“A meeting, or a date?” Joanna asked, thinking once in of Terry Buckwalter’s missing wedding ring.
“Oh, I’m certain it wasn’t a date,” Helen said quickly. “I believe it had something to do with golf. Something with a whole bunch of letters. L-something and some kind of school-a V-school or a T-school, I forget.”
Over the years, Joanna had picked up a little golfing lingo just from having Jim Bob and Andy Brady watch weekend if tournaments. “Q-school?” she asked. “Is Terry trying to t into a qualifying school?”
“That’s it,” Helen said. “Those are the exact words she used. Qualifying school. And she wants to go on a tour of some kind.”
“The L.P.G.A.?” Joanna asked incredulously. “Terry Buckwalter thinks she’s going to go off on the Ladies Professional Golf Association tour?”
“How did you put that together?” Helen said. “You really a detective, aren’t you. Your mother is always telling me how smart you are. This is amazing.”
Joanna thought about Terry Buckwalter. She didn’t know exactly how old Terry was, although she had to be somewhere in her mid- to late thirties. For years, Terry had served an unpaid assistant tennis coach at the high school, but as far as Joanna could remember, that had come to an end several years earlier. It was a hell of a long way from playing all-town tennis to hopping on the L.P.G.A. circuit as a professional golfer.
“She’s that good?” Joanna asked.
“Evidently,” Helen Barco said. “She seems to think so, 1 so does that guy out at the Rob Roy.”
“Terry spoke Io you about Peter Wilkes?” Joanna asked.
“You bet she did. To hear her talk, you’d think he’s the greatest thing since sliced bread.”
That stumped Joanna. If Terry Buckwalter and Peter Wilkes had something going, wouldn’t they be a little more discreet about it than that?
“It sounds expensive as all heck,” Helen continued. “She did say that with the insurance and all that she’d come out all right, although she is selling, you know.”
“Selling what?”
“The practice,” Helen answered. “Since she isn’t a veterinarian, she can’t operate it herself. The same thing would happen to Slim if he was left holding this shop. He wouldn’t be able to do a thing.”
“Bucky’s been dead for two days and she’s already sold the practice? How can that be?”
“She said it was something Doc Buckwalter set up himself a long time ago. It’s not final yet, by any means, but it sounded like it was pretty much a done deal. According to her, that nice Dr. Wade from down in Douglas is the one who’ll be buying it. The practice and the house both. Once she has the money, she’ll be free to do whatever she wants.”
Joanna couldn’t help wondering exactly what kind of “deal” Terry Buckwalter was getting. Dr. Wade might be just as kind as could be when it came to pulling out porcupine needles, but how nice would he be when it came to taking advantage of a widow?
“If he’s moving in this fast,” Joanna said, “he’s probably buying the place at fire sale prices.”
“Could be,” Helen Barco said, “but Terry seemed happy enough about it. Like she was getting just what she wanted. According to her, Dr. Wade is planning on bringing in some young vet fresh out of school to help him run both places. Terry says Dr. Wade was such a help to her last year when Bucky was out of town that she knows people can trust him to do a good job.”
That was all that was said. Helen’s next client showed up right then. Still, Joanna was filled with misgivings. Outside in the Blazer, she sat for some time with the engine running but without putting the truck in gear, puzzling about this latest batch of information.
By Bisbee standards, Terry Buckwalter’s behavior was nothing short of outrageous. And suspicious as well. With Bucky not yet in his grave, Terry was cashing in all the jointly held marital assets to go on the pro-golf circuit? What kind of a harebrained scheme was that?
Joanna wasn’t a golfer, but she knew enough about how sports tournaments in general worked to understand that only the very few top players actually made a living at it. The people farther down the line followed the play from one course to the next, but they did so on their own, sometimes barely covering expenses, to say nothing of eking out a living.
For years Joanna had been privy to the entire Davis Insurance Agency book of business. Milo Davis handled all kinds of insurance-property/casualty, life, health, disability, and group. The Buckwalters as well as the Buckwalter Animal Clinic had been full-service customers.
Closing her eyes, Joanna tried to remember the Buckwalters’ several bulging files. One of them-the one with the orange tag on it-had dealt with nothing but life insurance. It seemed to Joanna that there had been several policies, whole-life and term insurance both. There had been some insurance on Terry, but since Bucky had been the professional and the major source of income, the bulk of the coverage had been on him.
But what kinds of face amounts? Joanna wondered. Probably no more than two hundred thousand or so. Maybe three hundred on the outside. Combined with whatever pittance Reggie Wade was paying for the veterinary practice, that would give Terry Buckwalter a fairly nice piece of change to go out into the world as a single woman. It wasn’t a huge amount, but it would have provided years of security if she didn’t blow the whole wad on something or someone stupid.
And then Joanna thought of Peter Wilkes. Was this really about Terry Buckwalter trying to break into the pro tour circuit, or was it something far more sinister? In her mind’s eye Joanna saw it as one of the old story problems from arithmetic.
Life-insurance proceeds plus sale of property equals cash equals motive for murder. That’s it, she thought. It has to be. Bucky Buckwalter was killed for the money. The question is, was it Terry, was it Peter Wilkes, or was it both of them acting together?
Shoving the gearshift into drive, Joanna pulled of her parking place and headed for the Buckwalter Animal Clinic. In a way, solving a murder case was very much like playing a complicated game of tag.
And the cops are always it.
THIRTEEN
It wasn’t until Joanna pulled up to the entrance to the Buckwalter Animal Clinic that she realized she didn’t know what she was doing there. Posted on the upright at the end cattle guard was a hand-lettered sign that announced: “Closed Until Further Notice.”
Joanna hesitated. She had already turned on her turn signal to go back onto the highway when she noticed there were four vehicles parked beside the building: Terry Buckwalter’s T-Bird, Bebe Noonan’s Honda, Bucky’s van, and a U-Haul truck.
Helen Barco’s right, Joanna told herself. Terry’s already sold the place, and she’s moving out.
Rumbling across the iron rails of the cattle guard, Joanna drove into the lot and parked in an empty space between the truck and the two cars. Her tires had raised a cloud of rust colored dust on the graveled lot. She waited long enough for the cloud to settle before opening her door.
As soon as she stepped up to the building entrance, she heard the sound of raised voices. The front door had been propped open, most likely to allow for carrying things in and out. Even had the door been closed, Joanna probably could have heard what was being said inside. Terry Buckwalter was literally screaming at Bebe Noonan. With one hand poised and ready to knock, Joanna stood listening.
“But what am I supposed to do?” Bebe Noonan was saying.
“Do!” Terry Buckwalter exploded. “Get rid of it and act like it never happened.”
“But it did. You don’t mean-”
“That’s exactly what I mean,” Terry shot back. “And if you don’t, you can’t expect me to be responsible. You’ve got no right. It isn’t mine, now is it! I made that decision a long time ago. If you had a brain in that head of yours, you’d do the same damned thing.”