Downfall (31 page)

“Some of you may still remember my dad, Sheriff D.H.
Lathrop. When he left the mines to work in law enforcement, my mother wasn't exactly thrilled. I spent years thinking that she didn't want him to be a cop out of sheer contrariness. I'm older and wiser now. She didn't want him to be a cop—or me either, for that matter—out of an abiding fear that she might end up losing us. Considering what almost happened yesterday, I can tell you those fears were not ill-founded.

“Mother wasn't just against my following my father's footsteps into law enforcement—she was adamantly opposed. Even so, when push came to shove, she was right there door-belling, licking envelopes, and campaigning with the best of them. My mother and I may have wrangled from time to time, but she was always in my corner. She never came right out and said aloud that she was proud of what I do, but I know now that she was.

“Last week, after a shooting incident on I-17 left George dead and Mother gravely wounded, I went to the hospital hoping to see her. I arrived thinking I'd be able to tell her good-bye, but I was too late. She was gone long before I ever reached her bedside. In speaking to one of her doctors, however, I learned that even though she was in terrible shape when they brought her into the ER, she roused herself enough to ask the doctors and nurses to give me an important message—something about a red dot. Because I'm in law enforcement, I understood the importance of that single clue. She was letting me know that she and George had been forced off the freeway by someone wielding a high-powered rifle with a laser sight.

“Having that clue made it possible for me to help solve her murder and George's, too, and giving me that deathbed clue was a true gift from Eleanor Lathrop Winfield to her daughter, the cop. It's one I'll always treasure.

“George and Eleanor died within hours of each other. Both had lost previous spouses and spent years grieving over those losses before they found the courage to love again. Their time together was far too brief, but it was all good.

“George had the words ‘Happy Trails' painted on the back of their RV. Some of you may not recognize it, but I understand Happy Trails was the theme song from one of George's favorite boyhood TV shows, one starring Roy Rogers and Dale Evans. The words ‘Happy Trails' worked for Mom and George as they traveled back and forth from Arizona to Minnesota, and it still works for them now.

“Happy trails, George and Eleanor. We'll miss you.”

THE POST-FUNERAL BARBECUE WAS A LOAVES-AND-FISHES KIND
of affair. People hadn't been asked to bring food, but they did anyway—and it was a good thing. So many people showed up that they had to park not only all up and down the ranch road, but also out onto High Lonesome Road as well.

For Joanna, that afternoon and evening were nothing short of a revelation. If people thought she looked like hell, they mostly didn't mention it. Instead, they came by and offered their condolences. That was to be expected. What amazed her were the countless number of people who told her stories about how Eleanor had been kind to them once when they'd been down on their luck; how she'd assisted a family whose two sons had died in a car wreck and had helped pull together funeral arrangements; how, when a small church in Naco, Sonora, burned to the ground, she'd organized a group to replace the organ.

This was all news to Joanna. Her mother had always sniffed in disapproval at people who went around “tooting their own horns,” as she liked to say. In that regard, she had certainly practiced what she preached. Joanna had no idea how Eleanor had quietly woven herself into the fabric of the community. Yes, George had been a great guy—a wonderful guy—but Eleanor, her stern and perpetually disapproving mother, was the one the mourners remembered fondly. There were times when it seemed to Joanna as though they were talking about a complete stranger.

Marliss showed up early on, with her hair standing on end and a brittle smile plastered on her face.

“What a great turn out,” she said.

“Yes, it is,” Joanna agreed noncommittally. She wasn't sure where this conversation was going, but probably nowhere good.

“I was so disappointed not to be able to attend the funeral itself,” Marliss continued. “It was horrid of Thomas Hadlock to set the press conference for the exact same time as the service. The least he could have done was throw the local media folk a bone so we could have had a head start on everybody else. I think he scheduled it that way deliberately, just to make us look bad.”

Even though Joanna suspected that was indeed the truth, she nonetheless came down firmly in Tom Hadlock's corner. “It's been a tough couple of days around here,” she said. “I'm sure Chief Deputy Hadlock has been running to keep up right along with everyone else. He probably needed some extra time this morning to pull his remarks together.”

“I suppose,” Marliss allowed disagreeably. “But I do wish the local cop shops could show us a little courtesy. Once in a while they might even hand us a scoop.”

As a still-fuming Marliss started to walk away, Joanna
remembered how her father always told her that carrots were more effective than sticks.

“About that . . .” she called after her.

Marliss stopped and turned. “About what?” she asked suspiciously.

“About scoops, Marliss. You're a journalist,” Joanna said. “Does that mean you don't reveal your sources?”

“Absolutely not,” Marliss declared. “I wouldn't give out that information, no matter what—never in a million years—not even if they sent me to jail. Why?”

“You know that lady from Sun Sites, the one who clobbered her husband with her pitching wedge?”

“He died, didn't he?” Marliss asked.

“Yes, he did,” Joanna answered. “His wife's in our lockup right now. The problem is I've heard rumors that Arlee Jones is considering offering her an election-year plea deal—manslaughter most likely, not even second degree.”

“So?” Marliss asked.

“Plea deals are shortcuts—ways to clear cases and win elections.”

“What are you saying?”

“That there's a good possibility that there's more to the story than just a pitching-wedge crime-of-the-moment. I think some enterprising reporter might want to start doing a little digging, like maybe asking about how many times Hal Hopkins wound up in the hospital in the last several months—always with flulike symptoms which might or might not be similar to symptoms suffered by someone being given low doses of arsenic.”

Marliss's eyes widened. “Arsenic?” she asked. “Are you saying his wife was poisoning him?”

“She might have been,” Joanna said, “and if that's the case, shouldn't she also end up being charged with attempted murder? Hal Hopkins's death may have been nothing more than a spur-of-the-moment deal, but doesn't the presence of arsenic in his system suggest a certain amount of premeditation?”

“You're serious about all this, aren't you,” Marliss said.

Joanna nodded. “But I'm taking you at your word. Remember, if it gets back to me that you let on I was the source of this information, I'll make good on Chief Deputy Hadlock's threat.”

“Which threat is that?”

“The one about your never being allowed to attend another departmental briefing. And make no mistake, Marliss, I can deliver on that threat for as long as I'm sheriff. Is that clear?”

“Perfectly,” Marliss said. “I understand completely.”

She trotted off, groping for her cell phone as she went. Joanna wasn't aware that Tom Hadlock had been observing them from the sidelines until he appeared beside her.

“What was that all about?” he asked. “Marliss was all over me this morning about how I'd scheduled the press conference when I did just to get under her skin and make sure she couldn't attend the funeral. Which is true, by the way,” he added, “but I did it as a personal favor to you, to keep her out of your hair.”

“Thank you,” Joanna said. “You're getting better at your job all the time.”

“But she took off just now grinning like the Cheshire cat,” Tom continued. “I don't think I've ever seen Marliss looking that smug. What did you do to her?”

“I decided to give her a carrot for a change—a carrot instead of a stick,” Joanna said. “It turns out she liked it.”

“I came over to tell you that I just got off the phone with Thad Stock,” Tom added.

“And?”

“It's just as we suspected. Jeremy was a good guy in public and a bullying tyrant at home. Thad had a full-ride football scholarship to the U of A, but Allison begged him to go to school somewhere out of state. A couple of months before he graduated from high school, Thad had tried to intervene on her behalf when Jeremy was beating on her, and she was afraid something bad was going to happen.”

“She was right,” Joanna pointed out. “Something bad did happen,”

“Yes, it did,” Tom agreed, “and poor Thad seems to think it's all his fault—that if he'd stayed around home, maybe he could have prevented it.”

“In that case, chances are he would have wound up dead, too.”

“Right,” Tom nodded. “Probably so.”

“Does he have someone in his corner right now?” Joanna asked. “Someone to help him through all this?”

“I asked him that very question. He said he's staying with friends in Sierra Vista at the moment, but he gave me his number. I'll check in with him from time to time to see how he's doing.”

“Thanks, Tom,” Joanna said. “He's going to need all the help he can get.”

Toward midafternoon, the day turned cooler as puffy cumulus clouds promising a late-afternoon thunderstorm appeared overhead. As people started clearing away the barbecue debris, Butch and Bob, along with several others, went inside to collect the balloons. Dennis was allowed to carry only two of them. He wanted to carry one of the big bunches, but he didn't weigh enough, and Butch worried he might be picked up and carried away.

Out in the yard, Butch turned on his megaphone-style voice. “When Dennis understood we were having this party for his grandpa and grandma, he wanted to know if there would be balloons. As you can see, we have balloons. Since I know George was a huge Roy Rogers and Dale Evans fan, as we send the balloons up to heaven, I'm hoping anyone who remembers the words will join me in singing ‘Happy Trails to You.'”

As the cloud of balloons soared skyward, so did a chorus of voices. When the song was over, there wasn't a dry eye in the house.

THERE WERE PLENTY OF HELPING HANDS TO MAKE LIGHT WORK OF
the cleanup. By the time the rain started coming down in earnest, everyone was gone. The storm was furious but brief. An hour after it started, it was over.

“I'm going to go out and say good night to the horses,” Jenny said. “I miss them.”

“Okay if I come along?” Joanna asked.

“Sure,” Jenny said, looking surprised. “Come right ahead.”

They walked through puddles of water across the driveway toward the barn and corral. “It's a good thing it didn't rain like this last night,” Jenny offered.

“I'll say,” Joanna agreed. “That would have made for an even worse mess, especially since reinforcements would have had a devil of a time getting there in time.”

“I was scared when I found out what was going on,” Jenny
said. “And I was mad that Dad just took off without telling us.”

“He was trying to protect you.”

“I'm a grown-up now,” Jenny reminded her mother. “I don't need protection. And at least, once it was over, he took me with him to the crime scene.”

“That counts for something, doesn't it?” Joanna asked.

“I guess.”

Out in the barn, Jenny produced some carrots, pulling them out of her pocket and feeding them to the horses as she scratched their necks and ruffled their muzzles.

“You're good with horses,” Joanna observed.

“And you're good with people,” Jenny countered. “I really liked what you said about Grandpa and Grandma today—especially what you said about Grandma.”

It was as though a flashbulb exploded inside Joanna's head. She was just as guilty of protecting Jenny as Butch had tried to be. Maybe now was the right time to stop doing that.

“What I said was true,” she said after a moment.

“Even the part about you being willful and defiant?”

“Especially that part. I was a regular pain in your grandmother's you-know-where.” She paused again, wondering how she would say what was coming or even if she should.

“Did you know your father and I were pregnant with you when we got married?”

“Sure,” Jenny said with a shrug. “I figured that out a long time ago. We even talked about it once, but it was right after Dad died. Maybe you've forgotten.”

Is that possible?
Joanna wondered.
Could I have somehow misplaced such a momentous conversation?

She took a deep breath before continuing. “She and my dad were just kids when they fell in love. When your grandmother turned up pregnant, abortions weren't an option, and her parents insisted that she give the baby away.”

“That must have been awful for her.”

“I'm sure it was awful for both of them,” Joanna said. “But they were still in love, and as soon as they could, they got married anyway.”

“Is that why I never met anyone from Grandma's side of the family?” Jenny asked.

“That's why. And it's also why, when I turned up pregnant with you, Grandma was devastated. She saw history repeating itself and blamed herself for not doing a better job of raising me. But history didn't repeat itself, Jenny. My mother didn't force me to give you up. She helped your father and me make it through. And the moment you turned up on the scene, she loved you like crazy.”

“I loved her, too,” Jenny said. “She was prickly at times, but I still loved her.”

“Prickly,” Joanna said, nodding. “She certainly was that. But she set a good example for me, Jen—a powerful example. And I want you to know whatever choices you make—good or bad—Butch and I will be there for you.”

“No matter what?”

“No matter what.”

“Thank you, Mom,” Jenny said. “You're the best.”