Paradise Lost (8 page)

“There you are,” he said with a grin. “I rest my case. Now tell me all about our daughter finding a body. Cigarettes be damned, it sounds to me as though Jenny’s try-ing her damnedest to follow in her mother’s footsteps.”

Jennifer Ann Brady sat miserably on the leather couch of Mr. Foxworth’s surprisingly spacious motor home and waited to see what would happen. Jenny’s mother got angry sometimes, but when she did, her voice was really quiet—a whisper almost. When Mrs. Lambert was angry, she yelled, loud enough for everyone in camp to hear every word. She had yelled about what an incredibly irre-sponsible thing it had been for Jenny and Dora to run out like that. And how unacceptable it was for them to smoke cigarettes! Furthermore, Mrs. Lambert said, since Jenny and Dora had proved themselves to be untrustworthy, she was in the process of notifying their parents to come get them. They wouldn’t be allowed to stay in camp for the remainder of the weekend.

For Jenny, who wasn’t used to being in trouble, Mrs. Lambert’s red-faced tirade was uncharted territory. Because Jenny knew she deserved it, she had taken the dressing-down with her own flushed tic e bowed in aching embarrassment.

Dora, on the other hand, had casually shrugged of the whole thing. As soon as Mrs. Lambert finished yelling at them, grabbed her cell phone, and marched outside, Dora had stuck her tongue out at Mrs. Lambert’s retreating back as the door closed.

“What does she know?” Dora demanded. “The hell with her! I’m going to go take a shower.”

“A shower!” Jenny yelped. “You can’t do that. You heard what Mrs. Lambert said. No showers.

There isn’t enough water. If you use too much, the other girls may run out of water before the weekend is over.”

“So what ?” Dora asked with a shrug. “What do I care? She’s going to send us home anyway.”

“But we’ll get in even more trouble.”

“So what?” Dora repeated with another shrug. “Who cares? At least I’ll be clean for a change.”

With that, she flounced into the bathroom and locked the door behind her.

Jenny, alone in the living room, was left wondering. She had always thought Dora was dirty because she liked being dirty and that her body odor was a result of not knowing any better.

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Now, as Jenny listened to the shower running for what seemed like endless minutes, she wasn’t so sure.

There was a knock on the door. Jenny jumped. She started to get up to answer it, but then thought better of it. “Who is it?” she asked. Since the shower was still running, she prayed whoever was outside wouldn’t be Mrs. Lambert, and her wish was granted.

“It’s Frank Montoya, Jenny,” the chief deputy said. “I need to talk to you.”

Relieved to hear a familiar voice, Jenny raced to the door and flung it open. Then, embarrassed, she stepped away. “Hello,” she said in a subdued voice.

“Are you all right?” he asked.

She nodded. “I guess so,” she said. “Did you call my mom?”

“Yes.

“Is she coming home?”

“Not tonight. She’ll he home tomorrow.”

Jennifer Brady heaved a sigh of relief. She wasn’t yet ready to face her mother.

“Your grandparents are coming to get you,” Frank Montoya continued.

Jenny’s stomach did a flip-flop. “Which ones?” she asked.

“Mr. and Mrs. Brady. They’ll be here soon.”

Jenny swallowed hard and offered Frank Montoya a tentative smile. Grandpa and Grandma Brady would be far easier to deal with than Grandma Lathrop Winfield would be. Her mother’s mother had a way of always making things seem far worse than they were, although, in this case, having things get worse hardly seemed possible.

“What about Dora’s mother?” Jenny asked. “Is she coining, too?”

“So far we haven’t been able to contact Mrs. Matthews,” Frank Montoya explained. “We may have to ask your grandparents to take Dora into town as well. If Mrs. Matthews still isn’t home by the time you arrive, maybe your grandparents can look after Dora until we’re able to notify her mother.”

“No,” Dora said, emerging barefoot from the bathroom. She was wearing the same dirty clothing she’d worn before, but her clean wet hair was wrapped in a towel. “I can go home even if my mom isn’t there. Just have them drop me off at our house. I’ll be tine.”

“I’m sorry, Dora. We can’t do that. Your mother expects you to be on the camp-out until Monday morning. She also expects you to be properly supervised. We can’t drop you off at home without an adult there to look after you. Mrs. Lambert would have a liability problem if we did that, and so would the sheriff’s department.”

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“I don’t know why,” Dora said. “I stay alone by myself a lot. It’s no big deal.”

“You’re sure you don’t know where your mother is?”

Dora shrugged. “She has a boyfriend,” she said offhandedly. “They probably just went off someplace. You know, for sex and stuff. I’m sure that’s why she was so set on my going on the camp-out—so she could be rid of me for a while.”

Taken aback by Dora’s matter-of-fact manner, Frank looked at her and frowned. “Does your mother do that often, leave you alone?”

“I can take care of myself,” Dora retorted. “It’s not like I’m going to starve to death or anything. There’s plenty of food in the house. I can make sandwiches and stuff.”

Frank’s radio crackled, announcing Dr. Winfield’s arrival at the crime scene. “Before you head back to town, I need to ask you a few questions,” Deputy Montoya said. “You girls didn’t see anyone around when you found the body, did you?”

Both girls shook their heads in unison.

“Or see anything that seemed odd?”

“No,” Jenny answered.

“What about picking something up or moving it?”

“I know enough not to mess with evidence,” Jenny put in. “As soon as we saw the body, we came running straight back here and told Mrs. Lambert.”

“But the body’s a long way from camp, almost half a mile. What made you go so far?”

“As soon as we put out the cigarettes, I could smell it—the body, I mean. I told Dora something was dead, but she thought I was just making it up, so I had to show her. I thought we’d find a dead deer or a cow or a coyote, not a woman. Not a person. Do you know who she is?”

“Not yet,” Frank replied. “We’ll figure it out eventually.”

Before Frank had a chance to back out the motor home, there was another knock from outside.

As soon as Frank opened the door, Eva Lou Brady darted inside. She wrapped both arms around Jenny and pulled her granddaughter into a smothering bear hug. “Are you all right?” she demanded.

Trapped between Eva Lou Brady’s ample breasts, all Jenny could do was nod.

Her grandmother loosened her grip on Jenny and turned to Dora. “And you must be Sally Pommer’s little girl. I knew your grandmother,” Eva Lou added kindly. “Dolly and I used to volun-teer together out at Meals on Wheels. I understand someone brought your backpacks and bedrolls up from your tent. Jim Bob’s loading them into the car right now. Are you ready to go?”

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Dora unwrapped the towel and dropped it on the floor. “I am,” she said. Jenny was surprised to see that Dora’s usually dingy brown hair was shining in the glow cast by the motor home’s generator-powered fluorescent light fixture.

Eva Lou bent over, picked up the wet towel, and handed it back to Dora. “I’m sure you didn’t mean to leave this lying on the floor. As soon as you hang it up, we’ll be going.”

For a moment Jenny thought Dora was going to say something smart. Instead, without a word, she stomped back into the bathroom and jammed the wet towel onto a wooden towel bar. “If that’s okay, maybe we can go now.”

“Yes,” said Eva Lou, guiding Jenny and Dora past Frank Mon-toya, who still stood in the open doorway. “I’m sure that will he just tine.”

The girls and their gear were both in the back of the Bradys’ Honda when Frank Montoya handed his phone to Grandma Brady. With a sinking feeling, Jenny knew at once that the person on the phone had to be her mother. Sliding down in the car seat, Jenny closed her eyes and wished she were somewhere else. A minute or so later, Eva Lou tapped on the window and motioned for Jenny to get out of the car.

“It’s for you,” Grandma Brady said. “Your mother wants to speak to you.”

Reluctantly, Jenny scrambled out of the car and took the phone, but she walked around to the far side of the motor home before she answered it. There were flashlights flickering in the other tents. Jenny knew that in the stillness, all the other girls in the troop were watching the excitement and straining to hear every word.

“Hello, Mom,” Jenny said.

“Are you all right?” Joanna demanded.

Hot tears stung Jenny’s eyes. “I guess so,” she muttered.

If Joanna had been ready to light into Jenny about her misbe-havior, the faltering, uncertain sound of her daughter’s subdued voice was enough to change her mind and melt her heart.

“What happened?” she asked.

Jenny’s tears boiled over. “I got into trouble, Mom,” she sobbed. “I didn’t mean to do it . . .

trying the cigarette, I mean. It was like an accident, or something. Dora asked me and I said yes, even though I knew I shouldn’t have. I’m sorry, Mom. Really I am.”

“Of course you’re sorry, Jenny,” Joanna said. “Grandma and Grandpa are there now to take you home, right?”

“Yes,” Jenny murmured uncertainly with a stifled sob, her tears still very close to the surface.

“We’ll talk about this tomorrow,” Joanna said. “But in the meantime, I want you to know I love you.”

“‘Thank you.”

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“Grandma told me that you reported finding the body even though you knew you’d probably get in trouble. That was brave of you, Jenny. Brave and responsible. I’m really proud of you for doing that.

“Thanks,” Jenny managed.

“You go with the Gs now. I’ll see you tomorrow when I get home. Okay?”

“‘kay, Morn.”

“Bye-bye.”

“Bye.”

“I love you.”

Jenny switched off the phone and then blundered back toward Grandma and Grandpa’s Honda.

At the far end of the state, Sheriff Joanna Brady turned to her new husband.

“How’d I do?” she asked.

“Cool,” he said. “Understated elegance. Now come back to bed and let’s try to get some sleep.

I have a feeling we’re going to need it.”

It was only a little past seven when Joanna and Butch, packed and breakfasted, left the Marriott in Page for the five hour drive to Phoenix. After the flurry of late-night phone calls, Joanna had had difficulty in falling asleep. She had lain awake for a long time, wondering if the dead woman in Apache Pass might be connected to the epidemic of carjackings that had invaded Cochise County. True, the previous crimes hadn’t been that vicious. None of the other victims had been badly hurt, but that didn’t mean whoever was doing it hadn’t decided to do the crime of carjacking one better.

Leaving Page, Joanna was still thinking about the dead woman and whether or not finding the body would leave any lingering emotional scars on either Jenny or Dora. Lost in her deliberations Joanna hardly noticed the miles that passed in total silence.

Butch was the one who spoke first. “No matter how long I live in Arizona,” he said, “I’ll never get over how beautiful the desert is.”

For the first time, Joanna allowed herself to notice the scenery. On either side of the endless ribbon of two-lane blacktop, the sur-rounding desert seemed empty of human habitation—empty and forbidding. Early-morning sunlight and shadows slanted across the red and lavender rock formations, setting them in vivid relief against an azure sky. High off against a cloudless horizon, a solitary buzzard drifted effortlessly, floating in graceful, perfectly drawn
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cir-cles. Just inside a barbed-wire fence a herd of sheep, their wool stained pink by the dust raised by their dainty hooves, scrabbled for bits of life-giving sustenance. Joanna drove past a meager trading post and a line of run-down makeshift clapboard sales stands where Native American tradesmen were starting to lay out their jewelry, baskets, and rugs in hopes of selling them to passing tourists.

As a lifelong desert dweller, it was difficult for Joanna to see the stark landscape through the eyes of a Chicago area transplant. What Butch saw as wonderfully weird and exotic struck her as simply humdrum.

“I keep thinking Cochise County is sparsely populated,” Joanna said with a laugh. “I suppose that compared to this, it’s a metropolis.”

Butch reached over and took her hand. “Speaking of Cochise County,” he said, “have you made up your mind about whether or not you’re going to run again?”

Joanna heaved a sigh. With the wedding and everything else going on, Joanna had kept sidestepping the issue. But now, three years into her term of office, she was going to have to decide soon.

“I can’t quite see myself going back to selling insurance for Milo Davis,” she said with a rueful laugh.

“No,” Butch agreed. “I can’t see that either.”

“But I lived with my dad when he was running for office,” Joanna continued. “It was hell. When it was time for an election campaign, we hardly ever saw him—he was either at work or out politicking. What do you think?”

“I can’t imagine seeing you less than I do now,” Butch replied, “but I also know better than to get into this. It’s totally up to you, Joey. Since I’m currently a kept man, I don’t think I should actually have a vote. If I say, ‘Go for it!’ people might think I was just inter-ested in your paycheck. If I say, ‘Give it up,’ they’d say I was boss-ing you around and stifling you—not letting you live up to your full potential.”

“You’re not a kept man,” Joanna objected. “The income that comes in each month from the sale of the Roundhouse isn’t to be sneezed at. You’re serving as the general contractor on the con-struction of our new house and you just finished writing a book. You also cook and look after Jenny. How does that make you a kept man?”

“Maybe not in your eyes,” he said. “But I doubt the rest of the world gives me the same kind of break. Still, when it comes to running for office, I’m serious when I say I’m leaving that up to you. I’ll back you either way, but you’re going to have to decide for yourself. You like being sheriff, don’t you?”