Tombstone Courage

by J. A. Jance

  “She was right,” Ivy Patterson said shortly. “Now it is.”

  She took a deep breath. “I kept my promise to her,” Ivy added. “I stayed away right up until last night.”

  Yuri pulled Ivy close in what seemed a warning for her to drop the subject, but Joanna had already caught the small discrepancy in their story.

  “You went up there last night?” she asked, glancing meaningfully at Yuri Malakov, wanting him to understand that she knew he had lied to her earlier about the way he had found the body. “So the part about seeing the buzzards wasn’t true?”

  “It’s true,” Ivy said. “I saw them late yesterday afternoon, just as the search party was giving up and shutting down for the night. I wanted to go see for myself. I went up and checked as soon as I could.”

  “You’re saying you found him yesterday afternoon then?”

  Ivy nodded. “Just before sundown.”

  “But you didn’t report it until this morning. Why not?”

  “Because I didn’t feel like it. There was something I had to do first,” Ivy Patterson answered. “Something important.”

  “What?”

  Ivy’s hand sought the top of Yuri Malakov’s knee and rested there lightly. As she answered the question, though, her eyes were defiant and focused full on Joanna’s face.

  “Yuri and I spent the night on an air mattress in the back of the Scout. It wasn’t very romantic, but it was okay.”

  “You did what?” Burton exploded.

  Ivy looked at him. “You heard me.”

  “But why on earth would you pull a crazy stunt like that?”

  “To prove I could,” she said defiantly. “Because I wanted to. And why not? Dad turned against me, and don’t try to tell me he didn’t. In my book, turnabout is fair play. I did it to get even. I did it to prove a point. I did it because it was the closest I could come to dancing on my father’s grave. Mother’s grave is next to his down at Evergreen Cemetery. I couldn’t do it there.”

  Burton Kimball was clearly thunderstruck.

  “You mean to tell me, you and this…this…jerk”—he finally spit out the word with a heartfelt glare in Yuri’s direction—“spent the night together next to a glory hole with your father’s body in it, and you didn’t even bother to report it until this morning? What kind of craziness is that, Ivy? What in the world’s gotten into you?”

  “You think it’s crazy, do you? Well, maybe it is. Maybe craziness runs in our family. I think I finally just got sick and tired of being the good girl, of doing my duty and getting shit on for it, of having other people tell me what to do.”

  Burton Kimball held up both his hands as though trying to see through the blaze of Ivy’s anger to some kind of reasonableness. “Wait a minute here,” he said. “Let’s try to think straight for a change. This is a tough time for all of us, Ivy. I only came by because I heard from Marliss Shackleford up at the Bisbee Bee that something was up. I came to see if there was anything at all Linda and I could do to help.

  “Do you want me to call Norm Higgins for you? I could start working on funeral arrangements, calling relatives, that sort of thing. What exactly do you need? I guess the first thing is to find out when the body will be released and go from there.” He looked at Joanna. “Any idea, Sheriff Brady?”

  “That’s entirely up to Ernie Carpenter,” Joanna answered. “He’s the one handling the investigation. He’ll be the one making that call.”

  “How soon can I check with him?”

  “Maybe later this afternoon.”

  Burton turned back to Ivy. “Would you like me to call Norm then and see if he can come out here for a consultation? Maybe later on this evening—say, around eight o’clock.”

  “No,” Ivy Patterson said decisively, answering her cousin but with her eyes focused on Marianne Maculyea’s face. “Not tonight. I’m busy tonight. Yuri and I are getting married. At seven o’clock.”

  Kimball’s jaw dropped. “You’re doing what?”

  “Getting married. In the Canyon Methodist parsonage, at seven o’clock.”

  Burton looked at Marianne Maculyea. “Surely, this is some kind of joke,” he asked helplessly.

  Marianne shook her head. “It’s no joke. I spent all morning trying to talk her out of it, but she changed her mind back to going ahead with it just a few minutes ago.”

  “But with your father not even…”

  “Don’t tell me one more word about my father,” Ivy Patterson warned. “I don’t want to hear any more. You already told me enough, the other day.”

  “Ivy, I’ve already told you how sorry I am about that. I was drunk and way out of line. Shooting off my mouth like that was a terrible breach of ethics. I never should have mentioned a word about it.”

  “But the point is, you did. I figured if Dad was going to give away half of what I’d worked for, then I wasn’t going to wait around any longer. Yuri and I started making plans right then. That very day. On such short notice, we haven’t found anyone to come look after the stock, so we’re going to spend the night in Tombstone. The motel will probably have a banner over the door—Welcome Old Maids of America. Besides, you don’t need me to talk to Norm Higgins. You can do it yourself, or Holly can.”

  “But, Ivy,” Burton argued. “Getting married like this isn’t right. It’s not…seemly. Think what people will say.”

  “I don’t give a damn what they say. They can say whatever they like.”

  “But your father just died. People around here, especially those who knew Uncle Harold, aren’t going to like it. It shows a terrible lack of respect, of propriety.”

  “You expect me to respect the man?” Ivy raged. “After everything he did? Forget it. I did respect him for forty years, and you can see how far that got me. When he decided to throw me to the wolves in favor of divvying this place up between Holly and me, he didn’t hesitate, not for a minute. Maybe he didn’t change his will, but only because he ran out of time. He didn’t give a damn about all the years I worked here. I poured my whole life into this place. If Holly’s portion and mine are exactly the same, then what I did for him and with him all those years didn’t mean a thing.”

  “Ivy, you’re being too hard on the man.”

  “Hard? No I’m not. Not only did he turn on me, he destroyed Mother, Burton. Maybe you don’t see it the same way I do. I was here every day taking care of her. He even made me help him do it to her, dammit. That’s something I’ll never forgive. Never.”

  She paused long enough to take a ragged breath, and then a strange look passed over Ivy’s face, a look of terrible comprehension. “That’s it, isn’t it?”

  “What now?” Burton asked wearily, as though he were too exasperated to care anymore.

  “Don’t you see? That must be why he swore she was lying and why she insisted that we stay away from the glory hole.”

  “What are you talking about, Ivy?”

  “The other body. The skeleton. I know now who killed that other person.”

  “Who?” Joanna asked.

  “My father, of course,” Ivy Patterson said matter-of-factly. “Don’t you see? Why else would he have covered it up all these years?”

  Why else? Joanna thought with her own heart constricting in her breast. Why else indeed?

  Ivy cut off all further discussion by getting up, taking Yuri’s hand to pull him off the couch, and leading him out the door. The other three people were left in the living room, trapped in their own stunned silence.

  “I don’t understand what’s going on with that woman,” Burton grumbled as the front door closed behind Yuri and Ivy. “Who the hell is that guy? Where’s he from?”

  “Yuri Malakov,” Marianne answered. “He’s from someplace in Russia, of course. Or from someplace in what used to be Russia. You mean you don’t know him?”

  “I’ve never laid eyes on the man, and yet Ivy says they’re engaged? They’re getting married? What kind of craziness is this?”

  “From the way Ivy broug
ht it up to me this morning, she sounded as though it was all decided long ago. I would have thought for sure you’d know all about it.”

  “Well I don’t. Not a word,” Burton said. He shook his head. “What did he say his name is? Malakov? What kind of name is that and what’s he doing in this country? How’d he get here? And how did he meet up with Ivy?”

  “He’s an immigrant,” Marianne explained. “And a very nice man. It’s part of our national church mission to help newcomers to this country. Jeff and I actually helped him find sponsors. Hale and Natasha Robertson, from just up the road.”

  “You and your husband helped bring him here?” Burton asked reproachfully.

  Marianne nodded. “Jeff’s actually more involved with that part of our outreach program than I am. You’ve met Natasha Robertson, haven’t you?”

  Burton nodded. “Years ago. I remember when Hale brought her home as a G.I. bride right after World War II. They moved into a place a few miles down the road.”

  “Hale’s in a wheelchair now,” Marianne continued. “He was in a car accident years ago. He’s turned himself into an accountant, keeping books for various ranchers. For a long time, Natasha looked after their place all by herself, but she’s getting up in years now, too. It finally got to be more than she could handle. Jeff was the one who came up with the idea of putting them together with Yuri. And it’s a perfect match. Natasha speaks Russian and needed somebody to help her with chores. Yuri needed a job and a place to stay, and he didn’t speak much English. It seemed like a match made in heaven.”

  “You still haven’t told me how he and Ivy got together,” Burton Kimball objected. “And just what kind of man is he? You can sit there and blithely tell me what a nice man he is, but for all you know he may be taking Ivy for all she’s worth.”

  “It’s nothing like that,” Marianne assured him. “Yuri Malakov is totally on the up-and-up. Ivy started out tutoring him in English. The two of them just hit it off. Right from the start. Actually,” she added, “I like seeing them together. I think it’s sweet.”

  “I hope you’re happy then,” Burton said sarcastically. “I suppose holding the wedding tonight was your idea?”

  “Absolutely not. Having the wedding now is a terrible idea. I already told you I tried my best to talk Ivy out of it, but, as you can see, her mind’s made up.”

  “And what was that I saw peeking out from under Lothario’s shirt?”

  “His shirt?” Marianne asked. “What are you talking about?”

  “The top button of his shirt was open. I saw something that looked a whole lot like a tattoo.”

  Marianne looked puzzled. “I wouldn’t have any idea about that.”

  “I would,” Joanna said. “It was a tattoo. Why?”

  “Joanna,” Marianne said, “how did you…?”

  “I’ve read about Russians with tattoos,” Burton Kimball went on. “In The Wall Street Journal.”

  “What about them?” Joanna asked.

  “It was in an article about Russian prisons. It talked about how Russian prisoners cover themselves with tattoos as a way of showing defiance of authority. Any kind of authority. It’s a variation on a theme of The Red Badge of Courage.”

  With rising excitement, Burton Kimball sat up straighter and continued. “What if this man is an ex-con? Or maybe he’s an escaped criminal or a member of the Russian mafia. I’ve read about them, too. They’re all over here in the States these days. They’re all over here in the States these days. They’re into everything from drugs, to money laundering, to arms smuggling. What if Ivy’s being dragged into something like that?”

  Kimball got up and started toward the door.

  “Wait a minute, Burton,” Marianne said. “You’re being ridiculous, jumping to all kinds of crazy conclusions.”

  Burton paused at the door. “Maybe I am,” he said. “But you don’t know Ivy the way I do. She’s totally naïve. He probably…Wait a minute. Maybe that’s what happened.”

  “What?” Joanna asked.

  “Maybe Yuri was here when I called to tell Ivy about what was going on with Harold. Maybe she told him what was going on, and he decided to do something about it.”

  “What exactly did you tell Ivy?”

  Burton shrugged. “That Uncle Harold had decided to settle Holly’s lawsuit out of court. He told me that morning that he was going to give Holly everything she wanted. I was worried Ivy would be left out in the cold, with very little to show for all her hard work and with no one to take care of her. It makes perfect sense now. That gold-digging bastard was worried about the same thing, so he killed Uncle Harold before he had a chance to change the provisions of his will.”

  “No way,” Marianne objected. “I’m sure you’ve got it all wrong. These are two fine, upstanding, honorable people.”

  But Burton Kimball was on a roll. “Oh, yeah?” he snarled back at her. “What do you know about him, really? About where he comes from, about what kind of background he has? If you ask me, he’s nothing but a glorified wetback. Everybody knows getting married is a surefire way of turning a green card into U.S. citizenship. With what she was due to receive from Uncle Harold, Ivy must have looked like a sure thing.”

  By then, Marianne Maculyea was as outraged as Burton was. “I’m telling you you’re wrong about Yuri, Mr. Kimball,” she insisted. “I will personally vouch for him. He’s a fine man who will make Ivy Patterson very happy.”

  “Like hell he will!” Burton returned. “You goddamned preachers are all alike. Little Miss Goody Two-shoes. You ought to come down off your high horse and your pulpit and grub around in the real world for a while. Come on up to the courthouse someday and just hang around, Reverend Maculyea. Maybe you can afford the luxury of taking everyone at face value, but the rest of the world can’t. I can’t. And I’m going to do my best to talk Ivy out of marrying him until we can find out more about him.”

  With that, Burton Kimball stormed out of the house. Left alone in someone else’s living room, Joanna Brady and Marianne Maculyea stared at one another in subdued silence.

  “I guess I’d better go,” Marianne said. “If Jeff and I are having a wedding at the parsonage tonight, he may need help getting the place ready. It’s a good thing I vacuumed before you conked me on the head.”

  Joanna ignored Marianne’s small attempt at humor.

  “Doesn’t it seem odd to you?” Joanna asked. “For Ivy to be getting married like that, in such a rush?”

  Marianne stopped to consider the question. “Actually, the older I get, more and more strange stuff is starting to seem normal.”

  “Is that because the world is getting weird, or because we are?”

  “Maybe both,” Marianne replied. “Most likely both.”

  They stepped outside onto the porch in time to witness the end of a fierce shouting match between Burton Kimball and Ivy Patterson. Finally, Burton slammed himself into his Jeep Cherokee and raced out of the yard, sending Ivy Patterson’s normally placid flock of chickens and peacocks scattering in all directions.

  “It looks to me,” Marianne observed, “that the voice of sweet reason didn’t prevail, and the Wedding March marches on.”

  Joanna shook her head. “Maybe the whole clan has flipped out. Actually, speaking of that, do you know if anyone’s called Holly to tell her what’s happened? She’s also Harold’s daughter, you know. She has as much right to be notified as anyone else.”

  “I don’t remember anyone mentioning it to me,” Marianne returned.

  Joanna shook her head. “Then maybe I’d better take a crack at that one, too. Better me than Marliss Shackleford.”

  “By all means,” Marianne agreed, “but you’d best get a move on. If I know Marliss, she won’t miss a trick. In fact, she may already be there by now.”

  Twenty-Four

  AS JOANNA drove toward Casa Vieja, she was once more conscious of her hopelessly ill-fitting clothing. What worked for a crime scene wasn’t appropriate for paying an official call. H
er mother would have had a fit to think her daughter would show up at a place like Casa Vieja dressed as she was.

  Of all the houses in town, the venerable old mansion at the top of Vista Park was by far the most ostentatious. Two stories tall and massively built, the place was constructed out of thick brown stucco and accented by decorative strips of hand-carved wood moldings. The yard was surrounded by a low-slung stucco wall backed up by an interior barrier of fifteen-foot-high oleanders, giving the place an impenetrable, secretive look.

  Definitely out of my league, Joanna thought, driving up to the gate in her Eagle.

  It hadn’t always been that way. For instance, during the time Casa Vieja was carved up into apartments, Joanna’s favorite high school phys-ed teacher had lived there. In fact, her sophomore year, she had even attended a tennis-club barbecue that had been held on the wide veranda overlooking Vista Park.

  But that was long before Casa Vieja had been made over once again. According to Eleanor Lathrop, very few locals, even upscale neighbors from the immediate area, had been invited inside the refurbished place since its purchase by either the former owners—purported drug dealers—or this new one, who was supposedly someone important out in Hollywood. That stray thought caused Joanna to smile. By her mother’s lights, everyone in Hollywood—no matter how obscure—was important.

  Joanna pushed the bell fastened on the gatepost. “Who is it?” a disembodied voice asked.

  “Joanna Brady,” she answered. “Sheriff Joanna Brady to see Holly Patterson.”

  For an answer, the wrought-iron gate swung smoothly open, and Joanna drove in. Toward the back of the building was a garage where two open doors revealed both the fender-damaged red Allanté and a stretch limo. The thought crossed Joanna’s mind that at least one Patterson girl seemed to have done all right for herself. A red Allanté was a long way from Ivy’s battered Chevy Luv.

  Several parking places had been marked on the pavement on the west side of the building. Joanna pulled into one of them. Before she had time to consider what entrance to use, a door on the side of the house opened, and an older Hispanic woman stepped out onto a small utility porch and began vigorously shaking a dust mop. Joanna walked several steps toward her before recognizing Isobel Gonzales, the grandmother of one of Jenny’s classmates.