Skeleton Canyon (33 page)

Ernie laughed. “Are you kidding? After what we paid for this outfit, Rose won’t let me out the front door without it. She’s determined we’re going to get our money’s worth.”

“If nagging is all it takes to get you to wear it, good for Rose,” Joanna returned.

She put down the phone and looked outside just as a storm-spawned dust devil tore through the parking lot. Wind-driven rain came moments later, slanting down to the ground with such ferocity that for a few minutes even Joanna’s Crown Victoria, parked right outside the window, was totally obscured from view.

Ernie was right. If the storm lasted for very long, it would indeed be another gully-washer. All her life, Joanna had delighted in these spectacular downpours. But as sheriff, she couldn’t help seeing them through the nagging prism of her fiscal and budgetary responsibilities. What had once been a welcome summertime diversion now meant nothing more than another hit in the overtime department. She didn’t have to be a fortune-teller to gaze into the next morning’s briefing and see exactly what would happen. Both her chief deputies would be there, and Frank Montoya would be pitching his usual fit.

She leaned back in her chair and closed her eyes, shutting out the tumult outside her window and deliberately turning off the turmoil within. Reinforcements were headed for Willcox, which meant there was no need for her to go traipsing up there. Besides, by staying behind, she would be on hand when Detective Carbajal brought Nettleton in for questioning.

Opening her eyes again, she glanced at her watch. Five of four. In a while she’d call Doc Winfield and ask him about the medical missionaries. Jaime wouldn’t arrive with his prisoner for the better part of an hour. Before then, maybe Joanna could finally make some progress on her paperwork.

Resolutely reaching for the stack, she forced herself to handle the first thing she touched—the board of supervisors letter. Next came a governmental treatise—a thick, bound notebook of bureaucratic doublespeak containing the latest federal man-dates and guidelines concerning the care and feeding of prisoners.

With the very best of intentions, Joanna opened it and began to read. Halfway through page five, she nodded off and fell fast asleep.

Getting off the phone at noon, Angie Kellogg had turned to find her customers hanging on her every word. All afternoon she faced a barrage of good-natured teasing about her car’s going for a ride without her. The jokes were made easier to endure, however, by the fact that Angie’s loyal customers were also determined to do something about it. She was surprised and touched to see that while her back had been turned, someone had placed an empty gallon jar on the end of the bar with a label affixed to it reading “Let’s fix Angie’s Omega.” By two that afternoon the jar already contained several crumpled hills and a collection of loose change.

The Blue Moon’s easy camaraderie made those unsolicited donations possible. It also gave rise to teasing of a more personal nature. All afternoon, Archie McBride and Willy Haskins kept up a running interrogation about what had gone on with Angie’s “Boy Scout.”

“Are you gonna see him again?” Willy asked.

Angie, wavering between hoping Dennis Hacker would call and never wanting to see him again, shook her head. “I don’t know,” she said.

“He seemed like one of those real gentlemen. Was he nice to you?”

Angie considered for a moment before she answered. Yes, Dennis Hacker had been nice to her—right up to the time he hurt her feelings. Now, mulling over his phone call, which had obviously been an apology, she didn’t know what to think. It was stupid for her to believe that Dennis Hacker had actually fallen for her after seeing her only one or two times. And yet, those things did happen. Or did they? Was that kind of instant romance something that happened only in the movies?

“He didn’t try to take advantage of you, now, did he?” Archie pressed solicitously. “ ‘Cause if’n he did, me an’ of Willy here’ll take care of him the next time he walks through the door. Right, Willy?”

“What?” Willy asked.

“Never mind,” Angie said with a laugh. “You’ll do no such thing.”

Feeling better, Angie went back down the bar to serve an-other customer. It was nice to have champions even if they were nothing more than a pair of broken-down, toothless old miners.

About three o’clock the Blue Moon’s swinging door banged open and in walked the last person Angie Kellogg ever expected to see there
^—
the Reverend Marianne Maculyea. “What are you doing here?” Angie asked.

“I brought you something.” Marianne reached into her pocket and pulled out a set of car keys, which she deposited on the bar directly in front of Angie.

“What are those?”

“The keys to the truck,” Marianne answered. “The International may not be a thing of beauty, but it’s totally dependable. Jeff and I talked it over. He’ll borrow a car from one of his clients until we can get your Omega back on the road. In the meantime, it doesn’t make sense for you to be stuck walking. This way you can come and go as needed.”

For Angie, this latest kindness was almost overwhelming. “But what about—”

“No buts,” Marianne interjected. “This is how it is. It’s parked right outside the door.”

“Thank you,” Angie said. That was all she could manage.

From then on, the rest of the afternoon seemed to crawl by. Customers came and went. By four o’clock, Angie was sneaking periodic checks at the clock behind the bar. Would Dennis Hacker call or not? Finally, when the phone rang at four-fifty, she leaped to answer. “Hello?”

“Hi, Angie,” he said. “I’m back.”

Angie had been waiting eagerly for the call. Now that he was on the line, she found herself drowning in confusion with no clue as to what to say. “How was the meeting?” she stammered.

“Fine,” Dennis said. “First rate. How about you? And what about dinner?”

Angie glanced down the bar to where Archie and Willy were listening to her every word. “I guess that’ll he fine,” she said.

“Great,” Hacker responded cheerfully. “I came back to the house to wash up. Unfortunately, it
^’
s been raining like crazy out here, which means the washes are probably up again. The Hummer will make it through just fine, but it may take a little longer—”

He stopped in mid-sentence. The phone seemed to clatter onto some hard surface. When Dennis Hacker spoke again, he sounded angry. “Who are you?” he demanded. “What are you doing here? What do you want?”

“Who are you talking to?” another voice, a male one, returned just as angrily. “Get your hands up in the air. I heard you talking. Who else is in here with you? Where are they?”

“There’s nobody here. I’m alone,” Dennis answered.

In the background Angie could hear some shuffling and banging as though someone were searching the trailer.

“Dennis?” she asked hesitantly after a moment. “Can you hear me? What’s wrong? What’s going on?”

“Oh, it’s the phone,” the unidentified voice said. “Hang it up.”

She heard a noisy crash. “Dennis?” Angie said after that. “Are you there? Are you all right?”

In answer, there was nothing but silence.

Joanna, awakened from her momentary snooze and still unable to contact Doc Winfield, was back plowing through the federal mandate when her private phone rang. It was a line that came directly through to her desk, bypassing both Kristin and the switchboard.

Like working mothers everywhere, Joanna had worried about Jenny’s being able to get through to her quickly in case of some pressing emergency. Emergencies aside, the sheriff had been self-conscious about non-emergency calls as well. It was embarrassing when a phone call asking what was for dinner came through departmental channels. That went for the social calls that came to Joanna’s office as well.

Not many people had that private number—notably Jenny, both sets of grandparents, and Marianne Maculyea. In addition, there was that solitary male friend up in Phoenix—Butch Dixon. As she reached for the ringing phone, Joanna found herself hoping he might be the one who was calling now. She hadn’t spoken to Butch for several days—not since the day she’d driven Jenny to camp. It surprised her to realize how much she had missed talking to him.

“Joanna?” Eleanor Lathrop announced curtly. “It’s me.
^”

At the sound of her mother’s voice, Joanna felt a flash of disappointment followed almost immediately by a spurt of anger. She had meant to have it out with her mother—to have a real coming to God about what Eleanor and George had been up to behind Joanna’s back. But she had wanted to have all her emotional ducks in a row beforehand. Unfortunately, Eleanor had the drop on her.

“Hello, Mother,” Joanna said guardedly. “How’re things?” “I’ve been waiting by the phone all day long, hoping you’d call.”

Going on the offensive was one of Eleanor’s typical ploys.
Why should I do the calling?
Joanna wondered. After all, since Eleanor had been sitting on news of her recent elopement, it made sense that her fingers should have been doing the dialing.

“I haven’t had a chance to call anyone,” Joanna lied. “It’s been a zoo around here.”

“Well,” Eleanor returned, “it hasn’t been any too pleasant for me, either.”

Joanna closed her eyes and steeled herself for one of Eleanor Lathrop
^’
s infamous tirades. It didn’t come. “I’ve been afraid to call you,” Eleanor continued, her voice sounding suddenly tentative and tremulous. “I didn’t know if you’d even be willing to speak to me.”

Joanna’s eyes popped open in astonishment. “You were afraid to call me?” she asked.

“Well, yes,” Eleanor allowed. “I was worried about what you’d think. Of George and me. Of what we’ve done. I was afraid you’d be furious.”

Now that Eleanor had brought up the topic, Joanna’s emotions came to a swift boil. Of course Joanna was furious! Why wouldn’t she be? How could Eleanor get married, for God’s sake, without even letting her own daughter know? Once again, though, the very fact that Eleanor expected anger and recrimination was enough to force Joanna into sweetness and light.

“Furious?” Joanna repeated innocently. “Why on earth would I be furious?”

It was Eleanor’s turn to sound surprised. “You mean you’re not? George said you were fine about it, but I didn’t believe ...”

“I’m disappointed maybe,” Joanna conceded. “Hurt that you didn’t trust me enough to share the good news, but I’m certainly not furious. You’ve lived alone for a long time. You’ve more than earned whatever share of happiness you can find.”

Eleanor gave an audible sigh of relief. “You don’t mind, then?”

“George Winfield’s a nice man,” Joanna said, remembering the compassionate way he had dealt with Katherine O’Brien. “A considerate man. Not half bad, for a snowbird.”

“A snowbird,” Eleanor replied. “Why, I don’t know what you mean—” She stopped. “Joanna Lee Lathrop Brady,” she added indignantly. “I believe you’re teasing me, aren’t you?”

Joanna laughed. “By virtue of being newlyweds, you and George automatically leave yourselves wide open to teasing. Now tell me, when are you two going to let this cat out of the hag in public? George told me you’re going on an Alaskan cruise in August. If you haven’t made an official announcement by then, people are going to talk.”

“I don’t know,” Eleanor said. “George was talking about doing something in September. I’ve been thinking more about that long Fourth of July weekend. With four days, maybe your brother and Marcie could come out from D.C.”

Joanna’s brother. If Bob Brundage came out for the celebration, it would mark only the third time Joanna had ever seen the man. It seemed somehow appropriate, however, that he would show up now as a grown man to help celebrate his biological mother’s second marriage.

“What kind of party were you thinking of?” Joanna asked.

“I don’t know,” Eleanor said, sounding uncertain again. “I just wanted to have a little reception of some kind. Something small and tasteful. George seems to think we should do the whole thing. Have a ceremony, repeat our vows, cut a cake, and everything. What do you think, Joanna? Doesn’t that seem a bit much? What would someone like Marliss Shackleford think about such a thing? And besides, at this late date, where would we ever find a place to have it?”

The very idea of Eleanor Lathrop’s flying in the face of small-town convention somehow tickled Joanna’s fancy. As for Marliss Shackleford, she could mind her own damn business.

“You could have it at my place,” Joanna heard herself offering. “We could hold the ceremony out in the yard and follow it up with an old-fashioned barbecue.”

Once again Eleanor was taken aback. “You’d do that?” she asked. “For me? You mean you wouldn’t mind going to all that trouble?”

“It’s no trouble, and of course I wouldn’t mind,” Joanna said. “If a daughter won’t lend a hand when her mother gets married, who will?”

Eleanor swallowed. When she spoke again, she seemed near tears. “Nothing would please me more, but you understand, I’ll have to talk all this over with George first.”

“Certainly,” Joanna said. “And if you’re looking around for someone to do the ceremony, you might give Marianne Maculyea a call.”

There was a sudden flurry of activity out in the lobby. Even through the closed door Joanna heard the sound of raised voices. “She’s on the phone,” Kristin was saying. “You can’t go in there.”

“But the Fourth of July is a holiday,” Eleanor objected. “Wouldn’t Marianne mind having to work that day?” “Call her up and find out,” Joanna said.

Just then Joanna’s door burst open and a distraught Angie Kellogg appeared in the doorway. Her blond hair was drip-ping wet. Her face was flushed. She was still wearing the striped, oversized blue-and-white apron she generally wore while working the bar of the Blue Moon. Behind her trailed an indignant Kristin Marsten accompanied by Chief Deputy Voland.

“Joanna,” Angie blurted, wrenching her upper arm away from Dick’s restraining hand. “Please, I’ve got to talk to you.”

Startled by all the activity, Joanna had taken the phone from her ear. “Mother,” she said hastily back into the phone. “Someone’s here. I have to go.” She turned back to the melee in the doorway just as Dick Voland grabbed hold of Angie again and started leading her back into the reception area.