Dead to Rights

FIVE

It was so late by the time Joanna finally escaped the office that Eva Lou and Jim Bob Brady, Jenny’s paternal grandparents, insisted that they both stay in town for dinner. Joanna was only too happy to accept what was offered. Eva Lou’s winter evening fare included a hearty bowl of navy bean soup and a thick slab of her prizewinning, skillet-baked corn bread.

Naturally, Bucky Buckwalter’s death was one of the major topics of conversation, although Joanna tried to keep the discussion as low-key as possible. Joanna avoided the use of the word “murder,” saying only that Doc Buckwalter had died in a fire in the animal clinic’s small barn.

“But Kiddo’s all right?” Jenny asked in a subdued voice. “He didn’t get hurt or anything, did he?^”

One of the reasons Jenny had always liked going to the clinic was that Bucky had often let her go out to the corral to give the vet’s rangy gelding a carrot or two.

“No,” Joanna assured her. “Kiddo’s fine.”

Jenny turned her fathomless blue eyes on her grandfather. “Kiddo^’s a nice horse,” she said. “Dr. Buckwalter promised me once that he’d let me ride him someday. I guess now that’ll never happen.”

“No,” Jim Bob agreed. “I don’t suppose it will.”

“What about Tigger?” Jenny asked. “Will he be able to come home tomorrow?”

Joanna knew from talking to Bebe Noonan that Bucky hadn’t managed to pull out Tigger’s porcupine quills prior to his death. Terry Buckwalter had been in the process of getting Dr. Reginald Wade, the vet from Douglas, to come look after whatever animals were still in need of treatment-Tigger included. But Jenny seemed to be on a fairly even keel this evening, and Joanna didn’t want to say or do anything that would upset her.

“Most likely he’ll be home tomorrow, although I’m not sure when.”

“Before I go to school?”

“We’ll see,” Joanna told her. If there was going to be an-other blowup on the subject, Joanna wanted it to take place after they left Jim Bob and Eva Lou’s cozy duplex rather than before.

Jenny finished the last of her soup, put down her spoon, and pushed her chair away from the table. “Can I be excused then?” she asked, addressing her grandmother.

“May I,” Joanna corrected automatically.

Eva Lou smiled. “Sure, sweetie,” she said. “You run along and play for a while. It’ll give your mom a chance to relax a little.”

Jenny darted out of the dining room, heading for the bedroom/playroom her grandparents had declared her private domain in a house that was often Jennifer Brady’s home away from home. Jim Bob Brady waited until she was out of earshot. ‘‘So old Bucko bit it,^” he said solemnly. “He couldn’t have been very old.”

“Fifty-three,” Joanna answered, sipping the cup of after-dinner decaf Eva Lou had placed in front of her.

“He was always a great one with horses, even when he was little,” Jim Bob continued. “I’ll never forget that deal with the second-story horse up Brewery Gulch. You ever hear about that?”

Eva Lou nodded. It was a story they had all heard many times, but Joanna obligingly shook her head. “Second-story horse?” she asked.

“Bucky wasn’t no more’an eleven or twelve when he pulled that one off. A couple of drunken rodeo riders raised so much trouble in Tombstone during Heldorado that they got run out of town. They ended up in a rented room up over the old Plugged Nickel. That was back before the place burned down. The next day they went right back to Tomb-stone, got in a card game, and won themselves a horse. I don’t know if they cheated or what, but that night, because they were afraid the former owner would come try to steal the horse back, they took the critter upstairs with them when they went to bed.”

“Upstairs?” Joanna asked, egging him on. “You mean over the bar?”

“That’s right. The bartender heard the horse moving around up there and called the cops. None of the city cops had any idea what to do. When they first got there, they could barely open the door to the room because that horse’s butt was right in the way. He was standin’ there tied to the bed-post, just as pretty as could be, with both the drunks passed out cold on the bed.

“The one cop had a camera with him. He was gonna take a picture to prove it was real, that it wasn’t something he and his partner had just made up. Fortunately, the other cop had the good sense to talk him out of it. If a flash had gone off behind him like that, the horse most likely would’ve gone straight out the window and ended up splattered all over the street.

“Anyways, the police were still millin’ around out front and scratchin’ their heads when Bucky Buckwalter came down the Gulch to pick up the papers for his paper route. Except for him, his whole family was a shiftless bunch of donothin’s, but that Bucky was a worker. He was out making his own way long before he shoulda.

“So Bucky showed up and found out what was goin’ on. He convinced the cops to give him a chance to bring the horse out. And he did it, too. Covered the horse’s eyes with his jacket and then led him right down them wooden stairs, one step at a time, talkin’ to him a mile a minute like those so-called horse whisperers you hear so much about these days.

“Li^ll Bucky got his picture in the paper afterward, too. Everybody said he was a hero. Once they sobered up, those cowboys sure as heck thought so, too. Get thinkin’ about it, I do believe they even gave him a reward.”

“Nobody ever said he wasn’t good with animals,” Joanna said quietly, thinking of Terry Buckwalter and Hal Morgan. “But when it came to people…” Deciding against saying anything more, Joanna let the unfinished statement linger in the air.

“So the killer’s that fellow from Wickenburg then?” Eva Lou said, changing the subject. “The one whose wife died up in Phoenix? That’s what it sounded like on the news tonight.”

“Hal Morgan is under investigation in the case,” Joanna told them. “But that’s all. Under investigation. It’s still too early to say. Ernie Carpenter talked to some of the i e lilt who used to work with Morgan when he was a police officer in southern California. They all said he was a great cop who would never take the law into his own hands.”

“But who knows what a fella will do if he’s pushed too far?” Jim Bob Brady asked. “I, for one, can see that the poor guy’s got a point. After all, his wife is dead. Gone for good. All Bucky gets hit with for doin’ it is nothin’ more than a little ol’ slap on the wrist. What’s a man supposed to do?”

“Let justice take its course,” Joanna said. “Bucky was given a legal sentence for vehicular manslaughter. He was also sentenced to undergo drug- and alcohol-treatment. He did both those things. According to our judicial system, he paid his debt to society. That should have been the end of it.

“Guess that’s pretty much Arlee Campbell’s position, too,” Jim Bob said.

Arlee Campbell ran the county attorney’s office, and Jim Bob’s assessment was right on the money. One of the reasons Joanna had been late leaving the office was due to the fact that she had been tied up talking on the phone with the county attorney himself. She had listened to old Windbag Campbell go on and on, at tedious length, telling her all about how murder is murder, no matter what. About how vigilante justice amounts to no justice at all.

“You’re right,” Joanna said. “Arlee told me this evening that if we end up charging Hal Morgan with Bucky’s murder the county attorney’s office will prosecute him to the full ex^. tent of the law.”

“How’s Terry taking all this?” Eva Lou asked. “She’s al-ways seemed like such a down-to-earth person and just a: pleasant as she could be.”

“All right,” Joanna said, choosing not to mention that throughout the hour long, late-afternoon interview with Ernie Carpenter, Bucky Buckwalter’s widow had never shown the slightest sign of any emotion other than her initial surprise.

“I suppose it’s too early to know about funeral arrangements,” Jim Bob ventured as he stood up to begin clearing the table.

“As a matter of fact it isn’t,” Joanna told them. “By the time Ernie Carpenter and I got around to talking to Terry, she had already contacted Norm Higgins. The funeral home will be picking up the body from Dr. Winfield’s office as soon as he finishes the autopsy. According to Terry, the funeral will be at the mortuary up in Bisbee on Friday morning.”

“We should go by all means,” Eva Lou said. “Put it on the calendar, Jim Bob.” Eva Lou turned back to Joanna. “Do you have any idea what time?”

“It’ll be ten o’clock,” Jim Bob said. “That’s when of Norm likes to schedule them things. Any earlier, he says, and you have to rush breakfast. Any later, and you end up missing lunch.”

“Norm Higgins could afford to miss a few breakfasts and lunches,” Eva Lou observed.

Jim Bob held up a hand. “Now, Eva Lou,” he told his wife. “Don’t you go being so hard on the man. Norm Higgins is an old buddy of mine.”

“An overweight old buddy of yours,” Eva Lou added.

Listening to her in-laws’ gentle bickering only under-scored the loving humor that was a hallmark of their long-term marriage. Their constant sparring back and forth was part of what made their relationship work. Their companion-able squabble somehow made Joanna feel better

She watched as Jim Bob Brady carefully made a penciled notation of the memorial service on the Davis Insurance Agency calendar that graced the Bradys’ kitchen wall. Looking at him, she realized fondly that here was a man-the genuine article. She’d bet her life that her father-in-law had never once been reduced to carrying a packet of condoms around in his wallet. If Jim Bob Brady died first, Eva Lou wouldn’t be in for any unpleasant surprises in that regard.

Joanna put down her empty cup, pushed back her own chair, and made for the kitchen sink. “Oh, no, you don’t,” Eva Lou told her. “You go on home and attend to your chores. Jim Bob and I will do the dishes. It’s his turn to wash, mine to wipe.”

“You’re sure?”

“Of course I’m sure.” Eva Lou smiled. “I wouldn’t want Jimmy here to have a chance to stop complaining about his dishpan hands.” She paused then, and looked her daughter-in-law in the eye. “How are you doing?”

Joanna gave her mother-in-law a wan smile. “You read me like a book, don’t you? I’m doing medium. I guess this is all hitting just a little too close to home. Once upon a time, in the good old days, murder was something that happened somewhere else, to people we didn’t know.”

“Well,” said Eva Lou kindly. “You go on home and try not to think about it.”

Leaving her stack of dishes on the counter, Joanna was only too happy to oblige. “Come on, Jenny,” she called down the short hallway.

It took several minutes to gather Jenny’s gear-school books, jacket, and lunch box-as well as Joanna’s own purse. It was only eight-thirty or so by the time they reached High Lonesome Ranch, but Joanna was so tired that it felt like much litter.

A single bulb burning outside the garage told Joanna that Clayton Rhodes, her eighty-something neighbor and hired hand, had come by and fed all the animals. Paying Clayton to do the outdoor chores on a regular basis had been Joanna’s first big concession to being a single mother with a young child and a demanding career. There simply wasn’t enough of her to go around when it came to taking care of Jenny, doing the housework, and looking after two dogs and ten head of cattle as well.

When she reached the back door, Joanna found a scrawled note from Clayton stuck on the door frame with a pushpin. “Fed Sadie,” the note said. “Couldn’t find no Tigger. He maybe run off.”

Guiltily, Joanna crumpled the note and stuck it in her pocket. It had been thoughtless of her not to have left word about Tigger for Clayton so he wouldn’t have worried or wasted any time looking for an animal that was safely stowed in a kennel at the Buckwalter Animal Clinic. Meantime, Sadie, lonely after a day on her own, was ecstatically licking Jenny’s face.

“Don’t let her do that,” Joanna admonished.

“She’s just kissing me because she missed me,” Jenny said. “It doesn’t hurt anything.”

Joanna managed to stifle an urge to deliver an Eleanor Lathrop-like lecture on the subject of dogs and germs. In-stead, she sent Jenny off to take her bath and settled down at the telephone desk in the living room to take messages off the machine. There were several.

“I’m home,” Eleanor Lathrop said through the recording machine’s speaker. She sounded chipper as ever, as though, for her cross-country plane flights were mere everyday occurrences. ‘‘Give me a call as soon as you get home. We need to get organized about tomorrow. Have you made any arrangements for Eva Lou and me to get out to Palominas t(the women’s club luncheon?”

Eleanor had been back in town only a matter of hours. Minutes, maybe. Already she was dishing out orders. Joanna seeing her mother through the prism of her own difficulties with Jenny, was determined not to let it affect her. She made a note to call her mother.

The next message came on. “Hello, Joanna,” said Bisbee Bee reporter Marliss Shackleford. “Do give me a call at home this evening.”

Joanna gritted her teeth. Marliss, who took a good deal of pride in her self-styled position as gossip columnist for the local paper, had been a thorn in Joanna Brady’s side for fat longer than she had been writing “Bisbee Buzzings.” Naturally Marliss was far too important to do anything as courteous or convenient as leaving her telephone number on the message.

“I guess I’m supposed to know it by heart,” Joanna muttered to herself, as she made a note on the pad.

The third call was from Joanna’s most unlikely friend-Angie Kellogg, a former L.A. hooker who, with Joanna’s and Marianne Maculyea’s help, had managed to escape “the life.” Angie now lived in her own little two-bedroom house and worked as a bartender up in Brewery Gulch. The Blue Moot Saloon and Lounge was right next door to the empty lot that had once held the Plugged Nickel. Because Angie was still relatively new to town and reveling in what she saw as the “Wild West” atmosphere, Joanna made a note to remind herself to tell Angie the story about Bucky Buckwalter and the second-story horse.

“You’re not going to believe this,” Angie’s message said breathlessly. “They’ve called me for jury duty. That’s never happened to me before. It says I have to go to the courthouse three weeks from now. Is this for real? Do I have to do it? Call me.”

Joanna laughed as she made another note and erased that one. Angie had only recently succeeded in passing her driver’s-license exam for the very first time. No doubt, that had landed her in the motor-voter rolls, and on the jury-selection list as well. Given the context of Angie’s previous life, her consternation was easy to understand. And if this was a first for Angie, Joanna thought, there was a good possibility that the reverse was also true. It was distinctly possible that having an ex-hooker on a jury would be breaking new legal ground in Cochise County.

The next two calls were both hang-ups with no message. “If you don’t leave a message, I can’t call you back,” Joanna informed her anonymous callers.

The last message was from Bebe Noonan. “Mrs. Brady, I’m sorry to call so late, but I wanted you to know that Dr. Wade just finished treating Tigger. He’ll be ready to come home tomorrow. Dr. Wade will be at the clinic early tomorrow morning to make arrangements either to send all remaining animals home or to transfer them to his facility down in Douglas. If you could come pick Tigger up sometime between seven and nine in the morning, we’d really appreciate it.

“Mom,” Jenny called from the bathroom. “What are you doing?”

“Taking messages and returning telephone calls,” Joanna said, pressing the erase button. “What do you need?”

“Nothing.”

Shaking her head, Joanna dialed her mother. “Hi, Mom How are you?”

“Bushed,” Eleanor said. “If you hadn’t called me back within the next ten minutes, I was going to take the phone off the hook and go to bed. They don’t call it jet lag for nothing. My body is still on East Coast time. I feel like it’s the middle of the night instead of just a little past nine.”

“Go to bed then,” Joanna said. “What’s stopping you?”

But Eleanor was already off on her own tangent. “It’s such shame they’ve had to close the hotel kitchen for the time being. It’s makes it terribly inconvenient that they’ve moved the luncheon so far out of town.”

A grease fire the week before had put the Copper Queer Hotel’s kitchen facility out of commission. The establishment was now on a month-long enforced sabbatical while work-men cleaned up the mess and spruced the place back up. One of the previously scheduled functions that had been forced to move to an alternate facility was the Cochise County Women’s Club midwinter luncheon.

“Palominas isn’t that far,” Joanna said. “And I’m sure the dining room at the Rob Roy will be more than adequate. People claim the food there is great.”

“Be that as it may,” Eleanor returned severely. “It’s still a real hardship for some people. Take Eva Lou, for example The Bradys have only the one car. Since it’s a ‘ladies only’ event, Jim Bob isn’t invited. You can hardly expect him to drive Eva Lou all that way out to the golf course and then just hang around in the parking lot waiting for the luncheon to get over.”

It occurred to Joanna that Jim Bob Brady was entirely capable of fending for himself, including walking into the restaurant and ordering his own lunch. Unfortunately, Eleanor Lathrop had her own particular take on the situation, and she wasn’t letting up.

“Couldn’t you give Eva Lou a ride?” Joanna asked.

“Me!” Eleanor echoed. “Do you mean to say that I’m not riding to the luncheon with you? After all, you’re the honored guest, and I am your mother.”

“But-”

“It never occurred to me that I wouldn’t be riding with you. I’ve already made arrangements to have a tune-up on the Volare tomorrow morning. I’m supposed to drop it off at the shop tomorrow morning at eight.”

Joanna had started the conversation with the best of intentions. She had been determined to give Eleanor the same benefit of the doubt that Joanna wanted from Jenny. Within seconds, however, she could feel herself being sucked back into all the old games.

“Mother,” Joanna cautioned. “With everything that went on at the office today, the department is going to be a zoo. I’m not sure what time I’ll be able to get away.”

“Well then,” Eleanor sniffed. “If you can’t take me, I guess I won’t be able to go at all.”

“What about Margaret Turnbull? She’s going, isn’t she? Couldn’t you ride out with her?”

“For goodness’ sake,” Eleanor said. “She drove all the way up to Tucson today, just to pick me up. Haven’t we already inconvenienced her enough? Just forget it. It won’t kill me to miss it.”

Joanna sighed. It was the same old story. Checkmate, she thought. Why couldn’t she get along with Eleanor the way she did with Eva Lou? Was it Eleanor’s fault or Joanna’s?

“AII right,” Joanna said, knuckling tinder the same way she always did. “Call Eva Lou and have Jim Bob drop her off at your house. The luncheon doesn’t start until noon. I’ll pick you both up at your house around eleven-thirty.”

“Is that soon enough?” Eleanor asked. “I’d hate to be late. Wouldn’t eleven-fifteen be better?”

Joanna closed her eyes. Give the woman an inch … she thought.

“Eleven-thirty will be plenty of time, Mother,” Joanna said, striving mightily to keep her tone civil. “Since I’m supposedly the guest of honor, I’m sure they won’t start without us.”

“I certainly hope not,” Eleanor said.

“Good night, Mother.”

But Eleanor Lathrop was just hitting her stride. She wasn’ nearly ready to punch the “off” switch. “Remind me to give you your presents tomorrow when I see you. I brought wonderful little coat home for Jenny, and you’ll never believe what I got you. Guess.”

“I can’t. Tell me.”

“Egg cups.”

“Egg cups?” Joanna asked.

“Marcie is such a wonderful housekeeper,” Eleanor gushed. “And on Sundays, she makes these wonderful break fasts with that expensive microwave bacon and fresh squeezed orange juice and soft-boiled eggs in these marvelous little egg cups, with tiny spoons and everything. Eating those breakfasts made me feel so spoiled, like I was living in a book, an English novel with rashers of bacon and all that. You’ll love them, by the way. The egg cups, I mean.”

“I’m sure I will, Mother,” Joanna said, feeling virtuous for not pointing out that neither she nor Jenny was particularly fond of soft-boiled eggs. “And I’ll remind you to give them to me. In the meantime, I’m going to have to go. I have several other calls to return.”

“Isn’t it after nine?” Eleanor asked. “Are you sure it’s all right to call people back this late?”

“I’m sure it’s all right, but the longer we talk, the later it gets,” Joanna returned. “Welcome back and good night, Mother. See you tomorrow.”

“Good night, Joanna,” Eleanor said. “See you at eleven-thirty sharp, but make it earlier if you possibly can.”

“Right,” Joanna said, returning the handset to its cradle. “Will do.”

She reached into the top drawer and pulled out the phone book. Marliss Shackleford’s number was listed under the initial M. Marliss herself answered after only one ring.

“Sheriff Brady here,” Joanna said. “Returning your call.”

One of the things Joanna disliked about Marliss was the way the woman purred into the phone. “Oh, Joanna,” she breathed. “I’m so glad you were able to get back to me to-night. With all those goings-on about Dr. Buckwalter, I wasn’t sure you’d manage it.”

Wanting to keep the call on a strictly businesslike basis, Joanna tried to pass the buck. “If you’re calling about that, Marliss, you’ll have to go through Chief Deputy Montoya. He’s the department’s official public information officer. It’s best if all media inquiries are channeled through him. He’ll be back in the office at eight o’clock in the morning…”

“Don’t worry,” Marliss said. “This has nothing whatever to do with the Buckwalter case. I was calling you about some-thing else entirely.”

“What?” Joanna’s question sounded blunt, but she let it stand. She was too tired to do anything else.

“I was calling about Marianne Maculyea,” Marliss said.

“Marianne,” Joanna echoed. “What about her?”

“I’m worried about her, is all,” Marliss said. “Several other people are as well. Is everything all right between her and Jeff?”

“Is everything all right? What kind of a question is that?’

“Well.” Marliss hesitated. “Jeff Daniels has been gone for almost a month now. I heard late this afternoon that the Canyon Methodist Board of Directors met earlier today. They had to advance Marianne quite a big chunk of money. You don’t suppose Jeff has gotten himself in some kind of trouble, do you?”

Joanna bristled. “Marliss, I’m sure whatever action the board took was supposed to be confidential.”

“Oh, of course.”

“Are you on the board of directors?” Joanna demanded.

“No,” Marliss countered, “but one of my friends is. She said-”

“If it’s supposed to be confidential, then I don’t want to know what anyone said,” Joanna interrupted. “It’s none of my business, and it’s none of yours either, Marliss. Good night.”

“But wait,” the other woman said hurriedly. “Don’t hang up. What I’m afraid is that Jeff Daniels has gotten himself it some kind of trouble with the Chinese authorities and that Marianne needs the extra money to bail him out. He’s always struck me as sort of a hippie type. And I just saw a National Geographic program on TV, on public television, of course, that talked about all the drugs and hippies in Goa, India, which happens to be right next to China, you know. I thought that it anyone would be aware of what was really going on, it would be you.”

The word “hippie” might have gone out of favor in the rest of the world, but among old-time Bisbeeites it still accounted for anyone who veered ever so slightly out of the norm. With a mighty effort, a seething Joanna Brady attempted to keep from saying everything that was on her mind. The end result left her voice quivering like a serving of underdone church potluck Jell-O.

“Jeff Daniels went to China to bring home a baby,” Joanna said. “He’s in a place called Chengdu, which, as I understand it, is far better known for its coal dust than it is for drug trafficking. If there has been any delay in Jeff’s return, I’m sure it has absolutely nothing to do with what you regard as Jeff Daniels’ hippie tendencies.”

“Joanna, I’m only doing my job,” Marliss objected. “If there’s something going on, the public has a right-”

“No, you’re wrong, Marliss,” Joanna shot back. “This has nothing to do with your job. It has nothing to do with being a reporter and everything to do with being a gossip. Let me give you a word of advice, Marliss Shackleford. If one word of this shows up in that column of yours-one single word-I’ll come up to your office and make you eat the damn thing.”

“Joanna…”

“Marianne Maculyea may be a good enough Christian that she can turn the other cheek to people like you. But I’m not. I’m nothing but a poor, miserable sinner. My cheeks don’t turn.”

“That sounded like a threat.”

“As a matter of fact, it was,” Joanna growled into the phone. “You can count on it.”

She flung down the receiver and stood there glaring at it with as much loathing as if it were a coiled snake, one that might strike at any moment. Seconds later she was stabbed by an attack of remorse. How much of that blast of steam had Marliss actually deserved and how much should have gone to Eleanor Lathrop? One thing was sure, however. Joanna wasn’t about to call Marliss back and apologize.

“Mom?” Jenny emerged from the bathroom, wearing nothing but a sodden bath towel wrapped around her still-wet body. Her blond hair dripped water onto the carpet. “What’s the matter?” she asked, looking up at Joanna in big-eyed concern. “I heard you yelling. I was afraid something was wrong.”

Ignoring the wet towel, Joanna pulled Jenny to her, holding the child close. “I’m fine now,” Joanna said.

“But who was that on the phone?”

“It doesn’t matter,” Joanna said. “It wasn’t important.” “It wasn’t Grandma Lathrop, was it?”

“No, it was somebody else-someone who made me mad. You don’t need to worry. It has nothing to do with you.”

“But you hardly ever yell,” Jenny said, her eyes misting over with a veil of tears. “Usually, when you get mad at me, you get quiet, not loud.”

Moving Jenny to arm’s length, Joanna smiled down at her. “You know me pretty well, don’t you.”

Biting her lip, Jenny nodded.

“Well,” Joanna continued. “The person on the phone wasn’t very nice. Sometimes that’s contagious. I ended up yelling, and that makes me almost as bad as she is.”

Jenny considered that for a moment. “Back before Daddy died, I used to think that everyone was nice.”

Joanna shook her head, then gathered her daughter into her arms once more. “So did I,” she said. “But, Jenny, we have to remember that most people still are. There are just a few bad apples. And you know what they do, don’t you?”

Jenny nodded gravely. “Grandpa Brady says they spoil the whole barrel.”

“Right,” Joanna said. “Now off you go to bed. It’s getting late. We have to get up early in the morning to go pick up Tigger. Bebe Noonan left a message that we can come get him anytime after seven.”

“You mean I can go, too?”

“If you’re ready.”

Motivated, Jenny started for her bedroom. “Good night,” she said from the doorway.

“Good night, Jenny.”

She went into her bedroom and closed the door. A moment later it opened again. “Mom?”

“What now?” Joanna asked.

“How many apples are in a barrel?”

Joanna couldn’t help laughing. “I have no idea,” she said. “That’s a question only Grandpa Jim Bob can answer. You’ll have to ask him. Good night now. Go.”

When the door closed for the second time and stayed closed, Joanna breathed a sigh of relief. For that one evening at least, Jenny had seemed like her old self. That was some-thing to be grateful for, something to appreciate. It made her hassles with both Eleanor Lathrop and Marliss Shackleford pale in significance.

Smiling to herself, Joanna picked up the phone once more. This time she dialed Angie Kellogg to let her know that being selected for jury duty wasn’t the end of the world. At least this time when Angie showed up in a courtroom, it would be with the prospect of someone else going to jail. That ought to be some small consolation.