by J. A. Jance
“Hal Morgan is under investigation in the case,” Joanna told them. “But that’s all. Under investigation. It’s still to early to say. Ernie Carpenter talked to some of the people who used to work with Morgan when he was a police officer in southern California. They all said he was a great cop who would never take the law into his own hands.”
“But who knows what a fella will do if he’s pushed too far?” Jim Bob Brady asked. “I, for one, can see that the poor guy’s got a point. After all, his wife is dead. Gone for good. All Bucky gets hit with for doin’ it is nothin’ more than a little ol’ slap on the wrist. What’s a man supposed to do?”
“Let justice take its course,” Joanna said. “Bucky was given a legal sentence for vehicular manslaughter. He was also sentenced to undergo drug- and alcohol-treatment. He did both those things. According to our judicial system, he paid his debt to society. That should have been the end of it.”
“Guess that’s pretty much Arlee Campbell’s position, too,” Jim Bob said.
Arlee Campbell ran the county attorney’s office, and Jim Bob’s assessment was right on the money. One of the reasons Joanna had been late leaving the office was due to the fact that she had been tied up talking on the phone with the county attorney himself. She had listened to old Windbag Campbell go on and on, at tedious length, telling her all about how murder is murder, no matter what. About how vigilante justice amounts to no justice at all.
“You’re right,” Joanna said. “Arlee told me this evening that if we end up charging Hal Morgan with Bucky’s murder, the county attorney’s office will prosecute him to the full extent of the law.”
“How’s Terry taking all this?” Eva Lou asked. “She’s always seemed like such a down-to-earth person and just as pleasant as she could be.”
“All right,” Joanna said, choosing not to mention that throughout the hour-long, late-afternoon interview with Ernie Carpenter, Bucky Buckwalter’s widow had never shown the slightest sign of any emotion other than her initial surprise.
“I suppose it’s too early to know about funeral arrangements,” Jim Bob ventured as he stood up to begin clearing the table.
“As a matter of fact it isn’t,” Joanna told them. “By the time Ernie Carpenter and I got around to talking to Terry, she had already contacted Norm Higgins. The funeral home will be picking up the body from Dr. Winfield’s office as soon as he finishes the autopsy. According to Terry, the funeral will be at the mortuary up in Bisbee on Friday morning.”
“We should go by all means,” Eva Lou said. “Put it on the calendar, Jim Bob.” Eva Lou turned back to Joanna. “Do you have any idea what time?”
“It’ll be ten o’clock,” Jim Bob said. “That’s when ol’ Norm likes to schedule them things. Any earlier, he says, and you have to rush breakfast. Any later, and you end up missing lunch.”
“Norm Higgins could afford to miss a few breakfasts and lunches,” Eva Lou observed.
Jim Bob held up a hand. “Now, Eva Lou,” he told his wife. “Don’t you go being so hard on the man. Norm Higgins is an old buddy of mine.”
“An overweight old buddy of yours,” Eva Lou added.
Listening to her in-laws’ gentle bickering only underscored the loving humor that was a hallmark of their long-term marriage. Their constant sparring back and forth was part of what made their relationship work. Their companionable squabble somehow made Joanna feel better.
She watched as Jim Bob Brady carefully made a penciled notation of the memorial service on the Davis Insurance Agency calendar that graced the Bradys’ kitchen wall. Looking at him, she realized fondly that here was a man—the genuine article. She’d bet her life that her father-in-law had never once been reduced to carrying a packet of condoms around in his wallet. If Jim Bob Brady died first, Eva Lou wouldn’t be in for any unpleasant surprises in that regard.
Joanna put down her empty cup, pushed back her own chair, and made for the kitchen sink. “Oh, no, you don’t,” Eva Lou told her. “You go on home and attend to your chores. Jim Bob and I will do the dishes. It’s his turn to wash, mine to wipe.”
“You’re sure?”
“Of course I’m sure.” Eva Lou smiled. “I wouldn’t want Jimmy here to have a chance to stop complaining about his dishpan hands.” She paused then, and looked her daughter-in-law in the eye. “How are you doing?”
Joanna gave her mother-in-law a wan smile. “You read me like a book, don’t you? I’m doing medium. I guess this is all hitting just a little too close to home. Once upon a time, in the good old days, murder was something that happened somewhere else, to people we didn’t know.”
“Well,” said Eva Lou kindly. “You go on home and try not to think about it.”
Leaving her stack of dishes on the counter, Joanna was only too happy to oblige. “Come on, Jenny,” she called down the short hallway.
It took several minutes to gather Jenny’s gear—schoolbooks, jacket, and lunch box—as well as Joanna’s own purse. It was only eight-thirty or so by the time they reached High Lonesome Ranch, but Joanna was so tired that it felt like much later.
A single bulb burning outside the garage told Joanna that Clayton Rhodes, her eighty-something neighbor and hired hand, had come by and fed all the animals. Paying Clayton to do the outdoor chores on a regular basis had been Joanna’s first big concession to being a single mother with a young child and a demanding career. There simply wasn’t enough of her to go around when it came to taking care of Jenny, doing the housework, and looking after two dogs and ten head of cattle as well.
When she reached the back door, Joanna found a scrawled note from Clayton stuck on the door frame with a pushpin. “Fed Sadie,” the note said. “Couldn’t find no Tigger. He maybe run off.”
Guiltily, Joanna crumpled the note and stuck it in her pocket. It had been thoughtless of her not to have left word about Tigger for Clayton so he wouldn’t have worried or wasted any time looking for an animal that was safely stowed in a kennel at the Buckwalter Animal Clinic. Meantime, Sadie, lonely after a day on her own, was ecstatically licking Jenny’s face.
“Don’t let her do that,” Joanna admonished.
“She’s just kissing me because she missed me,” Jenny said. “It doesn’t hurt anything.”
Joanna managed to stifle an urge to deliver an Eleanor Lathrop-like lecture on the subject of dogs and germs. Instead, she sent Jenny off to take her bath and settled down at the telephone desk in the living room to take messages off the machine. There were several.
“I’m home,” Eleanor Lathrop said through the recording machine’s speaker. She sounded chipper as ever, as though, for her, cross-country plane flights were mere everyday occurrences. “Give me a call as soon as you get home. We need to get organized about tomorrow. Have you made any arrangements for Eva Lou and me to get out to Palominas to the women’s club luncheon?”
Eleanor had been back in town only a matter of hours. Minutes, maybe. Already she was dishing out orders. Joanna, seeing her mother through the prism of her own difficulties with Jenny, was determined not to let it affect her. She made a note to call her mother.
The next message came on. “Hello, Joanna,” said Bisbee Bee reporter Marliss Shackleford. “Do give me a call at home this evening.”
Joanna gritted her teeth. Marliss, who took a good deal of pride in her self-styled position as gossip columnist for the local paper, had been a thorn in Joanna Brady’s side for far longer than she had been writing “Bisbee Buzzings.” Naturally Marliss was far too important to do anything as courteous or convenient as leaving her telephone number on the message.
“I guess I’m supposed to know it by heart,” Joanna muttered to herself, as she made a note on the pad.
The third call was from Joanna’s most unlikely friend—Angie Kellogg, a former L.A. hooker who, with Joanna’s and Marianne Maculyea’s help, had managed to escape “the life.” Angie now lived in her own little two-bedroom house and worked as a bartender up in Brewery Gulch. The Blue Moon Saloon
and Lounge was right next door to the empty lot that had once held the Plugged Nickel. Because Angie was still relatively new to town and reveling in what she saw as the “Wild West” atmosphere, Joanna made a note to remind herself to tell Angie the story about Bucky Buckwalter and the second-story horse.
“You’re not going to believe this,” Angie’s message said breathlessly. “They’ve called me for jury duty. That’s never happened to me before. It says I have to go to the courthouse three weeks from now. Is this for real? Do I have to do it? Call me.”
Joanna laughed as she made another note and erased that one. Angie had only recently succeeded in passing her driver’s-license exam for the very first time. No doubt, that had landed her in the motor-voter rolls, and on the jury-selection list as well. Given the context of Angie’s previous life, her consternation was easy to understand. And if this was a first for Angie, Joanna thought, there was a good possibility that the reverse was also true. It was distinctly possible that having an ex-hooker on a jury would be breaking new legal ground in Cochise County.
The next two calls were both hang-ups with no message. “If you don’t leave a message, I can’t call you back,” Joanna informed her anonymous callers.
The last message was from Bebe Noonan. “Mrs. Brady, I’m sorry to call so late, but I wanted you to know that Dr. Wade just finished treating Tigger. He’ll be ready to come home tomorrow. Dr. Wade will be at the clinic early tomorrow morning to make arrangements either to send all remaining animals home or to transfer them to his facility down in Douglas. If you could come pick Tigger up sometime between seven and nine in the morning, we’d really appreciate it.”
“Mom,” Jenny called from the bathroom. “What are you doing?”
“Taking messages and returning telephone calls,” Joanna said, pressing the erase button. “What do you need?”
“Nothing.”
Shaking her head, Joanna dialed her mother. “Hi, Mom. How are you?”
“Bushed,” Eleanor said. “If you hadn’t called me back within the next ten minutes, I was going to take the phone off the hook and go to bed. They don’t call it jet lag for nothing. My body is still on East Coast time. I feel like it’s the middle of the night instead of just a little past nine.”
“Go to bed then,” Joanna said. “What’s stopping you?”
But Eleanor was already off on her own tangent. “It’s such a shame they’ve had to close the hotel kitchen for the time being. It makes it terribly inconvenient that they’ve moved the luncheon so far out of town.”
A grease fire the week before had put the Copper Queen Hotel’s kitchen facility out of commission. The establishment was now on a month-long enforced sabbatical while workmen cleaned up the mess and spruced the place back up. One of the previously scheduled functions that had been forced to move to an alternate facility was the Cochise County Women’s Club midwinter luncheon.
“Palominas isn’t that far,” Joanna said. “And I’m sure the dining room at the Rob Roy will be more than adequate. People claim the food there is great.”
“Be that as it may,” Eleanor returned severely. “It’s still a real hardship for some people. Take Eva Lou, for example. The Bradys have only the one car. Since it’s a ‘ladies only’ event, Jim Bob isn’t invited. You can hardly expect him to drive Eva Lou all that way out to the golf course and then just hand around in the parking lot waiting for the luncheon to get over.”
It occurred to Joanna that Jim Bob Brady was entirely capable of fending for himself, including walking into the restaurant and ordering his own lunch. Unfortunately, Eleanor Lathrop had her own particular take on the situation, and she wasn’t letting up.
“Couldn’t you give Eva Lou a ride?” Joanna asked.
“Me!” Eleanor echoed. “Do you mean to say that I’m not riding to the luncheon with you? After all, you’re the honored guest, and I am your mother.”
“But—”
“It never occurred to me that I wouldn’t be riding with you. I’ve already made arrangements to have a tune-up on the Volare tomorrow morning. I’m supposed to drop it off at the shop tomorrow morning at eight.”
Joanna had started the conversation with the best of intentions. She had been determined to give Eleanor the same benefit of the doubt that Joanna wanted from Jenny. Within seconds, however, she could feel herself being sucked back into all the old games.
“Mother,” Joanna cautioned. “With everything that went on at the office today, the department is going to be a zoo. I’m not sure what time I’ll be able to get away.”
“Well then,” Eleanor sniffed. “If you can’t take me, I guess I won’t be able to go at all.”
“What about Margaret Turnbull? She’s going, isn’t she? Couldn’t you ride out with her?”
“For goodness’ sake,” Eleanor said. “She drove all the way up to Tucson today, just to pick me up. Haven’t we already inconvenienced her enough? Just forget it. It won’t kill me to miss it.”
Joanna sighed. It was the same old story. Checkmate, she thought. Why couldn’t she get along with Eleanor the way she did with Eva Lou? Was it Eleanor’s fault or Joanna’s?
“All right,” Joanna said, knuckling under the same way she always did. “Call Eva Lou and have Jim Bob drop her off at your house. The luncheon doesn’t start until noon. I’ll pick you both up at your house around eleven-thirty.”
“Is that soon enough?” Eleanor asked. “I’d hate to be late. Wouldn’t eleven-fifteen be better?”
Joanna closed her eyes. Give the woman an inch…she thought.
“Eleven-thirty will be plenty of time, Mother,” Joanna said, striving mightily to keep her tone civil. “Since I’m supposedly the guest of honor, I’m sure they won’t start without us.”
“I certainly hope not,” Eleanor said.
“Good night, Mother.”
But Eleanor Lathrop was just hitting her stride. She wasn’t nearly ready to punch the “off” switch. “Remind me to give you your presents tomorrow when I see you. I brought a wonderful little coat home for Jenny, and you’ll never believe what I got you. Guess.”
“I can’t. Tell me.”
“Egg cups.”
“Egg cups?” Joanna asked.
“Marcie is such a wonderful housekeeper,” Eleanor gushed. “And on Sundays, she makes these wonderful breakfasts with that expensive microwave bacon and fresh-squeezed orange juice and soft-boiled eggs in these marvelous little egg cups, with tiny spoons and everything. Eating those breakfasts made me feel so spoiled, like I was living in a book, an English novel with rashers of bacon and all that. You’ll love them, by the way. The egg cups, I mean.”
“I’m sure I will, Mother,” Joanna said, feeling virtuous for not pointing out that neither she nor Jenny were particularly fond of soft-boiled eggs. “And I’ll remind you to give them to me. In the meantime, I’m going to have to go. I have several other calls to return.”
“Isn’t it after nine?” Eleanor asked. “Are you sure it’s all right to call people back this late?”
“I’m sure it’s all right, but the longer we talk, the later it gets,” Joanna returned. “Welcome back and good night, Mother. See you tomorrow.”
“Good night, Joanna,” Eleanor said. “See you at eleven-thirty sharp, but make it earlier if you possibly can.”
“Right,” Joanna said, returning the handset to its cradle. “Will do.”
She reached into the top drawer and pulled out the phone book. Marliss Shackleford’s number was listed under the initial M. Marliss herself answered after only one ring.
“Sheriff Brady here,” Joanna said. “Returning your call.”
One of the things Joanna disliked about Marliss was the way the woman purred into the phone. “Oh, Joanna,” she breathed. “I’m so glad you were able to get back to me tonight. With all those goings-on about Dr. Buckwalter, I wasn’t sure you’d manage it.”
Wanting to keep the call on a strictly businesslike basis, Joanna tried to pass the buck.
“If you’re calling about that, Marliss, you’ll have to go through Chief Deputy Montoya. He’s the department’s official public information officer. It’s best if all media inquiries are channeled through him. He’ll be back in the office at eight o’clock in the morning…”
“Don’t worry,” Marliss said. “This has nothing whatever to do with the Buckwalter case. I was calling you about something else entirely.”
“What?” Joanna’s question sounded blunt, but she let it stand. She was too tired to do anything else.
“I was calling about Marianne Maculyea,” Marliss said.
“Marianne,” Joanna echoed. “What about her?”
“I’m worried about her, is all,” Marliss said. “Several other people are as well. Is everything all right between her and Jeff?”
“Is everything all right? What kind of a question is that?”
“Well.” Marliss hesitated. “Jeff Daniels has been gone for almost a month now. I heard late this afternoon that the Canyon Methodist Board of Directors met earlier today. They had to advance Marianne quite a big chunk of money. You don’t suppose Jeff has gotten himself in some kind of trouble, do you?”
Joanna bristled. “Marliss, I’m sure whatever action the board took was supposed to be confidential.”
“Oh, of course.”
“Are you on the board of directors?” Joanna demanded.
“No,” Marliss countered, “but one of my friends is. She said—”
“If it’s supposed to be confidential, then I don’t want to know what anyone said,” Joanna interrupted. “It’s none of my business, and it’s none of yours either, Marliss. Good night.”
“But wait,” the other woman said hurriedly. “Don’t hang up. What I’m afraid is that Jeff Daniels has gotten himself in some kind of trouble with the Chinese authorities and that Marianne needs the extra money to bail him out. He’s always struck me as sort of a hippie type. And I just saw a National Geographic program on TV, on public television, of course, that talked about all the drugs and hippies in Goa, India, which happens to be right next to China, you know. I thought that if anyone would be aware of what was really going on, it would be you.”