Devil's Claw (33 page)

“What?”

“Will you ever get so mad at me that you’ll kick me out of the house?”

“I don’t think so.”

“Well, Kristin must have done something really awful for her parents to get that mad at her.”

“It wasn’t so very awful,” Joanna replied. “And it’s something a lot of people have done before her—your mother included.”

“Really? Whatever it is, you did it, too?”

“Yes. Good night, now. I told you it was none of your business.”

“Good night.”

Thoughtfully, Joanna went into her own bedroom and undressed. When she first lay down on the bed, she thought she would have a hard time falling asleep. But she didn’t. In fact, she fell asleep sooner that night than any night in recent memory.

Maybe it was because on that night she went to bed knowing that one way or the other, the long warfare with Eleanor Lathrop Winfield might finally be coming to an end. Well, maybe not a complete end, but at least Joanna could see the possibility of a truce.

CHAPTER 20

And where were they going on their honeymoon anyway? Butch knew because he had made all the plans, but other than telling her she needed to have her passport in order, he had told Joanna nothing. Their destination remained top secret.

“But what kind of clothes am I supposed to pack?” she had asked.

“Minimal,” he had replied.

“What does that mean? Beachwear? What?”

He had shrugged. “Not beachwear,” he had said at last, relenting. “But again, I’d bring along as little as possible.”

By the time Joanna arrived in the kitchen, someone—Kristin, it turned out—was already in the shower. Joanna went out to feed and water the animals. When she had finished her chores and came inside, Kristin was already dressed for work.

“I’m on my way to meet Terry for breakfast,” she said. “I told him we’d better go early so neither one of us will be late for work.”

“Good,” Joanna said. “Are you feeling better this morning?”

“Much. I really did get a decent night’s sleep for a change.”

“And no morning sickness?” Joanna asked, thinking about the dreadful bouts of morning sickness that had almost hospitalized Marianne Maculyea during the early stages of her pregnancy.

“None.”

“You’re lucky then.”

A momentary shadow crossed Kristin’s face. “Right now, I don’t really feel very lucky,” she said.

“Well,” Joanna said. “You’ll just have to take my word for it.”

The extra shower had taxed Joanna’s aging hot-water heater. By the time Jenny emerged from the bathroom, Joanna had to settle for a very quick and barely lukewarm shower. On the way to work, Jenny seemed subdued.

“What’s wrong?” Joanna asked.

“Is it going to be very different?” Jenny asked.

“You mean after Butch and I get married?”

Jenny nodded.

“It’ll be different for all of us,” Joanna replied. “We’ll all have to learn to practice patience. Are you worried about it?”

“A little,” Jenny admitted.

“How come?”

“Last night when I went to bed, I thought about Kristin’s parents—about them throwing her out. I know you said you wouldn’t ever get so mad that you’d kick me out, but it could happen. What if you ended up loving Butch more than you love me? What if you had to choose?”

“Fortunately, I don’t think that’s something either one of us will have to worry about.” By then they had pulled up at the gates of Lowell School. “Go now,” Joanna urged. “Have a good day.”

Jenny made no effort to move or even open the door. “Where do I go after school?” she asked.

Joanna frowned. “I’m not sure. I don’t remember what Butch’s plans are for today. I think you’re supposed to go to his place, but if it turns out he’s busy with his folks, we may have to make some other arrangement.”

“See there?” Jenny asked, screwing up her face to keep from crying. “It’s already happening.”

“What’s already happening?”

“You’re not even married yet and you’re already forgetting about me. You can’t even remember who’s supposed to take care of me after school!”

Joanna shook her head. This was the same eleven-, almost twelve-year-old daughter who was always insisting that she should be treated as though she were several years older than her chronological age. And yet, when the chips were down and when Joanna could have used a real almost-teenager, she found herself dealing with a child who had suddenly regressed to a petulant seven or eight.

“Go to Butch’s,” Joanna said. “If that’s not going to work for some reason, I’ll call the principal’s office and have them send you a note.”

Jenny shook her head, climbed out of the car, slammed the door behind her, and then trudged off through the school gate with her head down and shoulders slumped. She looked so sad, hurt, and alone that Joanna’s heart ached for her. She wanted to leave the Blazer where it was, run after her daughter, and hold Jenny close in a reassuring hug, which Jenny probably wouldn’t have wanted either—not there in front of the school where all her classmates could see. Besides, a glance at her watch said there was no time for that. There was no time either to steal a brief visit with Butch in his remodeled Victorian a bare three blocks from Jenny’s school. Needing to hear his voice, Joanna called instead.

“So how’s the bride on three days and counting?” Butch asked cheerfully.

“Medium,” Joanna replied. “Jenny’s gone all teary and insecure on me. And it didn’t help matters that I couldn’t remember whether or not you were going to take care of her after school.”

“Let me look at the Gantt chart on my computer for a minute.”

“Gantt chart?” Joanna demanded. “What’s that?”

“You might call it a flowchart. It’s a graphical project timeline. I downloaded it into my computer from the Internet. It’s for keeping track of projects. It helps you make sure that all available resources are allocated properly. Since you put me in charge of logistics for this wedding, I live and die by my Gantt chart.

“Let’s see. Your brother and sister-in-law fly in from D.C. this afternoon. Your mother will meet them at the airport, and then they’re scheduled to have dinner with the Winfields. My folks want to take us out to eat tonight. It’ll just be the five of us—you, Jenny, me, and the two of them. We’ll probably go somewhere here in town. Mother had heard about the Copper Queen and wanted to eat there. I told her that would be fine.

“Tomorrow night will be the whole group of out-of-towners—sort of a pre-rehearsal-dinner dinner. I’m voting for pizza for that one—probably out at your place, since you have more room than I do. Friday’s the real rehearsal dinner and—”

“Stop,” Joanna interrupted. “It’s too much. Let’s just stick to one day at a time. All I want to know is yes or no—are you taking care of Jenny after school today?”

“Yes.”

“Good. Let’s leave it at that. You can tell me everything else I need to know from the whatever-the-hell-it-is chart when I need to know it.”

“Gantt chart,” he repeated. “With two
t
’s. But are you okay?” he asked after a pause. “You sound stressed.”

I am stressed!
she wanted to shout at him.
I’m stressed beyond bearing!

“I’m all right,” she answered carefully. “And I’m sure Jenny will be relieved to have a little bit of ordinariness back in her life for today at least.”

“You’re sure you’re not mad at me or anything, are you?” Butch asked.

“I’m not mad, but I am on my way to work. I’m about to be late, and I’m worried about how I’ll ever get caught up enough to be gone for a whole week. Do we have to stay away that long? Couldn’t we come back a day or two early—maybe in time for Jenny’s birthday?”

“No, we can’t, Joanna. Definitely negative on that. I’ve talked it over with Jenny, and she’s cool about us missing her actual birthday. Not only that, as your newly designated husband, I’m making it my first priority to see to it that you don’t work yourself into an early grave. I’m going to start by insisting that you actually take your vacation time as vacation. Working vacations like sheriffs’-conference trips don’t count.”

“All right,” she said. “If you’re going to insist on taking care of me, the least I can do is stop griping about it.”

“Good decision,” he said.

Joanna made it to her desk right at eight, but when no one showed up for the morning briefing, she gathered up a collection of files and went searching for Frank Montoya and her two detectives. In the reception room outside Joanna’s office, Kristin was at her desk and sorting mail when Joanna walked in. “Where is everybody?” she asked.

“The conference room,” Kristin replied. “Chief Deputy Montoya said that since the Double Cs are coming, the conference room would be a better fit for the briefing than your office.”

Joanna grabbed a cup of coffee on her way past the corner pot and then hurried into the conference room in time to hear Frank Montoya say, “We’ll have to leave that up to Sheriff Brady.”

“What are you leaving up to me?” she asked.

“Contacting Bill Forsythe, the new sheriff up in Pima County,” Detective Carpenter replied. “If we’re going to have any kind of information sharing on Melanie Goodson’s death, OD or otherwise, we’re going to have to let them know what we’re up against on our end. What’s more, the only way it’s going to happen is from the top down, because it sure as hell isn’t going to happen from the bottom up.”

“I’ll work on it as soon as we finish up here,” Joanna said. “Now, what else have I missed?”

“Nothing much,” Frank replied. “We were just sitting around jawing and waiting for you to show up.”

Joanna took her place at the head of the table. The morning’s stack of incident reports sat in front of her. She moved that aside in favor of Frank Montoya’s Thomas Ridder file, which she had carried into the conference room along with her coffee cup.

“All right, gentlemen. Where do we stand on the Ridder murders, assuming of course that Melanie Goodson
is
connected? I’m guessing we still haven’t found any trace of Lucy?”

Frank shook his head. “Other than her busted-up bicycle, no. S and R, along with Terry Gregovich and Spike, spent all day yesterday combing the rest area and the adjoining part of Texas Canyon. In the hills above the rest area they found a spot where it looked as though she might have camped out for a day or so. Then they followed a trail down as far as the highway, where it disappeared. S and R offered to go back out there today, but I told them not to bother. My guess is she’s long gone.”

“She got into a vehicle,” Joanna suggested.

“Presumably, yes.”

“What about the bird? Didn’t Catherine Yates tell us that Big Red wouldn’t be caught dead riding in a car?”

Frank nodded. “She did say that,” he agreed. “But maybe Big Red is dead. After all, things do happen to hawks, especially around busy highways. And it’s not what he’s used to. Interstate Ten is a whole lot busier than the roads that lead to Cochise Stronghold.”

Nodding, Joanna turned to her detectives. “What’s happening up in Tucson?”

“I called Santa Theresa’s first thing this morning to see when we could make an appointment to see Sister Celeste,” Jaime Carbajal put in. “The lady who answered the phone told me she won’t be in all day today, either. I should try calling back tomorrow.”

“Sounds to me like you’re getting the runaround,” Joanna said.

“Sounds like it to me, too,” Jaime replied. “I tried asking if maybe she was attending a meeting somewhere, thinking we might be able to catch up with her at lunchtime, wherever she is, but the secretary clammed up on me and said I’d have to talk to her once she returns.”

“Great,” Joanna sighed. “Now what about the Pima County detectives working the Melanie Goodson case?”

Ernie Carpenter shrugged. When he frowned, his eyebrows seemed to come together, forming a solid caterpillar of hair across his broad forehead. “What about them? Like I said before, they’re not going to give us the time of day unless a specific order comes down to them from upstairs, preferably one signed in God’s own handwriting.”

Joanna scribbled Bill Forsythe’s name on the top line of her day’s to-do list. “I’ll get right on it,” she said. “Any information about when the Goodson autopsy will be completed?” she continued.

“Preliminary results today,” Ernie said, consulting his own notes. “But it’s going to boil down to toxicology reports, so you know that’s going to take time—a week or so, most likely.”

“Frank, what about you?” Joanna asked. “Do you have anything to add?”

“Fortunately, our working relationship with the City of Tucson PD is a little less troubled than our dealings are with Pima County,” Frank answered. “Consequently, I did manage to lay hands on a copy of the original case file for the Thomas Ridder shooting.”