Partner In Crime (28 page)

Not wanting to be chewed up and spit out by Sheriff Brady, I stood up, too. “I could just as well be going,” I said.

“No, you don’t,” she said. “I want to talk to you.”

I sat back down and slumped down on the couch.
Here it comes,
I thought, remembering being hauled on the carpet by the daunting Miss Heard.

“How long have you been in town?” Joanna asked.

“Since around one
P.M.
,” I said.

“And who all have you talked to since then?”

I pulled a tattered notebook out of my pocket and consulted the list of names I had jotted there. “Cornelia Lester, Harvey Dowd, Angie Hacker, Archie McBride, and Willy Haskins. Later on I spoke to your chief deputy Mr. Montoya and also to a reporter named Marliss Shackleford.”

Sheriff Brady’s eyes registered surprise when I mentioned the last name on the list. “You’ve talked to Marliss?” she asked.

“You know her, I take it?”

Joanna nodded grimly. “We’re not on the best of terms.”

I suppose I should have let it go at that, but I felt constrained to tell her the rest. “You should be aware that I met with her earlier this evening,” I said. “Marliss introduced herself to me down at the crime scene, the one where you sent me packing. Then, a little while ago, she came here, to the hotel, and interviewed me.”

“About?”

“She wanted to know why I was in town,” I said.

“What did you tell her?”

“I told her I was sent as an observer for the Washington State Attorney General’s Office. I doubt that was what she was really after, though. She seems to be under the impression that Ross Connors doesn’t think your department can handle the Latisha Wall case. I believe her exact words were: ‘Ross Connors has no faith in Sheriff Brady’s ability.’ Something to that effect, anyway.”

“What did you tell her?”

“That both Mr. Connors and I thought you were doing fine.”

Joanna blinked. “Thanks,” she said.

“There’s something else,” I added.

“What’s that?”

“She started asking questions about the Bobo Jenkins interview.”

“How did she know about that?” Joanna demanded.

“I sure as hell didn’t tell her,” I responded quickly. “I may be a royal pain in the ass as far as you’re concerned, Sheriff Brady, but I know better than to compromise an ongoing investigation by leaking information to the press. The same can’t be said for everyone in your department, however. Someone on your staff needs to learn to keep his mouth shut.”

There was a long period of silence after that. The longer Joanna Brady went without speaking, the more I figured I had blown it for sure. If there had ever been a remote chance of the two of us working together successfully, it was gone for good.

“Thanks for telling me,” she said finally. “I’m pretty sure I know who Mr. Big Mouth is, but I haven’t figured out what to do about him.”

“If I were you,” I told her, “I’d kick ass and take names later.”

She laughed then. “I’ll take that suggestion under advisement.” Her single burst of laughter seemed to put us on a whole new footing. “Cornelia Lester isn’t the only one who needs to hand out apologies,” she said. “I believe I owe you one as well.”

“What for?”

“You’ve been in town for less than twelve hours, Mr. Beaumont. And yet, without any help from me or my people, you’ve managed to sort out most of the major players in this case.”

“I used to be . . .” I began.

“I know. You used to work homicide at Seattle PD. I’m guessing you must have been pretty good at it. The truth is, we are shorthanded at the moment, so if you’re still willing to help, please be at my office tomorrow afternoon at one. I’m creating a task force, and you’re more than welcome to join it.”

Nothing short of flabbergasted, I said, “I’ll be there.”

Joanna stood up then and held out her small hand with that surprisingly firm grip. “It’s late,” she said. “My daughter’s dog had to be put down today. I should be at home with Jenny instead of out here traipsing all over the county. I’ll see you tomorrow, then?”

I nodded. “One o’clock.”

“Sharp,” she added.

“I’ll be there.”

As she walked away, I was still shaking my head in utter befuddlement. It may have been my birthday, but I was no closer to understanding women than I was on the day I was born.

I sat for several minutes listening as the noise from the bar got louder and louder. It kept tugging at me. Finally, breaking free, I headed up to my room. Once there, I glanced at the clock. It was nearly midnight, but my night-owl grandparents would still be wide awake.

I dialed their number and was relieved when my new stepgrandfather, Lars Jenssen, who is also my AA sponsor, answered the phone. “Ja sure,” he said. “If it isn’t the birthday boy! Beverly tried calling you off and on all day, but there was no answer on your dang cell phone. She’s in getting ready for bed. Hang on. I’ll go get her.”

“No,” I said quickly. “Don’t do that. This isn’t that kind of call.”

“You having a tough time?” Lars asked, immediately switching gears. “You thinking about having that first drink?”

“Yes,” I admitted. “I am.”

“Well, then,” he said. “Let’s talk about it.”

And we did.

D
RIVING UP TO THE HOUSE
at High Lonesome Ranch, Joanna was vividly aware that with Sadie gone, neither of the dogs came bounding down the road to greet her. When she pulled into the yard, she noticed a light still burning in the window of Jenny’s corner bedroom.

Butch was in bed reading when she went in to undress. “Did Jenny ever come out of her room?” Joanna asked, kissing him hello.

“Once,” he said. “To feed Tigger and let him out. Other than that, I haven’t seen her.”

“Did she eat dinner?”

“Nope.”

“Her light’s still on,” Joanna said. “Maybe I should go talk to her.”

“Good idea,” Butch said. “You can try, anyway.”

Hoping Jenny might be asleep, Joanna opened the door without knocking. Inside the room, Jenny lay on the bottom bunk, one arm wrapped tightly around Tigger, who was curled up next to her. Tigger thumped his tail when Joanna first entered the room, but he didn’t try to slink off the bed, where, under normal circumstances, he wasn’t allowed.

“You awake?” Joanna asked, sinking into the creaking rocker next to the bed.

“I fell asleep this afternoon,” Jenny said. “Now I can’t sleep. I’m lying here, thinking.”

“About Sadie?”

Jenny nodded. “She was just always here, Mom. I never thought she’d go away. She never seemed sick. She never
acted
sick.”

“That’s the good thing about dogs,” Joanna said. “They don’t complain. The bad thing is, they can’t tell us what’s wrong with them, either. And they don’t live forever, Jen. What’s important is what you said this afternoon. We loved Sadie and took care of her while she was here with us. Now we have to let her go. And you were wonderful with her, sweetie. No one could have done more.”

“Really?” Jenny asked.

“Really.”

There was a long pause. When Jenny said nothing, Joanna finally asked, “Are you hungry? Would you like me to fix you something?”

Jenny shook her head. “No, thanks,” she said.

For a time after that the only sound in the room was the creaking of Butch’s grandmother’s rocking chair. Jenny broke the long silence.

“I think Tigger knows what happened—that Sadie’s gone and she isn’t coming back. Somebody told me that dogs don’t have feelings like we do—that they don’t grieve or feel sorry for themselves or anything. Do you think that’s true?”

Joanna studied Tigger, who had yet to move anything other than his tail and his dark, soulful eyes. The usually lively dog was mysteriously still, as quiet as Joanna had ever seen him. If he wasn’t grieving, he was doing a good imitation.

“I’m sure he does know something’s wrong,” Joanna said. “Maybe he’s simply responding to your unhappiness, but I believe he understands.”

“I think so, too,” Jenny said. “He doesn’t usually like to cuddle.”

Neither do you,
Joanna thought.

That was followed by yet another silence. At last Joanna sighed and checked her watch. It was after midnight. “All right, then,” she said. “If you’re not hungry, I guess I’ll go to bed.”

She got as far as the door before Jenny stopped her. “Mom?”

“What?”

“I think I know what I want to be when I grow up.”

Joanna’s heart lurched, grateful for this small connection with her grieving daughter. “What?” she asked, turning back.

“A veterinarian,” Jenny replied. “Just like Dr. Ross. She couldn’t fix Sadie—she couldn’t make her better—but she was really nice to Sadie and to me, too. It was like, well, she really cared. Know what I mean?”

“Yes.” Joanna returned to the bed and perched on the edge of it, close enough that she could rub Tigger’s ears. “I know exactly what you mean, Jen,” she said. “The way you love animals, I’m sure you’ll be a terrific vet.”

“Is it hard?” Jenny asked.

“Every job has hard things and good things about it,” Joanna said. “I’d hate to have to put a sick animal down and then try to comfort the owner.”

“How long do you have to go to school?”

“To be a vet? A long time. First you have to graduate from college, then it’s just like going to medical school. To get in, you have to earn top grades in math and science, chemistry especially.”

“Do you think I can do it?”

“You’re a very smart girl, sweetie. If you set your mind to it, you can do anything you want.”

A
T A QUARTER TO TEN
the next morning, as Butch, Jenny, and Joanna were ready to walk out the door for church, the telephone rang. “Here we go again,” Butch grumbled, handing Joanna the receiver. “It’s Lupe Alvarez,” he said. “According to her, it’s urgent.”

“What is it?” Joanna asked.

“There’s a lady here in the lobby,” Lupe replied. “Her name is Serenity Granger. She’s Deidre Canfield’s daughter. The ME’s office had the Cheyenne Police Department contact her last night. She wants to talk to you right away.”

“All right,” Joanna agreed. “I’ll be there as soon as I can.” When she turned to Butch, he was shaking his head. “Sorry,” she told him. “You and Jenny go on without me. I’ll join you as soon as I can.”

“I won’t hold my breath,” he said.

While Butch and Jenny drove away in the Subaru, Joanna opted for her Civvie. Ten minutes later she entered her office through the back door. Once at her desk, she called out to the lobby. “Okay, Lupe,” she said. “I’m here. You can bring Ms. Granger back now.”

Knowing Dee Canfield, Joanna was surprised by her first glimpse of Serenity Granger. She was the exact antithesis of her mother’s tie-dyed, let-it-all-hang-out splendor. Serenity, perhaps a few years older than Joanna, was tall and pencil-thin. She wore a business suit—the kind of smart, above-the-knee tailored model favored by the current crop of television heroines. The charcoal pin-striped outfit was complemented by matching two-inch gray sling-back pumps with an elegant Italian pedigree.

Joanna realized that Serenity Granger must have traveled most of the night in order to make it from Cheyenne, Wyoming, to Bisbee, Arizona, by ten o’clock in the morning. The woman should have looked wrinkled and travel-worn, but she didn’t. The suit showed no trace of unwanted creases. The mass of bleached-blond curls that framed a somber face was in perfect order. Only her makeup, which had no doubt started out as perfection itself, was beginning to show a few ill effects. Her gray eye shadow was slightly smudged, and a speck of unruly mascara had dribbled down one cheek.

“I’m Sheriff Brady,” Joanna said at once, standing up and offering her hand. “I’m so sorry about the loss of your mother. Please, have a seat.”

“Thank you,” Serenity returned.

Removing a small long-strapped purse from her shoulder, she eased herself into one of the captain’s chairs and folded her well-manicured hands in her lap. “I know this is Sunday,” Serenity began. “I’m sorry to interrupt your day off, but this is too important to let go until Monday.”

“What’s too important?” Joanna asked.

Serenity chewed her lower lip. “Please understand,” she said. “This is all very difficult.”

“I’m sure it is. Take your time, Ms. Granger. Can I offer you something to drink—coffee, water?”

“Water would be nice.”

Without Kristin in the outside office, Joanna had no one to fetch it. “Hang on,” she said. “I’ll be right back.”

When she returned a few minutes later, Serenity Granger sat in the same position. Now, though, under her still-folded hands Joanna spied a single piece of paper that hadn’t been there before.

“I suppose I don’t have to tell you my mother and I weren’t close,” Serenity began again with a regretful half-smile. “We didn’t have much in common.”

“There’s a lot of that going around these days,” Joanna offered encouragingly. After all, when it came to mother-daughter relationships, she and Eleanor Lathrop weren’t exactly shining examples.

“We were at loggerheads as long as I can remember,” Serenity continued. “Whatever came up, we fought about it. My mother tuned in during the sixties, dropped out, and stayed that way. I couldn’t wait to join the establishment. My mother never completed high school. I did four years of college and finished law school with honors in a year and a half. Mother never voted in her life. According to her, the Democrats are too conservative. Naturally, I’m a card-carrying Republican.” She shrugged. “What else could I do?”

Joanna nodded.

“Anyway, for years we weren’t in touch at all. In fact, for a time I didn’t know if she was dead or alive. Then, about a year ago and out of the clear blue sky, Mother sent me an e-mail. She had come into a bit of money, from my grandfather, I guess. She said she was moving to Bisbee and getting ready to open an art gallery.

“I wasn’t necessarily overjoyed to hear from her. For a while I didn’t bother to respond, but my husband’s a psychologist. Mel finally convinced me that the best thing I could do for Mother and for me, too, was to figure out a way to forgive her. Eventually I wrote back. We started by sending little notes back and forth. To my amazement, e-mail ended up bringing us closer than ever.