t taken a stand and done something about it. And who else knows more about the sheriff’s department than you? One way or the other, you’ve been around it all your life. Maybe there are people who work there who’ve been around longer, but none of them can run, not right now because of the scandal. It’s a wide-open race, Joanna, and we’ve got to have someone who’s squeaky clean. You’re it. You’ll win hands down.”
“Milo, I don’t want to do this.”
“Neither did your daddy when he took it on, Joanna, but it was a time very much like this, a time when the old administration needed to be swept out with a clean broom. This kind of thing never would have happened on old D. H.’s, watch, now would it?”
Joanna shook her head. “No,” she agreed. “It never would have.”
“Back then, in your dad’s time, Kiwanis was the thing to do if you wanted to go someplace,” Milo continued. “When he got elected, he joined up and never missed a single meeting until the day he died. We didn’t have women in the club back then, and there was a whole lot more high jinks than goes on today. We all had a nickname for your dad, a secret nickname. Did he ever tell you about that?”
“No. Not that I remember.”
“The whole time I knew him, he only went by his initials. We were always teasing him and telling him he needed to have a real name. Finally we gave him one. We told them that his real name was Desert Heat on account of him being a cop. It was kind of hokey, I guess, an in crowd joke, but he seemed to get a bang out of it.”
Milo studied his listener’s face, waiting to see if D. H. Lathrop’s daughter would smile at the joke. She didn’t. Joanna Brady was way beyond smiling.
“It seemed funny back then,” he said with a sigh. “Maybe you had to be there.”
By the time Joanna finished that one glass of wine, she had moved beyond her ability to socialize as well. She tracked Eleanor down in a small group in the dining room. “Are you going home tonight, or are you going to stay here?” Joanna asked.
“I thought I’d stay, if you don’t mind.”
“Do whatever you want, but I have to go to bed. I can’t hold my head up any longer.”
In the past, that kind of announcement would probably have provoked an argument on the impropriety of Joanna’s abandoning her guests. This time it didn’t.
“I’m sure you’re tired,” Eleanor said. “I
don’t think people will mind if you disappear.”
Joanna headed toward her bedroom. She expected her mother to stay in the dining room chatting with the guests. Instead Eleanor followed Joanna into the bedroom.
“Can I talk to you a minute?”
Expecting another lecture, Joanna tried to hide the impatience in her voice. “What about?”
“Your father.”
“Everybody seems to be thinking about him tonight.”
Eleanor smiled. “He used to call you Little Hank just to drive me crazy. It did, too, I think. And then, when he taught you how to shoot a gun, my word, I wondered what the world was coming to.”
Joanna walked over to the closet and began taking off her clothes. The blouse she was wearing was one of her favorites, but it buttoned down the back. Without Andy to help with the buttons, Joanna didn’t know if she’d be able to wear it very often from now on. She worked her way down the row until she reached the button in the middle of her back, the one that was hardest to reach. Just then, Eleanor came over and unbuttoned it for her.
“It’s hard to let go of a daughter,” she said awkwardly. “Even when she’s all grown up. Just wait until it happens to Jenny. You still think of her as a little girl in braids, and then one day, she’s standing there doing something like washing dishes or canning peaches, and you know she’s not little any more.”
“Mother,” Joanna interrupted, but Eleanor shook her head.
“It didn’t seem fair to me that when he had such a beautiful little girl your father still always wanted a boy. That’s one of the things we fought about. He made you act like a boy, and I was always mad at him over it. But last night, Joanna, I saw he was right. If you hadn’t been just the way your father raised you, I don’t know what would have happened.”
Joanna felt tears welling up in her eyes no matter how hard she tried to blink them back, but Eleanor didn’t seem to notice.
“I’ve heard people talking around town today, at Helene’s, when I went to have my hair done and in the grocery store. They’re all saying you should run for sheriff.”
“Don’t worry, Mother. I already told Milo I wouldn’t do it.”
“But that’s what I’m trying to tell you,” Eleanor said. “I think you should. I used to believe that when your daddy died, it was all his fault. After all, since he was sheriff, he deliberately put himself in danger. I thought that he had wanted it somehow and that when it happened, it was sort of divine retribution. Over the years, I guess I’ve finally figured out that wasn’t right.
“When it came time to bury him, I went ahead and let them dress him in his uniform even though I hated that uniform with an abiding passion. I did it that way because I knew it’s what he would have wanted. I kept one part of his uniform back though, just one thing.”
Eleanor Lathrop reached into her pocket and pulled out a tarnished silver star. “It’s your daddy’s badge, Joanna,” Eleanor said softly. “I saved it for you because I thought you might want it someday. I’m giving it to you now because I think you’ve earned it.”
With that, after pressing the badge into Joanna’s hand, Eleanor fled the room.
Stunned, Joanna took the badge to the bed and sank down on it, examining the etched star in careful detail and marveling. After all those years, she was holding her father’s badge. As she was growing up, if she could have had one thing that had belonged to her father, this would have been it, but that was always a secret, selfish wish, one she had never dared share with her mother. That would have been too disloyal.
Joanna stared down at the badge for a long, long time, until her eyes began to blur, then she reached over and picked up the phone. She had dialed the number so many times in the past few days that she knew it by heart.
The town mortician’s newest son-in-law and newest employee was the one stuck with night duty. He was also the one who answered the phone.
“This is Joanna Brady,” she said. “I’m calling to ask a favor. Andy’s wearing his badge right now, but I’d like you to take it off and put it in an envelope for me. Would you do that?”
“Sure thing, Mrs. Brady. No problem.”
“And put my daughter’s name on the outside. Jenny. Jennifer Brady. She may want to have that badge someday as a keepsake.”
“Right, Mrs. Brady. It’ll be at the desk for you in the morning. Anything else?”
“No. That’s all.”
Putting the phone down and turning out the light, Joanna lay down crosswise on the bed and wrapped the heavy bedspread around her. She had been dreadfully sleepy earlier, but now sleep seemed far away.
Milo Davis, Marianne Maculyea, her mother—all of them thought she should run. All of them, including Adam York, seemed to think she could do it. Could she, Joanna wondered. Maybe. What would it hurt to try?
And moments later, while that embryonic thought still lingered in her head, and still holding tight to her father’s precious badge, Joanna Brady fell into a dreamless but untroubled sleep.
She woke up in the morning with the sun streaming in through the window and with Jenny tiptoeing across the room to snuggle into bed beside her.
“What’s this?” Jenny asked, seeing the badge in her mother’s hand. “Is it Daddy’s?”
“No,” Joanna explained, “it was my daddy’s, your grandfather’s.”
“Grandpa Lathrop’s? But what are you doing with it?”
Joanna looked down at Jenny and suddenly knew what she had to do.
“Grandma gave it to me,” Joanna said. “For right now, I’m going to put it away in my jewelry box. If I ever get it out again, it’ll be time to put it on and wear it.”
Jennifer Brady looked at her in wide-eyed astonishment. “For real? You mean you’d be sheriff?”
“I’d try,” Joanna answered. “It would mean we’d have to go on with the election campaign only this time I’d be the candidate. It would mean that no matter how hard it was, we’d have to go out and do all the things we would have done if your daddy was still running. It would be hard work because now there are only the two of us. Would you be willing to help me? Do you think we could do it?”
“Yes.” Jennifer Ann Brady answered without the slightest hesitation.
Joanna hugged her child close. “Well then,” she said huskily, “I guess we’ll have to try. If enough people in Cochise County want me to be their new sheriff, that’s exactly what I’ll be.”
About the Author
J. A. JANCE is the New York Times bestselling author of Paradise Lost and Kiss of the Bees. Ms. Jance was born in South Dakota, brought up in Bisbee, Arizona, and now lives with her husband in Seattle, Washington, and Tucson, Arizona. Readers can visit her online at www.jajance.com.
Other Books by J. A. Jance
JOANNA BRADY MYSTERIES
Desert Heat
Tombstone Courage
Shoot/Don’t Shoot
Dead to Rights
Skeleton Canyon
Rattlesnake Crossing
Outlaw Mountain
Devil’s Claw
Paradise Lost
J.P. BEAUMONT MYSTERIES
Until Proven Guilty
Injustice for All
Trial by Fury
Taking the Fifth
Improbable Cause
A More Perfect Union
Dismissed with Prejudice
Minor in Possession
Payment in Kind
Without Due Process
Failure to Appear
Lying in Wait
Name Withheld
Breach of Duty
Birds of Prey
AND
Hour of the Hunter
Kiss of the Bees
Partner in Crime
Praise for New York Times bestselling author
J.A. JANCE
and JOANNA BRADY
“Any story by Jance is a joy.”
Chattanooga Times
“Joanna Brady is a real person…Jance is one of those authors who ma
kes readers feel as if they had lived their lives in the setting of which she writes.”
Cleveland Plain Dealer
“Jance’s Southwestern mysteries show up on bestseller lists…One can see why.”
Milwaukee Journal Sentinel
“She can move from an exciting, dangerous scene on one page to a sensitive, personal, touching moment on the next.”
Chicago Tribune
“Jance always puts together believable characters in plots that keep readers engaged.”
Toronto Globe and Mail
“Brady is a multidimensional character dealing with harsh reality in a harsh, if dramatically beautiful landscape…Jance creates such a strong sense of place, you can feel the desert heat.”
Colorado Springs Gazette
Copyright
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are products of author’s imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
DESERT HEAT. Copyright © 1993 by J. A. Jance. All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins e-books.
ePub edition July 2002 eISBN 9780061743207
First Avon Books printing: February 1993
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