Dead Wrong

Chapter 5

Dealing with Margaret and Donald Dixon made for a very long evening. Don Dixon wasn’t all that bad. Margaret, though, was something else. Prior to meeting Butch’s mother, Joanna had often wondered why Butch found her own pill of a mother, Eleanor, so easy to tolerate. Unlike Joanna, Butch was always able to shrug off Eleanor’s sometimes mean-spirited comments and biting criticism with an air of bemused indifference. It turned out he had been inoculated by a lifetime’s worth of dealing with his own mother, who made Eleanor’s pointed comments seem like nuanced suggestions made by a career diplomat.

In other words, Margaret Leona Dixon was a ring-tailed bitch. Her sole purpose in life seemed to be cutting everyone else down to size, starting with but not limited to the shortcomings of her own son. Butch’s geographical cure to his mother’s perpetually negative attitude had been to migrate from Chicago to Arizona, and he had done so without looking back. He hadn’t seen his parents in years when they had unexpectedly shown up in the days prior to Joanna and Butch’s wedding.

Now they were back. Without Butch there to run interference, they were back in spades. The RV park down by the country club was already filled to the brim with migrating snowbirds, so the Dixons’ immense motor home was now parked next to Butch’s garage, with a long orange extension cord providing power. Joanna’s heart sank at the possibility that they were settling in for the duration.

For that Saturday evening, the Dixons’ sole saving grace was that they both liked Mexican food. Chico‘s Taco Stand, south of Bisbee’s Don Luis neighborhood, wasn’t long on atmosphere. Its recycled fifties vintage red vinyl booths and serve-yourself counter-based food service didn’t measure up to Margaret’s high-end expectations, but the food was unarguably good. Even good food, however, wasn’t enough to lessen the venom in Margaret’s running commentary.

“With the baby due in the next few days,” she said, toying with her paper plate loaded with peppery carne asada, “I simply can’t imagine why Butch would run off to El Paso like this. It makes no sense. It’s inexcusable.”

“His publisher wanted him to go,” Joanna said patiently. “And so did I. It’s an honor to be invited to appear on a conference panel before your book is even released.”

“Honor or not, it’s irresponsible for him to leave you alone like this, especially in your condition. Besides, I don’t see why it’s such a big deal,” Margaret replied. “His book is only a mystery, isn’t it? After all, it’s not as though it’s a real book.”

“It is too a real book,” Jenny objected. “I’ve seen the cover and everything.”

“Well, of course it would have a cover,” Margaret conceded.

“All books have covers. But I belong to two book clubs-one in Chicago in the summer and one in Hot Springs, Arkansas, in the winter, and we don’t read mysteries. Ever. They’re just too…too…

Fun? Joanna thought.

“Too light,” Margaret finished at last. “Not enough literary merit. I’m sure you know what I mean.”

“Yes,” Joanna agreed with a pained smile on her face. “I know just what you mean.”

“But of course,” Margaret added, “if you’re going to make money, I suppose you have to write the kind of thing that appeals to the unwashed masses.” Then, without the slightest pause, she turned her full attention on Jenny. “So you’re in what now, sixth grade?”

“Eighth,” Jenny answered.

“And are you still as horse-crazy as you used to be, or have you outgrown that nonsense? Being a tomboy is usually just a stage, you know. Most girls, unless they’re odd or lesbians or something, do outgrow it sooner or later.”

Not waiting for Jenny to reply, Joanna charged to her daughter’s defense. “Jenny’s a fine young horsewoman, an exceptional horsewoman! She’s already participated in several rodeos. As a matter of fact, we’re already looking into the possibility of her applying for a rodeo scholarship. Several universities offer them.”

It was Margaret’s turn to look pained. “A rodeo scholarship for girls?” she asked. “I’ve never heard of such a thing. Only schools out here in the Wild West would do that. None of the schools in Chicago gives out rodeo scholarships.”

At that juncture, Joanna’s cell phone rang and the caller ID told her Jaime Carbajal was on the phone. Reluctant as she was to leave Jenny to face down Margaret Dixon on her own, Joanna excused herself and went outside to take the call.

“What have you got?” she asked.

“A big fat nothing,” Jaime returned. “You’re probably right about her, Sheriff Brady. Anna Marie doesn’t look like our doer. We did some checking with her neighbors. None of them has a bad word to say about her. She doesn’t get out much-still has her own car but needs someone to drive it for her. No one matching Bradley Evans’s description has been seen on or even near Short Street. We know now that our victim drove a red Ford F-100 pickup truck, an old beater with a camper shell on it that he bought from Junque for Jesus. No one admitted to seeing a vehicle like that anywhere near Short Street, either. And, like Ted Chapman told us, it wasn’t left at Evans’s apartment in Douglas, either.”

It was gratifying for Joanna to hear that her initial impression of Anna Marie Crystal seemed to have been validated by her investigators. Learning to trust that kind of gut instinct was an integral part of being a good detective. And in tight situations, well-honed gut instinct was sometimes the only thing that made the difference between life and death.

“You’ve issued an APB on the vehicle?” she asked.

“Yes, ma’am.”

“And you’ve been through Evans’s place?”

“Yes,” Jaime replied. “That’s where we spent most of the day. Evans’s landlady was real coy about not letting anyone into his place without our having a valid search warrant in hand.”

“And?”

“Believe me,” Jaime returned, “it’s not a crime scene. Nothing out of place. No sign of a struggle. The place was locked when we arrived and it was clean as a whistle. Dishes were all washed and put away. Dirty clothes were in a hamper. Everything else was either hung up or folded. A well-thumbed Bible was in the middle of the kitchen table. It reminded me of a room in a monastery.”

“Did he have a computer?” Joanna asked.

“Nope. Evans was evidently a low-tech kind of guy. Just to cover the bases, I’ve made arrangements for Casey Ledford to come down here tomorrow and dust for prints, but I’m guessing the only prints we’re going to find will belong to Bradley Evans himself.”

“Did he have a girlfriend?” Joanna asked.

“We checked with the neighbors and the landlady on that. If he did have a girl pal, he was mighty cagey about it because nobody mentioned seeing a woman coming or going. And there’s nothing in the apartment that indicates that a woman has ever even visited the place-the bed in the bedroom is definitely a single.”

“Anything else?” Joanna asked when Jaime’s voice trailed away.

“That’s about it.”

“It sounds like both you and Ernie have put in a long day,” Joanna said. “Go home. We’ll take another look at things in the morning.”

“Okay,” Jaime said.

Joanna ended the call and was putting her phone away when it rang again. “Joey?” Butch asked. His voice was alive with excitement. “I’m so glad I caught you. You’ll never guess what’s happened.”

“What?”

“Carole Ann entered the manuscript for Serve and Protect into a contest for new writers, and I won. It’s called a New Voice Award and it comes with a check for ten thousand dollars. Can you believe it? Some well-heeled charitable foundation from back east hands out five of them a year, and they’re planning on giving me mine tonight at the banquet. Carole Ann knew about it in advance, but it was supposed to be a surprise. A few minutes ago, at the cocktail party, I told her I had decided to skip the banquet and come home. That’s when she told me. Is this exciting or what?”

“It is exciting, all right,” Joanna agreed, trying unsuccessfully to match her enthusiasm with his. “Amazing and wonderful!”

Through the long, sometimes stormy months of Joanna’s pregnancy, Butch Dixon had become extremely adept at deciphering his wife’s hormone-driven mood swings.

“What’s wrong?” he asked now. “You sound funny. Are you all right? Is the baby coming?”

“The baby is not coming,” Joanna said. “It’s still too soon. It’s just that…”

“It’s just that what?”

“Your parents came instead.”

There was a long pause before Butch exclaimed, “You’re kidding!”

“No, I’m not. They were waiting at the house when Jenny and I came home from the car wash this afternoon. We’re having dinner at Chico‘s. Your parents are inside with Jenny. I’m out here in the parking lot. The RV park down in Naco is full, so they’ve parked their motor home at our place.” She paused before adding, “Did you know they were coming?”

“I had no idea whatsoever!” Butch sounded genuinely exasperated. “I mean, I told them when we thought the baby was due, but I never expected they’d show up like this. If you want me to, I’ll come straight home and send them packing.”

“No. That’s not necessary. We’ll get through it somehow.”

“But, Joanna…”

“As your mother said, it’s her first grandchild.” Joanna was careful not to add the “better late than never part,” to say nothing about Margaret’s snide “real book” comment. “And they must be terribly proud for them to have driven all this way,” she added.

“With them under hand and foot, we’ll go nuts,” Butch said bleakly.

“No, we won’t,” Joanna returned determinedly. “We’ll be fine.”

“But I should come home tonight,” Butch said. “As soon as they give me the award-”

“No, you stay right where you are and enjoy it,” Joanna told him. “I’m sorry I won’t be there to see it. Be sure to have Carole Ann take lots of pictures.”

“Are you positive?”

“Like I told you earlier, I’m a big girl, and I’m the sheriff, too. If I can handle crooks or a live-ammo shoot-out, I should be able to handle your mother.”

“A shoot-out might be less dangerous,” Butch said.

Joanna laughed. “I’d better go back inside and rescue Jenny. I’ve been gone a long time, and she probably needs it. But have fun, Butch. You’ve earned it.”

Returning to their booth, Joanna discovered that Jenny was gamely carrying on, regaling the Dixons with stories about Lucky and the trials and tribulations of training a deaf dog.

“I can’t imagine why anyone would want to keep a dog like that,” Margaret said. “If it were up to me, I’d have put the poor thing down. When animals are damaged like that, it’s not fair to keep them alive.”

Jenny may not have inherited her mother’s red hair, but Joanna’s hot temper was very much in evidence in the scathing look Jenny leveled at her newest grandmother.

“He’s not damaged, and he’s not a poor thing, either,” Jenny objected hotly. “Lucky’s a happy dog, and he’s also very smart. He can do all the things the other dogs do, but we use hand signals with him instead of words.”

Don, realizing that his wife had spoken out of turn, tried to smooth things over. “Are there trainers who specialize in working with deaf dogs?” he asked. “Did you have to send Lucky someplace special?”

“I’m training him at home,” Jenny declared. Sitting with her arms crossed, it was clear she wasn’t at all pacified. “Butch and I found a whole lot of information on the Internet and in some books, too. It just takes patience.”

And a little common sense, Joanna thought.

“Butch just called,” she said. On her way into the restaurant she had decided to let Butch give his parents the news about his unexpected award. Now, though, needing an icebreaker, she changed her mind and told them herself. “He’s receiving a new writer’s prize tonight, based on the quality of his manuscript for Serve and Protect. A prize and a check for ten thousand dollars. That’s why his editor was so adamant about him going to El Paso. She knew the award would be announced at the banquet tonight, and she wanted him there to receive it.”

“Great!” Don Dixon boomed. “That’s terrific news. Butch must be ecstatic.”

Margaret’s enthusiasm was notable for its absence. “Ten thousand dollars for a murder mystery?” she asked. “Imagine that!”

Her comment left Joanna grateful that Butch hadn’t been the one broaching the subject after all. Jenny, on the other hand, bounded out of the booth and began clearing the table.

“She’s a great little helper, isn’t she,” Margaret said. Fortunately, she didn’t see the silent roll of the eyes Jenny gave her mother on her way to the trash containers by the door.

“Yes,” Joanna agreed. “She certainly is.”

Back at High Lonesome Ranch, Jenny was quick to take Tigger and Lucky and retreat to her own bedroom, leaving Joanna to deal with the unexpected company as best she could. Margaret was full of unsolicited advice. On childbirth? Natural with no unnecessary anesthetics. Child rearing? Definitely in the corner of “Spare the rod; spoil the child.” Working mothers? A bad idea. Where did Joanna think this whole new generation of juvenile delinquents came from? Or ill-behaved household pets? Letting them have the run of the whole house was another bad idea-downright unsanitary and dangerous. How about all the children who ended up being mauled by family pets? Everything in Margaret’s litany of modern evils was laid at the door of working mothers. For Joanna it was all amazingly familiar. At times she wondered if Eleanor Lathrop Win-field and Margaret Dixon hadn’t been created with the DNA equivalent of a rubber stamp.

It was a relief when, at eight-thirty, the telephone rang. More than half hoping it was something that would necessitate her driving to a crime scene, Joanna lumbered her unbalanced center of gravity off the couch and went to answer.

“Sheriff Brady?” Ernie Carpenter asked.

“Yes.”

“You weren’t asleep or anything, were you?”

I wish, Joanna thought. “No,” she said. “Not at all. What’s up?”

“I know it’s late,” Ernie said, “but I was wondering if I could stop by for a while to talk to you.”

For the first time since Joanna had known him, Ernie Carpenter sounded oddly ill at ease and uncertain.

“If you’d like me to meet you at the department…” she began.

“No,” he said. “This is personal. If you don’t mind, I’d really rather stop by the house. I’m in town, so it’ll be a few minutes before I get there, but it won’t take long.”

“Sure,” Joanna said. “That’ll be fine.”

She went back to the couch and found both Margaret and Don Dixon looking at her expectantly. Ernie had explicitly arranged to meet with Joanna away from the department. Obviously whatever he had to say he wanted said in private and without Butch’s parents hanging on his every word.

“It’s one of my detectives,” she explained. “He’s coming by to brief me on the developments in one of our homicide cases.”

Fortunately Don Dixon took the hint. “Come on, Margaret,” he said, taking his wife’s hand and helping her to her feet. “We’d better turn in then. If Joanna has work to do, we certainly don’t want to be in the way.”

“You’re sure you’ll be warm enough out there?” Joanna asked. She had invited Margaret and Don to stay in the guest room and had been more than slightly relieved when they had turned her down.

“Oh, heavens, yes,” Margaret replied. “The RV is just as cozy as it can be.”

“Good night, then,” Joanna said. “Sleep well.”

Lady, who had made herself scarce with a strange man in the house, emerged from the bedroom and stayed next to Joanna on the couch. As soon as Ernie Carpenter turned up at the front door, Lady bailed again.

“Come in,” Joanna said, ushering Ernie into the living room. “Can I get you something?”

“I’m not working at the moment,” he said. “You wouldn’t happen to have a beer, would you?”

Joanna went out into the kitchen and returned with Butch’s last bottle of Michelob Ultra. “What’s up, Ernie?” she asked, handing it to him. “You look upset. Is something the matter? Is it Rose?”

Ernie took a long sip of beer. “No,” he said, lowering the bottle. “It’s me.”

“What about you?”

“It’s not something that’s easy to talk about,” he answered. “I mean, you being a woman and all…”

“Ernie,” she urged. “Tell me.”

He took another sip of beer. “You may have noticed I’ve missed some shifts lately.”

“Yes,” she said. “Frank and I had noticed.”

“Well,” Ernie said, “it’s because I’ve been seeing a doctor- up in Tucson. Rosie told me I needed to tell you about it, so you’d know what’s been going on.”

“What is going on?”

He sighed. “When I went in for my annual physical, Dr. Lee said my PSA was way out of whack. He sent me to a specialist in Tucson.”

“PSA?” Joanna asked, feeling stupid.

“Prostate-specific antigen,” Ernie explained. “It means I’ve got prostate cancer.”

For a moment, Joanna could think of nothing to say. Finally she said, “Ernie, I’m so sorry.”

He nodded. “Me, too. Believe me. I got the news a couple of weeks ago. For a while I just couldn’t process it. Couldn’t think how it was possible for me to have cancer. I’ve always been healthy as a horse. And then, just like that, you’re sitting there in the doctor’s office, he says the magic words and wham-o, all of a sudden you’re a cancer patient. It’s like falling off a cliff.”

Joanna thought about finding Andy lying wounded along High Lonesome Road. Yes, it had felt just like that. One minute she had been mad as hell at him for being late for their tenth-anniversary dinner, and the next minute she was crouched in the dirt, praying for help, and applying pressure to his gunshot wound in hopes of keeping Andy from bleeding to death. It had been exactly like falling off a cliff.

“What’s the prognosis?” she asked.

Ernie shrugged. “You know how doctors are. They think they caught it early and all that happy baloney^ but who knows? Since nobody ever had me do a PSA test before, they’re not really sure how long it’s been around.”

“What about treatment?” she asked.

“That’s the thing. We’ve been trying to find out what all the options are. Surgery, radiation, whatever. Rosie and I have been meeting with people-doctors and patients both-trying to figure out what’s the best thing to do. Supposedly I’m a good candidate for seeds…”

“Seeds?”

“Radiation seeds. Then there’s some hotshot new treatment called cryo-something, where they freeze things, but my oncologist says that’s still out there in the experimental stages. He thinks if the tumor has spread at all, the radioactive seeding is probably the best course of treatment. So that’s the way we’re going to go-with the seeds. I’ll probably end up being some glow-in-the-dark freak. Maybe my dick will end up qualifying as an alternate light source.”

Dark humor at crime scenes was part of how homicide cops coped. Joanna recognized his glow-in-the-dark comment as part and parcel of that-a grim attempt to lighten the mood. But she made no attempt to reply in kind.

“How long does the seed treatment take?” she asked.

“They say it’s not that big a deal. Supposedly it’s a minor procedure. If there aren’t any complications, I’ll most likely be back at work after just a couple of days. My recovery would be a lot longer if we opted for the surgery.”

“Whatever course of treatment you choose,” Joanna said, “it has to be the one that’s right for you. Don’t choose one over another because of how much time you’ll need off.”

“Thanks, boss,” he said.

“And thank you for telling me,” Joanna said, meaning it. “Have you told anyone else?”

Ernie shook his head. “Haven’t,” he said. “Not even Jaime, and I should have. And I need to tell Frank-or you can- because he should know. But beyond that I’d like to keep a low profile because I don’t want to make a big thing of it. People are funny. As soon as they hear somebody’s got cancer, they sort of write ‘ em off. I ’m not ready to be written off. Still, whatever happens, I don’t want to leave you shorthanded.”

“Don’t worry, Ernie,” she said. “We’ll manage. The important thing is for you to do whatever you need to do in order to get better. How’s Rose?”

Ernie Carpenter used the back of one meaty paw to swipe at something in the corner of his eye. “She’s a brick,” he said, his voice breaking. “I mean, she’s always been there for me, but now-” He broke off, shaking his head, and took another sip of the beer.

“Anyway,” he continued after a short pause, “all this sort of got my attention. Made me realize that I’m not gonna live forever. Last night Rose and I went to a meeting in Tucson. It’s a support group for people who’ve had prostate cancer. That’s why I wasn’t home when you called about going to Sierra Vista. So today I got to thinking. What happens if I don’t make it? What happens if the seeds don’t work? Jaime and I have been working all right together. We’re a good team, but considering what all’s been happening around here lately, you’re going to need another couple of detectives. Have you thought about that?”

“Some,” Joanna said. “Why? Do you have a suggestion?”

Expecting him to tick off a couple of the male deputies, Joanna was surprised by his answer. “Debbie,” Ernie replied with conviction. “Debra Howell. I know she’s fairly new and all that. She’s also a single mom, which would make the extra hours tough at times, but I think she’d be able to figure out a way to make it work. You of all people would know everything there is about that juggling routine, but Debbie’s got a good head on her shoulders, and she’s a real team player. That’s what this business takes-a team effort.”

“She’d have to pass the exam,” Joanna said.

“That won’t be a problem,” Ernie said. “She’s been studying. I’ve actually been giving her some coaching on the side.”

Joanna laughed. “After all the grief you and Richard Voland gave me when I first showed up, now you’re tutoring a female deputy to help prepare her for the detective exam?”

The smallest hint of a smile tweaked the turned-down corners of Ernie Carpenter’s mouth. “Well,” he said, “after all, you turned out all right, didn’t you?”

“You think she can pass?”

“Absolutely. And not just barely, either. She’ll ace the damned thing.”

“When are you planning on going in for treatment?” Joanna asked.

“As soon as they can get me scheduled, probably sometime late next week.”

“And you’re thinking we should bring Debbie in on a provisional basis to help out with what we have going right now?”

Ernie nodded.

“Anyone else you think we should look at?” Joanna asked.

“My next choice would have been Dave Hollicker, but you already tapped him for crime scene investigation, so he’s on the team anyway. Beyond Debbie, though, with so many of the experienced deputies off in the reserves, pickings around the department are a little thin.”

Joanna and Frank Montoya had arrived at much the same conclusion-that pickings were slim. And she had discounted approaching Debbie Howell about the possibility of becoming a detective for exactly the reason Ernie had mentioned-the fact that she was a single mother. Joanna hoped Ernie was too involved in his own difficulties to notice the flush of embarrassment that flooded her face.

“I’ll take it under advisement,” Joanna said. “But don’t say anything to Debbie about it until after Frank and I have a chance to discuss it.”

“Right,” Ernie said. “I won’t breathe a word.”

He stood up. “I’d better be going,” he said. “It’s getting late. I’ve taken up enough of your time.”

At the door, Joanna reached up and gave Ernie a hug. With the baby in the middle, it was an awkward, lumpy gesture, but Ernie seemed to appreciate it.

“Good luck,” she whispered.

There was another meaty paw swipe to the eyes. “Thanks, boss,” he murmured. “Appreciate it.”

After he left, Joanna dimmed the lights and returned to the couch. She sat there for a long time with one hand resting on her extended belly. It was night and almost bedtime, so naturally the little person in her womb was wide awake and raising hell. With Ernie gone, Lady once again emerged from the bedroom and cuddled up into a gray-and-white ball on the couch beside her.

“Did you know you’re unsanitary?” Joanna asked, absently stroking the Australian shepherd’s long soft coat. In answer Lady rolled her blue eyes in Joanna’s direction, thumped her cropped tail, and sighed contentedly.

Half an hour or so later, Joanna got up and waddled off to bed. She was sound asleep when Lucky and Tigger began barking furiously. Getting up, Joanna staggered out of bed in time to see Butch’s Subaru drive into the yard and come to a stop next to his parents’ RV Joanna hurried to the door to meet him as he came into the house.

“Congratulations, you big nut,” she said, kissing him hello. “Welcome home, but I thought I told you to stay where you were. What time is it?”

“Three,” he said. “Three forty-five, to be exact.”

“What time did you leave El Paso?” she asked.

“Better you should never know,” he said. “I’m taking the Fifth. Suffice it to say, though, there wasn’t very much traffic and zero enforcement. I left the banquet as soon as I could. I wasn’t about to leave you alone and in my mother’s clutches any longer than necessary. How are things?”

“Fine,” she said. “Come on. Let’s go to bed. You must be beat.”

“I am,” he agreed. “And I’m very glad to be home.”

Once in bed, Joanna curled up next to Butch. Comforted by her husband’s radiating warmth, she was soon sound asleep and slept better than she had in months.

On Sunday, Margaret and Don declined to go to church. After fixing them breakfast, Joanna, Jenny, and Butch were more than happy to leave their guests on their own for a couple of hours. That morning, Butch had put out one of their homegrown, freezer-wrapped beef roasts to thaw. After church they stopped by Safeway to pick up fresh vegetables and salad makings. Then they called George and Eleanor Winfield along with Jim Bob and Eva Lou Brady and arranged for an impromptu late-afternoon dinner party. Joanna hadn’t intended to be doing nonstop entertaining the last weekend before the baby’s official due date, but there didn’t seem to be any choice. Besides, there was always the dim hope that adding more people to the mix might help dilute Margaret’s ever-toxic presence.

Butch was putting the finishing touches on a roast beef dinner when Frank Montoya called. Briefly Joanna brought him up-to-date on Ernie’s revelations. “You want me to talk to Debbie about the prospect of her becoming a detective?” Frank asked.

“No,” Joanna said. “Ask her to see us when she comes on shift tomorrow. We can talk to her together. Anything else going on?”

“Not much,” Frank told her. “I had three deputies patrolling that northeast sector last night. Nothing at all turned up in San Simon. As far as anyone could tell, there was no unusual traffic coming and going from Roostercomb Ranch. The whole area was dead as can be. With that in mind, I’m thinking we should probably drop the increased surveillance. After all, Patrol is stretched so thin…”

“No,” Joanna said. “Leave it as is again tonight. Maybe Sunday is when the O’Dwyers do their thing.”

“Maybe,” Frank agreed grudgingly. “But I doubt it. I can’t help wondering if Jeannine has her facts straight.”

“Let’s give it another day,” Joanna said. “And pray the rest of the county doesn’t go haywire in the meantime. That’s not too much to ask, is it?”

“We’ll see,” Frank said ominously. “We’ll know more about that come tomorrow, when the reports are in and it’s time for the morning briefing.”