by J. A. Jance
“She probably already knows about it, Mom. Doesn’t Marianne read the paper?”
Damn Marliss Shackleford anyway!
Jenny bounded up the steps and rang the doorbell. Marianne opened the door, and the two of them spoke briefly before Jenny turned and motioned for Joanna to follow. Then the child disappeared into the house while Marianne waited on the porch.
“Sorry I missed your speech at Kiwanis this morning,” Marianne said. “1 was feeling so rotten that I told Jeff to go on without me.”
“How are you doing now?”
“A little better,” Marianne said.
“But not much, from the looks of you,” Joanna observed. “Jeff tells me you haven’t seen a doctor yet, either.”
“Come on in,” Marianne said. “Is that all you came by for-to chew me out? Tommy’s been out of town on vacation for the last two weeks. He went home to visit his family back in Taiwan. He’s due back tomorrow. I have an appointment scheduled for Friday afternoon.”
Tommy was actually Dr. Thomas Lee, a Taiwanese immigrant doctor who had come to Bisbee’s Copper Queen Hospital as a way of paying off his medical-school loans. Once the loan obligation was repaid, he could easily have gone elsewhere. Instead, he had decided to make Bisbee his permanent home.
After Jeff and Marianne brought their adopted twins home from mainland China, Dr. Lee had become Esther’s primary physician. In the process of caring for the seriously ill child, he had become a close friend-an uncle almost-to the rest of the family. In order to help Ruth stay connected to her roots, he was teaching the family to speak two separate Chinese dialects. He was also helping turn Jeff Daniels into a passable expert in home-cooked Chinese cuisine.
“Well,” Joanna said, “that’s a relief. I’m surprised he didn’t insist on you seeing him long before this.”
“I didn’t tell him,” Marianne said, smiling wanly. “But I thought you’d be glad to hear that I was taking some of your advice, and not just about seeing the doctor, either. I was supposed to do housework today, but I’ve spent most of the morning working on the Thanksgiving sermon.”
The parsonage’s once pristine living room was a shambles. Toys, books, and papers were scattered everywhere. The couch was almost invisible beneath a mound of unfolded laundry. On the floor, smack in the middle of the debris field, lay Ruth and Jenny. Frowning in concentration, the two girls were building a structure out of a set of pre-school-sized Legos. Joanna and Marianne picked their way through the mess as far as the couch. There they took seats on opposite ends of the couch and heaped the clothing into an even higher mound between them. Once seated and without a word of discussion, they both began folding clothes.
“If you’re working on a Thanksgiving sermon,” Joanna said, “that must mean you plan to stick around long enough to deliver it. What’s the title?”
“‘Stop Digging’.”
“ ‘Stop Digging’,” Joanna repeated. “What does that mean?”
“You should know,” Marianne said. “You’re the one who told me to talk about the black hole. To stop digging is the first rule for getting out of holes.”
“You really are taking my advice.”
Marianne smiled. “I told you,” she said. Glancing at her watch, she frowned. “What’s Jenny doing out of school so early? She’s not sick, is she?”
“She’s been suspended,” Joanna replied matter-of-factly. “For fighting. Have you read today’s newspaper?”
“The Bee?” Marianne asked. “No. I just didn’t feel like it. Why? What’s in it?”
“Do you happen to have a copy?”
“It’s probably still in the box down by the street. I’ll go get it.”
“No,” Joanna said. “Let Jenny.”
Minutes later, Joanna unfolded the paper, opened it to the page containing Marliss Shackleford’s “Bisbee Buzzings” column, and began to read aloud:
A reliable but unnamed source tells us that Cochise County Sheriff Joanna Brady, a widow, will soon tie the knot with Bisbee newcomer Frederick W. Dixon. Dixon, a former tavern owner, is currently unemployed.
“That witch!” Joanna exclaimed, carefully choosing one word over another because of the listening children playing on the floor. “How dare she say he’s unemployed. Butch spends at least four hours every morning working on his book, and he looks after Jenny every afternoon after school. Not only that, he’s spent the better part of the last three days taking care of Junior.”
“Who’s Junior?” Marianne asked. “You didn’t adopt another dog or horse, did you?”
Briefly Joanna brought Marianne up-to-date on the Junior dilemma.
“And who’s the unnamed source?” Marianne asked, looking at the newspaper column again when Joanna had finished telling the Junior story. “Your mother, I presume?”
Marianne and Joanna’s friendship-a relationship that dated all the way back to junior high-held very few surprises for either of them.
“You guessed it,” Joanna said. “And that’s why Jenny got in a fight at school today. Some of the boys were teasing her about my getting married. She didn’t think it was true because I hadn’t gotten around to telling her.”
Marianne smiled a genuine smile then. “Naturally she beat them up. Given that kind of provocation, I probably would have, too. So it is true then? You and Butch really are getting married?”
“He asked me yesterday,” Joanna replied, “and I said yes.”
“That’s wonderful. Congratulations.”
“Thanks. That’s one of the two things I came by to discuss you. If you’re going to quit the ministry, you can’t do it [t least after the wedding.”
“Which is when?”
“I don’t know. We haven’t had a chance to talk about that yet. I’ve been too busy.”
“And the other thing we need to discuss?” Marianne asked.
“Marliss Shackleford. How do I keep from killing her the next time I see her?”
Marianne glanced toward the children. Jenny and Ruth teemed totally engrossed in their building project, but Marianne knew better than to trust to appearances. “Maybe we’d better go into the kitchen,” she said. “I’ll make a fresh pot of coffee.”
An hour later, feeling as though an interior pressure valve had been released, Joanna packed up Jenny and headed home. “We’d better stop by Butch’s house and let him know you won’t be there after school today.”
But Butch Dixon wasn’t home. Parked in the Outback’s spot in his carport was a decrepit bronze Honda.
“Hey, look,” Jenny crowed in delight. “The Gs are here. Grandpa’s still in the car.”
The Gs were Jenny’s paternal grandparents, Jim Bob and Eva Lou Brady. For two cents, once Joanna spotted the car, she would have kept right on driving. The possibility of her remarrying was something she had long avoided discussing with her former in-laws. Unfortunately, by the time Joanna saw the Honda, Jim Bob had seen the Blazer as well. He was already climbing out of his car.
“What’s the matter?” Jenny asked, glancing at her mother’s face. “Aren’t you glad to see Grandpa Jim Bob?”
“I’m glad all right,” Joanna said, but her voice didn’t sound the least bit convincing.
As soon as the Blazer stopped, Jenny shot out of the passenger seat. Jim Bob caught her, scooped her into his arms, and swung her high in the air.
“There’s my girl,” he said. “How’s tricks?”
“I got suspended from school,” Jenny replied at once. “For three whole days. I can’t go back clear until Wednesday.”
“Suspended, eh?” Jim Bob said. “Maybe you’d better come home with me tonight. That way you can tell Grandma and me all about it.”
“Can I go, Mom?” Jenny begged. “Can I, please?”
“May I,” Joanna corrected automatically. “And yes, I suppose you may.”
“And should I tell them about you-know-what?”
While Joanna sent her daughter a withering look, Jim Bob looked questioningly from Jenny t
o her mother. “Tell us what?” he asked.
“Butch and Mom are going to get married,” Jenny blurted. “Marliss Shackleford said so in the paper.”
Jim Bob Brady waved one hand as if swatting at a pesky fly. “Oh, that,” he said. “All I can say is, it’s high time.”
And that was all there was to it. Joanna had gone to great lengths to avoid telling Jim Bob and Eva Lou Brady that there was a new man in her life, someone who wasn’t their son. And yet, here was Jim Bob accepting the news at face value and giving every indication that not only did he approve but also that he couldn’t see why it had taken Joanna so long to make up her mind. He seemed to accept her decision with the same kind of aplomb Jenny had.
Joanna swallowed hard. “You and Eva Lou don’t mind then?”
Jim Bob put Jenny down and then gathered Joanna into his arms. “Of course we don’t mind, honey bun. Why would we? When Andy was alive, you were the very best wife a man could ask for, but he’s gone now. You have the whole rest of your life ahead of you, Joanna. You’re young and bright and you deserve some happiness. In fact, I can’t think of anyone who deserves it more.”
Joanna squeezed her eyes shut to keep the tears from spilling out. “Thank you,” she whispered.
Jim Bob pushed away and held her at arm’s length. “You’re welcome,” he grinned. “And congratulations.” Then he turned to Jenny. “Come on now, you little hellion. Let’s get going. Grandma was putting a batch of corn bread in the oven as I was leaving the house. On the way home you can tell me all about who you were fighting with and how come.”
Joanna felt a bit left out. “Wait a minute. You mean to tell at Eva Lou’s making some of her world-famous corn and I’m not invited?”
“No, ma’am,” Jim Bob said. “Butch called a little while ago and asked if I could come pick Jenny up right after school. He said two of you had a date tonight-that he was taking you out to dinner.”
“He is, is he? Funny he never mentioned it to me,” Joanna returned. “Which reminds me, where is he?”
“Said he had a bunch of errands to run. That he wouldn’t be able to be here right when school let out. That’s why he wanted me to be Johnny-on-the-spot to meet Jenny.”
Moments later, Jim Bob loaded Jenny into his Honda Civic, and the two of them drove away. Unexpectedly relieved of her parental responsibilities for the evening, Joanna decided to stop by the department on her way back home. After all, it wouldn’t hurt for her to check out what had happened during her absence and try to get a head start on the next day’s business.
Pulling into her reserved parking place, Joanna noticed Dick Voland’s Bronco parked in its usual place. During her long talk with Marianne Maculyea, Joanna had neglected to mention her conflict with Dick Voland, and she wasn’t sure why. Maybe she was ashamed and worried that she herself had somehow, unwittingly, brought on the whole mess. Now, though, seeing his parked car, she knew she would have to face the music. She hadn’t brought the situation up in the privacy of Marianne’s living room. Now, though, she would have to do so in public.
She paused briefly at her private entrance and thought about letting herself into the office that way. Then she changed her mind. People might think she was so upset by her chief deputy’s sudden defection that she was sneaking in and out of her office in hopes of avoiding seeing anyone. No. The only way to handle this was to go in by way of the lobby entrance and simply brazen it out.
Dick had tendered his letter of resignation, and she had accepted. Period. That was all there was to it. And since his letter stated no specific reason for his departure, there was no reason for discussion on Joanna’s part, either.
On her way through the lobby, Joanna heard several conversations stop abruptly as she passed by. She also noted several sidelong questioning glances. Stiffening her spine, she smiled, greeted people by name, and marched right on past.
Let ‘em talk, she told herself firmly. All I’ve got to do is show them it’s business as usual. Everything will be fine.
But everything wasn’t fine. In the reception area outside Joanna’s office, a red-nosed and tearful Kristin Marsten barely acknowledged Joanna’s greeting. “Your messages are on your desk,” the overwrought secretary told her boss.
A glance into Dick’s office showed that the place had been stripped bare of every personal item. Relieved, Joanna turned back to Kristin. “Did Mr. Voland drop off the keys to his Bronco?”
“Yes, he left them,” Kristin snapped back. “Those are on your desk, too. Why don’t you go look for once instead of asking me!”
That outburst brought Joanna to a full stop in front of Kris-tin’s desk. Never one to raise her voice when she was angry, she didn’t do so now.
“Let’s get something straight, Kristin,” she said in a voice just barely above a whisper. “Chief Deputy Voland left of his own volition. I did not ask him to leave, but I didn’t ask him to stay, either. There are certain basic requirements for working around here, and mutual respect is one of them. If you’re not happy with my personnel changes, then you have three choices. One: You can learn to live with them. Two: You can quit. Three: You can ask for a transfer to some other duty station inside the department.
“It’s your choice, Kristin,” Joanna continued, “but those are the options. Let me warn you, however. If the choice you make is to continue working as my secretary, you’d better be prepared to give me the respect I deserve. Understood?”
Ashen-faced, Kristin nodded bleakly and said nothing.
“All right then,” Joanna finished. “I’m going into my office to return some calls. Is Frank Montoya still around?”
“He’s in his office.”
“Good. Ask him to come see me when he has a minute.”
With that, Joanna stalked off. She knew she had lashed out at Kristin, probably harder than the young woman deserved. After all, Kristin had worked with Dick Voland for years, and she obviously liked him. Still, Joanna had to make the point so word would get around. If there were any other die-hard Dick Voland loyalists in the office-and he had worked for the Cochise County Sheriff’s Department long enough that there were bound to be some-then those people needed to know exactly how the wind was blowing. Joanna Brady was in charge and she wasn’t going to be stepped on. That was the way it was, by God, and she had to let people know!
Dick Voland’s keys sat on top of the stack of messages in the middle of her desk. Putting the keys to one side, Joanna sorted through the messages. On her way home from the Kiwanis meeting, when Joanna had decided that she was going home for the day, she had shut off her pager and shifted her cell-phone calls to the office. As a consequence, all of that day’s calls had been routed through the office and had been transcribed by Kristin.
Sorting through them was a bit like dealing out a hand of solitaire. There were sixteen in all. Three of them were from Butch. The first one from him contained an invitation to dinner. The second set the time and neglected to tell her where, while the third worried about whether or not she had received either of the first two. Seven were congratulatory calls from people around town who had read about her expected engagement and who were calling to wish Joanna well. Two of the remaining six were from Marliss and two were from Eleanor, with one each from George Winfield and Dr. Fran Daly.
Deciding to return the congratulatory calls later, Joanna set those aside. The messages from Marliss and Eleanor went straight into the circular file under her desk. The calls from the two medical examiners were the only ones she actually tackled.
“Oh, it’s you,” George said, when he recognized her voice. “When I didn’t hear from you, I called Ernie Carpenter. He sent Jaime Carbajal up here to pick up the preliminary report on Mark Childers.”
That was Joanna’s first hint that Mark Childers hadn’t survived the night, but she didn’t let on. “So what was it?” she asked.
“Heart attack,” Dr. Winfield answered wearily. “His heart was already badly diseased to begin with. And I’m sure the dr
ugs didn’t help.”
“Drugs?” Joanna repeated.
“You bet. I’ll bet Mark Childers was a long-time recreational drug user-cocaine and/or heroin. He was a heart attack waiting to happen. And sitting locked in the dark in a crapper with somebody outside taking pot shots at the door was enough to do him in. I did that one first thing this morning, and just finished up with Flores a little while ago. I’ll be sending that paperwork along as well, but since you were right there when it happened, I suppose that one is pretty self-explanatory.”
“Right,” Joanna said. “But Ernie and Jaime will need a copy all the sane.”
An awkward pause followed. “I’m sorry as hell about the way things worked out,” George Winfield said finally. “That bit in the newspaper was ridiculous. I told your mother-well, never mind. Suffice it to say, we’ve had words about this. She had no right to do that to you, Joanna, or to Butch, either. I’ve always given Ellie the benefit of the doubt where you were concerned. To hear her tell it, you were always a handful from the day you were born and always a step or two out of line. Now-what can I say?”
He sounded so genuinely upset that Joanna felt sorry for him. “You don’t have to say anything, George. It’s all right. Butch asked me to marry him and I said yes. That’s all there is to it. An item in Marliss Shackleford’s column certainly wouldn’t be my first choice for letting the world know, but now the word’s out, and it’s all right.”
“Really?”
“Yes.”
“Have you talked to your mother then?”
“Not yet.” Joanna laughed. “I talk a good game, but maybe not quite that good.”
“I understand,” George Winfield said with obvious relief. “But do call her as soon as you can. For all our sakes.”
“All right,” Joanna said. “I will.”
As soon as she ended that call, Joanna tried returning Fran’s call, only to be told that the assistant medical examiner was unavailable. Well, Joanna thought, it turns out so am I.