J. Jance - Dead to Rights

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.”