“Well,” she added, “I suppose I ought to head home now. You said George had been called out to a crime scene? How late do you think he’ll be?”
“Most likely not that much later. Because of where the body is, they probably won’t be able to retrieve it before morning.”
“Had he eaten any dinner before he left?” Eleanor asked.
“I don’t know.”
“Probably not. The man’s smart as a whip, but when it comes to sensible things like eating at reasonable hours, he’s utterly hopeless. So I’d better be going then,” Eleanor continued. “That way I can have a little something ready for him when he gets home.”
She turned to Joanna, took her daughter’s hand, and squeezed it. “Thank you so much,” she said. “I’m glad we had this little talk. I’m feeling ever so much better.”
Joanna reached over and gave her mother a hug. “I’m glad we had this talk, too. Now go on home. George was worried sick about you. He’ll be delighted to find you at home. Just don’t tell him I told you so.”
Eleanor frowned. “Do you think I should try explaining any of this to him? I’m afraid he’ll think I’ve lost my marbles.”
“Try him,” Joanna Brady urged gently. “As you said, George is a very smart man. He might just surprise you.”
Without another word, Eleanor got out of the car. She marched back to her Buick, got in, started it and drove off without a second glance. Shaking her head in wonder, Joanna turned and watched her drive away. Then, starting the Civvie, Joanna headed up the dirt road that led into the ranch. Before she made it all the way into the yard, Sadie and Tigger reappeared to reprise their earlier greeting.
By the time Joanna had parked the car, Butch was standing on the back porch waiting for her.
“It’s about time you got here,” he said. “The dogs went rushing off a little while ago. I thought it was you coming, but then the dogs came back without you.”
“It was me,” Joanna said.
“But that must have been fifteen or twenty minutes ago,” Butch aid. “What did you do, stop to read the mail?”
“Eleanor was there waiting for me.”
“What for?”
“She needed to talk.”
“What about?”
“Dora Matthews.”
“I suppose she still thinks it’s all her fault.”
Joanna thought about that. Butch was a good man and, in his awn way, every bit as smart as George Winfield. And yet, Joanna wasn’t the least bit sure he would understand what had happened that night between Joanna Brady and Eleanor Lathrop Winfield any more than George had understood what was going on with his own wife.
“Something like that,” Joanna said, peering around the kitchen. “Now is there anything around here to eat? I’m starved.”
That’s when she saw the blueprints unrolled all over the kitchen able. It was also when she belatedly remembered that evening’s scheduled appointment with Quentin Branch. “Oh, Butch,” she aid. “I’m so sorry. I forgot all about it.”
“I noticed,” he said. “But the way things are going, I guess I’d better get used to being stood up.”
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
It was a quarter past seven when Butch shook Joanna awake the next morning. “Time to rise and shine,” he said. “Coffee’s on the nightstand, and breakfast is in five.” Grateful that he wasn’t holding a grudge over last night’s missed appointment, she gave him a warm smile. “Thanks,” she said.
Struggling out of bed, Joanna staggered into the bathroom. She felt as though she had tied one on the night before, although she’d had nothing at all to drink. But between the forced-march hike and climbing up and down the cliff face, there was no part of her body that didn’t hurt. Not only that; tired as she’d been, once she went to bed, she hadn’t slept. Instead, she’d once again tossed and turned for a long time before finally drifting into a fitful sleep.
She showered hurriedly and then, with her hair still wet, went into the kitchen where a bowl of steaming Malt-o-Meal was already on the table. “I really don’t have time to eat ...” she began, looking at the clock.
“Yes, you do,” Butch insisted. “‘This way you’ll have at least one decent meal today.”
Knowing he was right, Joanna sat and ate. She was in her office by ten after eight and pressing the intercom button. “Good morning, Kristin. Would you let Chief Deputy Montoya know that I’m here?”
“He’s not,” Kristin said. “He called a little while ago and said to tell you he’ll be a few minutes late.”
“Good,” Joanna said. “Maybe you could come in and help me make some sense of all this new paper.” She said nothing at all about the previous batch, which was still stowed in her unopened briefcase.
When Kristin entered the office, Joanna was shocked by her secretary’s appearance. Her nose and eyes were red. She looked almost as bad as Joanna felt, and she walked as though she had aged twenty years overnight.
“Kristin,” Joanna demanded, “what’s wrong?” as the younger woman deposited a new stack of papers on one corner of Joanna’s desk.
“Nothing,” Kristin mumbled, turning away.
“Come on,” Joanna urged. “Something’s not right. Tell me.”
“It’s Terry,” her secretary replied with a tearful sniffle. “What about him?”
“He didn’t come in until four o’clock this morning. He tried to tell me he was working overtime, but I looked on the schedule after I got here. He wasn’t cleared for any overtime. He tried to tell me he was teamed up for some special operation with Deputy Howell. It was a special op, all right. I think he’s sneaking around with her behind my back and—”
“They were on a special operation,” Joanna interrupted. “I personally authorized the overtime last night. From now until we catch that I-10 carjacker, I want them ruising the freeway rest areas for as many hours a day as they can stand.”
Kristin’s face brightened. “Really?” she said.
Joanna sighed. “Really.”
Kristin shook her head. “I don’t know what’s gotten into Me. Terry tried telling me the same thing, but I didn’t believe hint.”
“It’s hormones, Kristin,” Joanna said patiently. “They’re all out of whack when you’re pregnant.” As she spoke, Joanna couldn’t help realizing that she had made the exact same kinds of accusations with Butch on Sunday—and without the benefit of hormonal imbalance to use as an excuse. “You’d better call Terry and apologize,” she added.
“I can’t. He’s asleep right now.”
“Well, when he wakes up later, call and apologize.”
“I will,” Kristin promised. “I’ll call as soon as I can.”
It was almost nine o’clock before Frank came dragging into Joanna’s office carrying yet another sheaf of papers, this one containing the stack of incident reports that would constitute the morning briefing.
“Sorry I’m late, Boss. With both of us out of the office all afternoon and half the night, there were a lot of pieces to pull together.”
“Don’t worry about being late,” she assured him. “If you think your desk is a disaster, look at mine. So what’s on today’s agenda—other than Rob Whipple’s murder and the Texas Canyon carjacking?”
“Burton Kimball cut a deal for Sally Matthews.”
“What kind of deal?”
“He played the sympathy card big-time—as in, officials of the State of Arizona have already cost Sally Matthews die life of her only daughter. Consequently, she shouldn’t he punished further, et cetera, et cetera. Phoenix PD busted Sally’s boyfriend, B. B. Ardmore, while he was making a drug sale in downtown Phoenix yesterday afternoon. If Sally agrees to turn state’s evidence and if she tells investigators everything she knows about B. B.’s organization and his associates, she’s off the hook. She also has to agree to enter rehab as soon as possible after Dora’s funeral, which is currently scheduled for Friday afternoon at two o’clock.”