“How’s he getting back to Bisbee?”
“He can walk, for all I care.”
“I see,” Marianne said.
Around her, the mall was filling up with people while Joanna Brady had never felt so alone in her life. Families—mothers and fathers with young, boisterous children—walked through the mall. Some were just out shopping. Others, still dressed in their Sunday finery, were headed to the food court for an after-church lunch. There were throngs of teenagers, kids Jenny’s age, laughing and joking as though they hadn’t a care in the world. Everyone else seemed happy and glad to be alive while Joanna was simply desolate. She noted that a few of the passersby aimed wary, sidelong glances in her direction.
They probably think I’m crazy, she thought self-consciously. Here I sit. Tears are dripping off my chin, and I’m holding on to my cell phone as though it’s a damned life preserver!
“I think you should go back,” Marianne Maculyea was saying when Joanna’s straying attention returned to the phone.
“I should do what?”
“When it’s safe for you to drive, you should go back to the hotel and talk to Butch.”
“Why? What’s the point?”
Marianne sighed, sounding the way she did when dealing with Ruth, her recalcitrant three-year-old. “Before we go into that, I want you to tell me what’s been going on. All of it, from the beginning.”
And so Joanna found herself relating all the events of the past several days, including how Jenny and Dora Matthews had found Constance Haskell’s body and how Joanna had ended up leaving Phoenix the previous afternoon in order to bring Maggie MatFerson to Bisbee to identify her sister’s body. She explained how Eleanor had precipitated a crisis at home by dragging Child Protective Services into an already overwrought situation. It was harder to talk about coming back to the hotel that morning and discovering Butch hadn’t been there. Finally she came to the part where Butch and Lila Winters had found her reading Maggie MacFerson’s article in the hotel lobby. As she recounted that, Joanna was once again struggling to hold back tears.
“So that’s it,” she finished lamely. “I got in the car, drove away, and eventually ended up here.”
“Tell me about the wedding,” Marianne said. “Whose wedding is it again?”
“Tammy Lukins,” Joanna answered. “She used to work for Butch. She was one of his waitresses at the Roundhouse Bar and Grill up in Peoria. She’s marrying a guy named Roy Ford who used to be a customer at the Roundhouse. Since Butch is the one who introduced them, they both wanted him to be in the wedding. Tammy wanted Butch to be her . . .” She started to say, “man of honor,” but the words stuck in her throat. “Her attendant,” she said finally.
A short silence followed. Marianne was the one who spoke first. “You told me a few minutes ago that the dead woman’s sister from Phoenix ...”
“Maggie MacFerson,” Joanna supplied.
“That Maggie MacFerson thought her brother-in-law ..”
“Ron Haskell.”
“That he was the one who had murdered his wife. That he had stolen her money and then murdered her.”
Joanna nodded. “That’s right,” she said.
“So what will happen next?” Marianne asked.
Joanna shrugged. “Ernie Carpenter and Jaime Carbajal were supposed to go out to Portal this morning to see if they could find him.”
“And what will happen when they do?”
“When they find him, they’ll probably question him,” Joanna replied. “They’ll try to find out where he was around the time his wife died and whether or not he has a verifiable alibi.”
“But they won’t just arrest him on the spot, toss him in jail, and throw away the key?”
“Of course not,” Joanna returned. “They’re detectives. They have to find evidence. The fact that the money is gone and the fact that Connie Haskell died near where her husband was staying is most likely all circumstantial. Before Ernie and Jaime can arrest Ron Haskell, they’ll have to have probable cause. To do that they’ll need to have some kind of physical evidence that links him to the crime.
“What if they arrested him without having probable cause?”
“It would be wrong,” Joanna answered. “Cops can’t arrest someone simply because they feel like it. They have to have good reason to believe the person is guilty, and they can’t simply jump to conclusions based on circumstantial evidence. It has to be some-thing that will stand up in court, something strong enough to convince a judge and jury”
“That’s true in your work life, Joanna,” Marianne said quietly. “What about in your personal life? Is it wise to allow yourself to jump to conclusions there?”
A knot of anger pulsed in Joanna’s temples. “You’re saying I’ve jumped to conclusions?”
“Criminals have a right to defend themselves in a court of law,” Marianne said. “You told me yourself that you didn’t listen to anything Butch had to say. That when he tried to talk to you, you didn’t listen—wouldn’t even answer the phone.”
“This is different,” Joanna said.
“Is it? I don’t think so. I believe you’ve tried and convicted the man of being unfaithful to you without giving him the benefit of a fair hearing. I’m not saying Butch didn’t do what you think he did, and I’m certainly not defending him if he did. But I do think you owe him the courtesy of letting him tell you what happened, of letting him explain the circumstances, before you hire yourself a divorce attorney and throw him out of the house.”
Joanna sat holding the phone in stunned silence.
“A few minutes ago you asked me what you should tell Jenny,” Marianne continued. “How you should go about breaking the news to her and how you’d face up to the rest of the people in town. Have you talked to anyone else about this?”
“Only you,” Joanna said.
“Good. You need to keep quiet about all this until you know more, until you have some idea of what you’re up against. It could be nothing more than bachelor-party high jinks. I’ve seen you at work, Joanna. When your department is involved in a case, you don’t let people go running to the newspapers or radio stations and leaking information so the public ends up knowing every single thing about what’s going on in any given investigation. You keep it quiet until you have all your ducks in a row. Right?”
Joanna said nothing.
“And that’s what I’m suggesting you do here, as well,” Marianne said. “Keep it quiet. Don’t tell anyone. Not Jenny, not your mother, not the people you work with—not until you have a better idea of what’s really going on. You owe it to yourself, Joanna, and you certainly owe that much to Butch.”
“But—”
“Let me finish,” Marianne said. “Since Butch came to town, Jeff and I have come to care about him almost like a brother. We feel as close to him as we used to feel to Andy. I also know that he’s made a huge difference in your life, and in Jenny’s, too. I don’t want you to throw all that away. I don’t want you to lose this second chance at happiness over something that may not be that important.”
Joanna was suddenly furious. “You’re saying Butch can do any-thing he wants—that he can go out with another woman and it doesn’t matter?”
“If something happened between him and this woman, this Lila, then of course it matters. But it’s possible that absolutely nothing happened. Before you write him off, you need to know exactly what went on.”
“You mean, I should ask him and then I should just take his word for it?” Joanna demanded. “If he tells me nothing happened, I’m supposed to believe him? He was out all night long, Mari. I don’t think I can ever trust him again. I don’t think I can believe a word he says.”
“In my experience,” Marianne said, “there are two sides to every story. Before you go blasting your point of view to the universe, maybe you should have some idea about what’s going on on Butch’s side of the fence. He’s been used to running his own life, Joanna. Used to calling the shots. Now he’s in a position where he often has to play second fiddle. That’s not easy. Ask Jell about It sometime. Things were rough that first year we were married, when I was try ing to be both a new bride and a new minister all at the same tin me. If fact, there were times when I didn’t think we’d make it.”