Dead Wrong (24 page)

The front door was open. Joanna stood on the far
side of the screen door with her hand poised to knock.

“I never ‘owned the place,’ as
you call it,” Tazewell said reasonably. “The Triple H
always belonged to your grandparents and to your mother. I was
always an interloper.”

“And you still are. Now go.”

“Have you asked your mother if she wants to
see me?” he asked. “Does she know I’m
here?”

“She doesn’t, and I’m not going
to tell her,” Leslie responded. “She’s too ill. I
want you to leave. Now.”

“I know all about Huntington’s
disease,” Tazewell said. “How far has it progressed?
How bad is it?”

“You don’t know anything about
it!” Leslie shot back. “How would you? You’ve
been up in Phoenix the whole time. Dolores Mattias and I are the
ones who’ve been taking care of her—Dolores and Rory
and me and a couple of nurses who come in on a part-time basis. And
we don’t talk about it with outsiders, either. Mother
didn’t…doesn’t want people to know about this
Huntington’s thing. It’s nobody else’s business
what’s wrong with her.”

“Rory!” Tazewell exclaimed. “What
the hell can you see in an old coot like him? For God’s
sakes, Leslie, you’re a beautiful young woman. Rory Markham
is almost as old as I am.”

“And unlike you, Rory’s always been
here for me,” Leslie retorted. “He’s helped me
take care of Mother and locate the kind of nursing help we’ve
needed. He’s looked after the business end of the ranch all
the while he’s been running his own business as well. Rory
doesn’t have anything to apologize for. You’re the one
who’s a Johnny-come-lately.”

“Of course he’s looking after the
ranch,” Tazewell said. “What do you expect?
That’s what he’s here for. He’s always wanted the
ranch. Don’t you understand, Leslie? Your mother is dying.
Marrying you is one sure way for Rory Markham to finally lay his
greedy hands on the Triple H.”

“That’s not true. Now get out and leave
us alone!” Leslie’s final outburst was followed by the
sound of breaking glass. Dodg
ing splintering
crystal, Lawrence Tazewell burst out through the screen door,
almost flattening Joanna as he did so.

“I told you not to come here,” a
seething Joanna Brady told him once she’d righted
herself.

Tazewell had the good grace to look chagrined.
“Sorry,” he said. “I flew over to see if the
landing strip was still here and usable. It was, so I landed. I
just…”

“I don’t care why you came. Now
you’re leaving.”

“But—”

“No buts. You’re leaving
now!”

“All right,” Tazewell agreed
reluctantly. “I didn’t mean any harm.”

Frank, hurrying up the sidewalk, passed by a
retreating Tazewell on the way. “What’s wrong?”
Joanna asked. “Has something happened?”

“There’s more trouble over at San
Simon,” Frank answered. “Evidently a dogfight was
scheduled there for later on this afternoon. When the first group
of attendees arrived, they found a dead woman, an apparent gunshot
victim, lying in the front yard. The people who found her had come
in from the New Mexico side, and they must have thought they were
still on that side of the state line. They left the scene and
called an anonymous 911 tip from a pay phone at Road Forks. Randy
Trotter’s people forwarded the call to us. Debbie and Jaime
are on their way to the scene from Tucson. Dispatch says our crime
scene people are also en route. You and I should probably go there,
too.”

Joanna stood for a moment thinking. In the
background she could hear the sound of the Cessna’s engine
warming up for takeoff. In a matter of seconds it was once again
airborne.

She was here looking for answers in the Bradley
Evans homicide. It was a case she urgently wanted to solve, and she
didn’t
want to be pulled away from it yet
again. And if Aileen Houlihan was lingering close to death, the
time for finding answers to those questions was in danger of
slipping away right along with her.

Leslie Markham was obviously someone who kept her
life carefully compartmentalized. When she put on her professional
persona, she left the caregiving part locked up at home. But now,
without her work face on and having just endured a fierce
confrontation with her father, Joanna knew instinctively that
Leslie would be vulnerable and far more susceptible to answering
whatever questions Joanna threw in her direction.

“No, Frank,” she said. “You go. I
want to stay here for a little while and talk to Leslie.”

“But we’re in the same vehicle,”
he objected. “How will you get back?”

“I’m a big girl, Frank,” Joanna
said. “I’ll be able to find my way. Call the substation
in Sierra Vista and see if they can send someone out to pick me up.
If not, I can always call Butch.”

“You’re sure you won’t change
your mind?”

“I’m sure.”

“If you do, call.”

Joanna nodded. “I will. Now get
going.”

Shaking his head, Frank left the porch and headed
for the Crown Victoria, while Joanna began knocking on the screen
door. For several long minutes, no one answered. At last Joanna
opened it and called inside, “Leslie? It’s Sheriff
Brady. I need to talk to you.”

Leslie came into the living room wearing a pair of
scrubs and drying her hands on a paper towel. “What are you
doing here?” she demanded. “My mother isn’t
accepting visitors, and neither am I. And why did you send my
father here? He had no right to show up after all this
time.”

“I didn’t send him,” Joanna said.
“In fact, I told him specifically not to come
here.”

“But he did anyway.”

“Yes, I know. He was just leaving when I
arrived.”

“He wanted to see her,” Leslie
continued, “but Mother wouldn’t want that. She was a
very beautiful woman once. She doesn’t want anyone to see her
like this, especially not him.”

“She never married again after the two of
them divorced?” Joanna asked.

“Why would she?” Leslie said.
“She knew what was coming. She didn’t want to put him
through it. That’s what’s good about being married to
Rory. He’s old enough that he doesn’t want kids, and
maybe he’ll be long gone before it happens to me.”

“Before what happens to you?” Joanna
asked.

Leslie’s face was a study in bleak
hopelessness. Finally she shrugged. “I guess it doesn’t
matter anymore,” she said ungraciously. “You could just
as well come in and sit down. Do you want something to
drink?”

Even coming from the shaded front porch, Joanna
found the interior of the house dark and gloomy. Heavy curtains
were pulled shut. Only a single lamp in the far corner of the room
offered a semblance of light. Joanna made her way to an outsize
leather couch whose massive size and old-fashioned lines spoke of
another age.

“Thanks,” Joanna said. “I
don’t need anything to drink, but I need to understand what
you mean. Are you saying before HD happens to you?”

“So my father told you about that?”
Leslie asked.

“Yes,” Joanna said. “Some. He
mentioned that Huntington’s had affected your grandmother.
After what you told me last night about your mother’s being
ill, it was easy enough for both
your father
and me to assume your mother was suffering from the same
ailment.”

“It’s hereditary,” Leslie said.
“Since my mother has it, there’s a fifty-fifty chance
I’ll have it, too.”

Except that isn’t
true,
Joanna thought,
not if Aileen
isn’t your biological mother. How can she leave you living in
this kind of unnecessary hell?

Sitting there, Joanna was well aware that the
photographs of Lisa Evans and Leslie Markham were right there in
her briefcase. It would have been easy enough for her to bring them
out and set Leslie’s mind at rest about the future, but doing
so without having definitive scientific proof from the crime lab
seemed irresponsible.

“Can’t they check for that these
days?” Joanna asked. “Isn’t there some kind of
genetic testing they can do now that will tell you whether or not
you’ll fall victim to HD?”

“My mother wanted me to be tested years ago
when those tests first became available,” Leslie answered,
“but I refused. For me, knowing would be far worse than not
knowing. I actually prefer being in the dark, and since I have no
intention of ever having children, it doesn’t matter.
Besides, if I knew for sure that Huntington’s was bearing
down on me someday, I’d be holding my breath over every tweak
in my body, over every mood swing, and wondering if that was the
beginning of it. Maybe I’m crazy, but I’d rather walk
up to the edge of the cliff and fall off it when I get there rather
than anticipating the cliff every moment of my existence. I
couldn’t live that way.”

Falling off a cliff,
Joanna thought.
Ernie said the same thing
about finding out he had prostate cancer.

“If I were in your shoes, maybe I
couldn’t either,” Joanna conceded. “So tell me
about your mother. What was she like?”

“Before she got sick?”

Joanna nodded.

“She was fun,” Leslie answered.
“And wild. She taught me to ride almost as soon as I could
walk. We’d go riding for hours. Sometimes we’d take a
packhorse and ride up into the mountains to camp out under the
stars, just the two of us. We’d build a campfire and cook our
food over an open flame. It made me feel like I was a pioneer. That
was my first clue that Mom’s HD was starting—when she
stopped being fun.”

“How long ago was that?” Joanna
asked.

“When I was eleven.”

“That’s a long time,” Joanna
said.

“It’s typical,” Leslie replied.
“Fifteen to twenty years or so of steady decline with no way
to stop it.”

“And you’ve been taking care of her
ever since?”

“Most of the time. Not by myself, mind you.
Dolores has been here from the start.”

“Dolores?” Joanna asked.

“Dolores Mattias,” Leslie answered.
“She and her husband, Joaquin, have worked here on the ranch
for as long as I can remember. Since before I can remember. I
wouldn’t have been able to manage without them. Joaquin looks
after the ranch. Dolores comes in every day to look after my mother
when I’m at work and on weekends as needed. And
Dolores’s niece, Juanita, helps out, too. She goes to Cochise
College by day and sleeps here overnight on a daybed in
Mother’s room so she can call me immediately in case
something happens.”

“Where do Dolores and Joaquin live?”
Joanna asked.

“In a mobile home parked just down the road.
You came past it on your way here, right after you turned onto
Triple H Ranch Road.”

“So you have help,” Joanna said,
“but it sounds as though most of the burden for looking after
your mother falls to you.”

Leslie nodded. “Mom wanted me to go to
college. That was her dream, but by the time I graduated from high
school, she was already too sick for me to leave her. Besides,
since she never finished college, why should I?”

“So you got your real estate license
instead?” Joanna asked.

“That was Rory’s idea. He and Mom have
been friends since they were kids. I think at first she was glad
when I went to work for him. It made her feel like she had hung
around long enough to see me launched. I think that’s the
only reason she didn’t do the same thing her mother
did.”

“As in commit suicide?” Joanna
asked.

Leslie nodded. “Later, when Rory and I ended
up falling in love and wanted to get married, Mother approved. She
was relieved to know that if something happened to me—that if
I did come down with HD—there’d be someone around to
take care of me. And the truth is, even though Rory is older than I
am, maybe he’ll outlive me. In the meantime, while
Mother’s gotten worse and worse, Rory’s been a huge
help. For the last couple of years he’s handled all the
Triple H’s financial dealings. I don’t know how I would
have managed without him. The thing is, I really don’t like
real estate all that much. It’s not in my blood the way it is
with Rory. Once Mom is gone, I’ll probably forget about real
estate, see about getting back into the horse and cattle business
and focus on running the ranch.”

Listening to Leslie, Joanna tried to reconcile her
description of Aileen Houlihan with what Lawrence Tazewell had said
about his ex-wife. Other than the “wild” part, the two
descriptions had nothing in common. They might have been discussing
two entirely different people.

Leslie had been chatting amiably enough, but now
she suddenly seemed to realize what she was doing and pulled back.
“Why all the questions about my mother? If you’re
hoping she’ll be able to shed some light on the stealth
photographer situation, it’s not going to work. As
you’ve no doubt gathered, she’s far too sick to answer
any questions.”

Irresponsible or not, Joanna was reaching for her
briefcase to retrieve the photos when she heard a car pull up
outside. A moment later Rory Markham, wearing a suit and tie, burst
into the living room.

He stopped short just inside the door with his face
registering a mask of disapproval. “For God’s sake,
Leslie, why aren’t you ready? It’s late. The
wedding’s due to start in less than an hour. You should be
dressed already. We’re going to be late.”

At that point he must have caught sight of Joanna,
because his tone changed from private bullying to one somewhat more
suitable for public consumption. The look on his face moderated as
well. “Sorry, Sheriff Brady. I didn’t know we had
visitors.”

“Rory,” Leslie said. “It’s
only a wedding. Do we really have to go? Dolores isn’t here
yet, and with Mother the way she is…”

“The bride’s parents are important
clients of ours,” Rory returned. “We told them
we’d be there. Now, come on. I’m sure Dolores will be
here soon. She’s more than capable of looking after your
mother.”