Outlaw Mountain (41 page)

Joanna was both dumbfounded and relieved. “You mean it’s over? That’s all there is to it?” she demanded.

Adam York grinned. “Isn’t that enough?” he returned. “What were you looking for, another shoot-out à la O.K. Corral? From the sound of things, I’d say Cochise County has already had more than its share of excitement this week. Good work.”

“But I didn’t do anything,” Joanna objected.

“On the contrary,” Adam said. “You found the dots. All we did was connect them.”

Carried forward by the crowd behind them, Joanna and Adam York moved on into the street. Now, as people spilled toward their vehicles, Joanna caught sight of a photographer moving purposefully toward her, camera in hand. Behind the photographer stood Marliss Shackleford.

Quickly Joanna reached into her purse, grabbed her sunglasses, and slopped them on her face, deftly covering her blackened eyes.

“Sheriff Brady,” Marliss said. “I understand there’s been some police activity here this afternoon. What’s going on?”

Joanna looked up at Adam York before she answered. “No comment,” she said.

EPILOGUE

Dinner that night was at Daisy’s, too. On Friday nights the place stayed open until ten o’clock, and it was usually jammed. Nonetheless, Eva Lou had told her husband that she was tired of cooking, so the whole group—Jim Bob, Eva Lou, Jenny, Junior, Butch, and Joanna—trooped into the restaurant and waited until Moe Maxwell, Daisy’s husband, was able to clear a table for six.

While they waited for their order, Jenny and Junior—still wearing his sheriff’s badge—played tic-tac-toe, and Joanna summarized the day’s events. “So what will happen to Jonathan Becker now?” Butch asked when she finished.

“I don’t know. He has what appears to be a valid marriage license that proves he and Alice Rogers were man and wife. The fact that he used a different name doesn’t matter as long as use of that name wasn’t done to defraud anyone. Since Farley Adams is the name the Witness Protection Program as-signed to him, I guess he has a right to use it.”

“So he’s likely to inherit something then?” Jim Bob asked. “If the only will found turns out to be the one drawn up by Dena Hogan, that one won’t stand up in court, so the state of Arizona will most likely end up divvying up Alice Rogers’ estate, depending on whether or not Susan Jenkins was involved in the plot against her mother. If she was, Farley Adams could turn out to be Alice’s sole heir.”

“If he does inherit,” Butch said, “will he stay in Tombstone or not?”

“I think he’d like to,” Joanna said. “Especially if he’d be able to stay on at Outlaw Mountain. He says he’s tired of running. He wants a place he can call home, but it will depend on whether or not what happened today really clears the books on what happened up in Nevada.”

“I hope he can stay then,” Butch said.

Joanna nodded. “So do I.”

Daisy’s was busy enough that Moe Maxwell, Daisy’s husband, had been drafted into waiting tables as well as busing them. He came over to the table carrying a tray of drinks.

“All right,” he said. “I’ve got four coffees and two chocolate shakes. Who gets the shakes?”

“Me!” Junior shouted. “Me. Me. Me.”

“Me, too,” said Jenny.

Once again Junior was so excited that he needed help unwrapping his straw. Once again Butch did the honors. As Jenny and Junior slurped away on their shakes, Moe shook his head. “They’re not really going to put him in a home, are they?” he asked.

“That’s what the attorney told me,” Joanna said guardedly. “According to him, the mother is incapacitated, and there aren’t any other relatives who can step in.”

“But does it have to be relatives?” Moe asked. “Couldn’t somebody else take care of him? It’s the only thing Daisy talked about all afternoon. She says to me, ‘Moe, we’re just rattling around in this big old house. Couldn’t we take him in?’ I tried to tell her it was the wildest-haired scheme she’s ever come up with, but if that’s what the woman wants ...”

“Daisy wants you two to take Junior?” Joanna asked.

“She’s determined to talk to that lawyer and see if she could convince him to let us look after Junior. I’m about to retire, you see. Two weeks from yesterday, as a matter of fact. She says to me, ‘Moe, what the hell are you going to do with all your spare time?’ And you know what? I didn’t have a good answer.”

“But you barely know him,” Joanna objected. “And you have no idea how hard it would be.”

“Daisy knows,” Moe Maxwell said. “Daisy had a baby sister once that was just like Junior here, only she died when she was just fourteen—two months after some state busybody convinced Daisy’s folks to put the girl in a state-run home. Believe me, Daisy knows exactly what we’d be up against, and that’s
why
she wants to do it: it’s for her little sister. Daisy and me may seem like we’re over the hill, but we’re neither one of us afraid of hard work. Besides, like I always say, ‘Whatever Daisy wants, Daisy gets.’ Once’t that woman gets some damn-fool notion in her head, I know better than to argue. So if you could see your way clear to put us in touch with that lawyer guy, we could at least talk about it. See what he has to say.”

“Sure,” Joanna said. “I will. First thing Monday morning.”

At that precise moment, Joanna’s cell phone—buried in her purse—began to ring. For a second or so, Joanna was tempted to ignore it—simply not to answer and let whatever new crisis was at hand handle itself. But when the irksome crowing made people turn and stare, the unwelcome attention got the better of her.

“Hello,” Joanna said.

“Joanna? It’s me, Marianne. Where are you?”

Marianne’s voice sounded odd. “We’re at Daisy’s,” Joanna told her. “We’re waiting for our food. Why, is something wrong?”

“Wrong?” Marianne babbled. “What could be wrong? I just got off the phone with Tommy. He told me what’s going on. I’m pregnant, Joanna. Jeff and I are going to have a baby! Do you believe it? I can’t!”

Joanna was stunned to silence. After all the years of Jeff’s and Marianne’s trying to have children and failing, after finally adopting the girls and then losing Esther, it didn’t seem possible. Feeling her eyes fill with tears, Joanna tried to stanch the flow by shutting them. But it didn’t work. The tears leaked out anyway. They ran down her face and dripped off her chin. With her eyes still closed, Joanna felt Butch’s hand reach over and cover hers.

“What is it?” he asked. “Is something wrong?”

Opening her eyes, Joanna gave Butch a teary but radiant smile. “It’s Marianne,” she said. “She’s pregnant. She and Jeff are going to have a baby!”

That announcement was followed by a burst of cheering and clapping. Junior, caught up in the excitement, joined in as well, cheering louder than anyone. There was so much noise that Joanna could hear Marianne was speaking but she couldn’t make out the words. Joanna signaled for people to quiet down. Eventually they did.

“Sorry, Mari,” she said. “I couldn’t hear. What were you saying?”

“Tommy really let me have it for not seeing a doctor sooner,” Marianne said, “but I was scared it was going to be had news. After what happened with Esther, I didn’t think Jeff could stand another disaster, and I
knew
I couldn’t. I’m already almost two months along, Joanna. Two whole months! By next June, Ruth will have a little brother or sister. What do you think of that? What are the people at Canyon United Methodist going to think?”

“Does that mean you’re not quitting?” Joanna asked.

Marianne laughed. “Of course I’m not quitting, but the first thing I have to do is rewrite my Thanksgiving sermon once more. The bulletin’s going to be out of date, but that’s all right, too.”

“Hold on a minute, Mari,” Joanna said. “I have to ask someone a question.” She turned to Butch. “What do you think about having a pregnant minister?” she asked.

“It doesn’t bother me,” he said.

“But for a wedding?” she asked. “What about that?”

Butch shrugged. “That’s fine, too.”

“What about April then?”

Butch’s face split into a wide grin. “April would be just fine, but what pushed you over the edge? I thought you weren’t ready to think about setting a date.”

“Daisy,” Joanna said, holding the phone away long enough to give Butch a brief kiss.

“Daisy?” he asked.

“That’s right,” Joanna said. “You heard her. She told me not to be too predictable.”

When dinner ended, Joanna’s Bronco and Butch’s Subaru were the last two cars in the parking lot. With an almost full moon rising overhead, Butch gathered a shivering Joanna into arms.

“Any plans for the weekend?” he asked.

“No. Why?”

“I had thought we’d be going to Tucson this weekend to look for a ring, but now that the ring situation is under control, I’ve decided to spend my ring money on something else.”

“What?” Joanna asked.

“Don’t you want it to be a surprise?”

“Tell me.”

“After you told me about your Colt misfiring, I did a little research. It turns out Colt 2000s are notorious for doing just that—misfiring. You need a new gun—another Glock maybe.”

“But, Butch,” Joanna objected, “I paid a ton of money for that gun.”

“And it doesn’t work,” Butch replied. “If you’re going to be my wife and sheriff, too, you’re going to have a gun that works.”

“Right,” Joanna said. “It looks like we’re going shopping.”

Author’s Note

Ideas for books come from strange places.
Partner in Crime
had its origins in reading an article on the dangers of sodium azide I discovered in my University of Arizona alumni magazine. From that article and from subsequent research, I’ve come to believe that the widespread availability of this hazardous and so-far uncontrolled substance poses a real threat to the safety of far too many people.

When used as intended to inflate air bags in automobiles, the substance is transformed into a harmless nitrogen-based gas. Originally, the idea was that the unused air bags and canisters would be removed from wrecked vehicles and recycled, but in the real world, that’s not happening. No one wants to risk his own life or the lives of his family members to somebody else’s cast-off air bag. As a result, tons of unused and unsecured containers of this deadly, poisonous, and easily water-soluble compound are readily available. They lie, unguarded and unsecured, in junked cars and on junkyard shelves all over the country. And that’s what worries me.

I completed writing this book prior to September 11, 2001, when the world suddenly became a vastly different and more dangerous place. I’m hoping that somewhere there’s a courageous lawmaker who’ll be willing to take on the automotive industry and introduce legislation requiring that all air bags in vehicles must be deployed and the sodium azide rendered harmless at the time the vehicle is scrapped.

A Statement by Joanna Brady

My name is Joanna Brady. Joanna Lee Lathrop Brady. A few years ago I was elected sheriff of Cochise County, Arizona. I’m a widow who never expected or wanted to be drawn into law enforcement. I was working for an insurance company and trying to be a good wife and mother when Andy, my husband and a deputy sheriff, was killed by a drug dealer. Originally, Andy’s death was mislabeled as a suicide. First I had to convince the authorities that it was really a homicide. After I managed to apprehend the killer almost single-handedly, I was asked to run for sheriff myself.

Cochise County, in southeastern Arizona, is eighty miles wide by eighty miles long. That means my department is responsible for six thousand square miles of territory filled with cattle ranches, mines, ghost towns, hordes of undocumented aliens, and even a genuine city — Sierra Vista. My department is spread far too thin to have any permanent partnership kinds of arrangements. Sometimes I’m thrown in with one or the other of my two chief deputies – homicide detectives, Ernie Carpenter or Jaime Carbajal. Chasing crooks with those guys is as new for me as having a female boss is for them, but to give credit where it’s due, we’re all making it happen.

Since I spend most of my work hours in a world of men, I find myself looking to the women in my life to provide balance. My best friend is also my pastor at Canyon United Methodist Church. No matter what’s going on in her own life, Marianne Maculyea, has always been there for me, and I try to do the same for her. I’ve also come to appreciate one of my newer and more unlikely friends, Angie Kellogg. Angie is an ex-L.A. hooker who ended up in Bisbee while trying to escape the clutches of a former boyfriend who turned out to be my husband’s killer. I helped Angie, and she helped me. We’ve been friends ever since. Another valued personal resource is Eva Lou Brady. Officially, Eva Lou is my former mother-in-law. Unofficially, she’s more of a real mother to me than my own mother is. She’s someone I can go to any time of the night or day with any kind of problem. I wish I could say the same for Eleanor Lathrop Winfield.

I was born and raised in Bisbee and have never lived anywhere else. High Lonesome Ranch, the place where my daughter and I live, is a few miles outside the Bisbee city limits and has been in the Brady family for three generations. My father, D.H. Lathrop, died when I was in high school. Dad started out as a lowly miner in Bisbee’s copper mines. Later he went into law enforcement and eventually was elected sheriff. That’s what he was doing when he was killed in a tragic Sunday afternoon drunk-driving traffic incident.

If I had to have a single role model in life, my father would be it. When D.H. was alive, I guess I always favored him over my mother — he was a lot easier to get along with. And that’s still true today. Dad didn’t live long enough to drive me crazy the way Mom does. Maybe it’s easier to gloss over his faults since I don’t have to look at them every day. What is it they say about distance making the heart grow fonder? Or does it have more to do with familiarity breeding contempt? I don’t know which is more applicable.

Pet peeves? Other than my mother, I can’t really think of any. I always thought I understood Eleanor Lathrop — thought I knew her like a book. Unfortunately, in the last few years, she’s proved me wrong time and again. First my long-lost brother showed up, and it turns out he was so long lost that I didn’t even know he existed. He was born before my parents tied the knot and was adopted out as an infant. Neither of my parents ever mentioned him to me, and that’s something I’m having a tough time forgiving. Then, as if that weren’t enough, after years of being a widow, my mother recently dived back into the sea of holy matrimony – without bothering to give me a single word of advance warning. Is it any wonder Eleanor’s my pet peeve?