Dead Wrong (8 page)

It was a relief when, at eight-thirty, the
telephone rang. More than half hoping it was something that would
necessitate her driving to a crime scene, Joanna lumbered her
unbalanced center of gravity off the couch and went to answer.

“Sheriff Brady?” Ernie Carpenter
asked.

“Yes.”

“You weren’t asleep or anything, were
you?”

I wish,
Joanna thought.
“No,” she said. “Not at all. What’s
up?”

“I know it’s late,” Ernie said,
“but I was wondering if I could stop by for a while to talk
to you.”

For the first time since Joanna had known him,
Ernie Carpenter sounded oddly ill at ease and uncertain.

“If you’d like me to meet you at the
department…” she began.

“No,” he said. “This is personal.
If you don’t mind, I’d really rather stop by the house.
I’m in town, so it’ll be a few minutes before I get
there, but it won’t take long.”

“Sure,” Joanna said.
“That’ll be fine.”

She went back to the couch and found both Margaret
and Don Dixon looking at her expectantly. Ernie had explicitly
arranged to meet with Joanna away from the department. Obviously
whatever he had to say he wanted said in private and without
Butch’s parents hanging on his every word.

“It’s one of my detectives,” she
explained. “He’s coming by to brief me on the
developments in one of our homicide cases.”

Fortunately Don Dixon took the hint. “Come
on, Margaret,” he said, taking his wife’s hand and
helping her to her feet. “We’d better turn in then. If
Joanna has work to do, we certainly don’t want to be in the
way.”

“You’re sure you’ll be warm
enough out there?” Joanna asked. She had invited Margaret and
Don to stay in the guest room and had been more than slightly
relieved when they had turned her down.

“Oh, heavens, yes,” Margaret replied.
“The RV is just as cozy as it can be.”

“Good night, then,” Joanna said.
“Sleep well.”

Lady, who had made herself scarce with a strange
man in the house, emerged from the bedroom and stayed next to
Joanna on the couch. As soon as Ernie Carpenter turned up at the
front door, Lady bailed again.

“Come in,” Joanna said, ushering Ernie
into the living room. “Can I get you something?”

“I’m not working at the moment,”
he said. “You wouldn’t happen to have a beer, would
you?”

Joanna went out into the kitchen and returned with
Butch’s last bottle of Michelob Ultra. “What’s
up, Ernie?” she asked, handing it to him. “You look
upset. Is something the matter? Is it Rose?”

Ernie took a long sip of beer. “No,” he
said, lowering the bottle. “It’s me.”

“What about you?”

“It’s not something that’s easy
to talk about,” he answered. “I mean, you being a woman
and all…”

“Ernie,” she urged. “Tell
me.”

He took another sip of beer. “You may have
noticed I’ve missed some shifts lately.”

“Yes,” she said. “Frank and I had
noticed.”

“Well,” Ernie said, “it’s
because I’ve been seeing a doctor—up in Tucson. Rosie
told me I needed to tell you about it, so you’d know
what’s been going on.”

“What is going on?”

He sighed. “When I went in for my annual
physical, Dr. Lee said my PSA was way out of whack. He sent me to a
specialist in Tucson.”

“PSA?” Joanna asked, feeling
stupid.

“Prostate-specific antigen,” Ernie
explained. “It means I’ve got prostate
cancer.”

For a moment, Joanna could think of nothing to say.
Finally she said, “Ernie, I’m so sorry.”

He nodded. “Me, too. Believe me. I got the
news a couple of weeks ago. For a while I just couldn’t
process it. Couldn’t think
how it was
possible for me to have cancer. I’ve always been healthy as a
horse. And then, just like that, you’re sitting there in the
doctor’s office, he says the magic words and wham-o, all of a
sudden you’re a cancer patient. It’s like falling off a
cliff.”

Joanna thought about finding Andy lying wounded
along High Lonesome Road. Yes, it had felt just like that. One
minute she had been mad as hell at him for being late for their
tenth-anniversary dinner, and the next minute she was crouched in
the dirt, praying for help, and applying pressure to his gunshot
wound in hopes of keeping Andy from bleeding to death. It had been
exactly like falling off a cliff.

“What’s the prognosis?” she
asked.

Ernie shrugged. “You know how doctors are.
They think they caught it early and all that happy baloney, but who
knows? Since nobody ever had me do a PSA test before, they’re
not really sure how long it’s been around.”

“What about treatment?” she asked.

“That’s the thing. We’ve been
trying to find out what all the options are. Surgery, radiation,
whatever. Rosie and I have been meeting with people—doctors
and patients both—trying to figure out what’s the best
thing to do. Supposedly I’m a good candidate for
seeds…”

“Seeds?”

“Radiation seeds. Then there’s some
hotshot new treatment called cryo-something, where they freeze
things, but my oncologist says that’s still out there in the
experimental stages. He thinks if the tumor has spread at all, the
radioactive seeding is probably the best course of treatment. So
that’s the way we’re going to go—with the seeds.
I’ll probably end up being some glow-in-the-dark freak. Maybe
my dick will end up qualifying as an alternate light
source.”

Dark humor at crime scenes was part of how homicide
cops coped. Joanna recognized his glow-in-the-dark comment as part
and parcel of that—a grim attempt to lighten the mood. But
she made no attempt to reply in kind.

“How long does the seed treatment
take?” she asked.

“They say it’s not that big a deal.
Supposedly it’s a minor procedure. If there aren’t any
complications, I’ll most likely be back at work after just a
couple of days. My recovery would be a lot longer if we opted for
the surgery.”

“Whatever course of treatment you
choose,” Joanna said, “it has to be the one
that’s right for you. Don’t choose one over another
because of how much time you’ll need off.”

“Thanks, boss,” he said.

“And thank you for telling me,” Joanna
said, meaning it. “Have you told anyone else?”

Ernie shook his head. “Haven’t,”
he said. “Not even Jaime, and I should have. And I need to
tell Frank—or you can—because he should know. But
beyond that I’d like to keep a low profile because I
don’t want to make a big thing of it. People are funny. As
soon as they hear somebody’s got cancer, they sort of write
’em off. I’m not ready to be written off. Still,
whatever happens, I don’t want to leave you
shorthanded.”

“Don’t worry, Ernie,” she said.
“We’ll manage. The important thing is for you to do
whatever you need to do in order to get better. How’s
Rose?”

Ernie Carpenter used the back of one meaty paw to
swipe at something in the corner of his eye. “She’s a
brick,” he said, his voice breaking. “I mean,
she’s always been there for me, but now—” He
broke off, shaking his head, and took another sip of the beer.

“Anyway,” he continued after a short
pause, “all this sort of
got my attention.
Made me realize that I’m not gonna live forever. Last night
Rose and I went to a meeting in Tucson. It’s a support group
for people who’ve had prostate cancer. That’s why I
wasn’t home when you called about going to Sierra Vista. So
today I got to thinking. What happens if I don’t make it?
What happens if the seeds don’t work? Jaime and I have been
working all right together. We’re a good team, but
considering what all’s been happening around here lately,
you’re going to need another couple of detectives. Have you
thought about that?”

“Some,” Joanna said. “Why? Do you
have a suggestion?”

Expecting him to tick off a couple of the male
deputies, Joanna was surprised by his answer. “Debbie,”
Ernie replied with conviction. “Debra Howell. I know
she’s fairly new and all that. She’s also a single mom,
which would make the extra hours tough at times, but I think
she’d be able to figure out a way to make it work. You of all
people would know everything there is about that juggling routine,
but Debbie’s got a good head on her shoulders, and
she’s a real team player. That’s what this business
takes—a team effort.”

“She’d have to pass the exam,”
Joanna said.

“That won’t be a problem,” Ernie
said. “She’s been studying. I’ve actually been
giving her some coaching on the side.”

Joanna laughed. “After all the grief you and
Richard Voland gave me when I first showed up, now you’re
tutoring a female deputy to help prepare her for the detective
exam?”

The smallest hint of a smile tweaked the
turned-down corners of Ernie Carpenter’s mouth.
“Well,” he said, “after all, you turned out all
right, didn’t you?”

“You think she can pass?”

“Absolutely. And not just barely, either.
She’ll ace the damned thing.”

“When are you planning on going in for
treatment?” Joanna asked.

“As soon as they can get me scheduled,
probably sometime late next week.”

“And you’re thinking we should bring
Debbie in on a provisional basis to help out with what we have
going right now?”

Ernie nodded.

“Anyone else you think we should look
at?” Joanna asked.

“My next choice would have been Dave
Hollicker, but you already tapped him for crime scene
investigation, so he’s on the team anyway. Beyond Debbie,
though, with so many of the experienced deputies off in the
reserves, pickings around the department are a little
thin.”

Joanna and Frank Montoya had arrived at much the
same conclusion—that pickings were slim. And she had
discounted approaching Debbie Howell about the possibility of
becoming a detective for exactly the reason Ernie had
mentioned—the fact that she was a single mother. Joanna hoped
Ernie was too involved in his own difficulties to notice the flush
of embarrassment that flooded her face.

“I’ll take it under advisement,”
Joanna said. “But don’t say anything to Debbie about it
until after Frank and I have a chance to discuss it.”

“Right,” Ernie said. “I
won’t breathe a word.”

He stood up. “I’d better be
going,” he said. “It’s getting late. I’ve
taken up enough of your time.”

At the door, Joanna reached up and gave Ernie a
hug. With the baby in the middle, it was an awkward, lumpy gesture,
but Ernie seemed to appreciate it.

“Good luck,” she whispered.

There was another meaty paw swipe to the eyes.
“Thanks, boss,” he murmured. “Appreciate
it.”

After he left, Joanna dimmed the lights and
returned to the couch. She sat there for a long time with one hand
resting on her extended belly. It was night and almost bedtime, so
naturally the little person in her womb was wide awake and raising
hell. With Ernie gone, Lady once again emerged from the bedroom and
cuddled up into a gray-and-white ball on the couch beside her.

“Did you know you’re unsanitary?”
Joanna asked, absently stroking the Australian shepherd’s
long soft coat. In answer Lady rolled her blue eyes in
Joanna’s direction, thumped her cropped tail, and sighed
contentedly.

Half an hour or so later, Joanna got up and waddled
off to bed. She was sound asleep when Lucky and Tigger began
barking furiously. Getting up, Joanna staggered out of bed in time
to see Butch’s Subaru drive into the yard and come to a stop
next to his parents’ RV. Joanna hurried to the door to meet
him as he came into the house.

“Congratulations, you big nut,” she
said, kissing him hello. “Welcome home, but I thought I told
you to stay where you were. What time is it?”

“Three,” he said. “Three
forty-five, to be exact.”

“What time did you leave El Paso?” she
asked.

“Better you should never know,” he
said. “I’m taking the Fifth. Suffice it to say, though,
there wasn’t very much traffic and zero enforcement. I left
the banquet as soon as I could. I wasn’t about to leave you
alone and in my mother’s clutches any longer than necessary.
How are things?”

“Fine,” she said. “Come on.
Let’s go to bed. You must be beat.”

“I am,” he agreed. “And I’m
very glad to be home.”

Once in bed, Joanna curled up next to Butch.
Comforted by her husband’s radiating warmth, she was soon
sound asleep and slept better than she had in months.

On Sunday, Margaret and Don declined to go to
church. After fixing them breakfast, Joanna, Jenny, and Butch were
more than happy to leave their guests on their own for a couple of
hours. That morning, Butch had put out one of their homegrown,
freezer-wrapped beef roasts to thaw. After church they stopped by
Safeway to pick up fresh vegetables and salad makings. Then they
called George and Eleanor Winfield along with Jim Bob and Eva Lou
Brady and arranged for an impromptu late-afternoon dinner party.
Joanna hadn’t intended to be doing nonstop entertaining the
last weekend before the baby’s official due date, but there
didn’t seem to be any choice. Besides, there was always the
dim hope that adding more people to the mix might help dilute
Margaret’s ever-toxic presence.

Butch was putting the finishing touches on a roast
beef dinner when Frank Montoya called. Briefly Joanna brought him
up-to-date on Ernie’s revelations. “You want me to talk
to Debbie about the prospect of her becoming a detective?”
Frank asked.

“No,” Joanna said. “Ask her to
see us when she comes on shift tomorrow. We can talk to her
together. Anything else going on?”

“Not much,” Frank told her. “I
had three deputies patrolling that northeast sector last night.
Nothing at all turned up in San Simon. As far as anyone could tell,
there was no unusual traffic coming and going from Roostercomb
Ranch. The whole area was dead as can be. With that in mind,
I’m thinking we should probably drop the increased
surveillance. After all, Patrol is stretched so
thin…”