J. Jance - Dead to Rights

“No need to apologize, Ernie,” she said.

“Thanks. At any rate, I’m going to head back up there in a few minutes and try talking again to his daughter, Hannah.”

“You think maybe she had something to do with his death?”

“We’ll see. According to Carruthers’ doctor up in Willcox, Hannah Green has been her father’s sole caregiver for a number of years now. His condition has kept her virtually home-bound. Who else would have had an opportunity? Maybe taking care of him got to be too much for her and she just lost it-lost control. That happens sometimes. What gripes me is that I didn’t see it to begin with.”

Joanna nodded. “All right,” she said. “But if you’re off to see Hannah Green, what about Hal Morgan?”

Carpenter gave Joanna one of his beetle-browed frowns. “What about him?” he asked. “The guy’s still in the hospital, isn’t he?”

“As far as I know. Have you talked to him yet?”

Ernie shook his head. “Not so far. His doctor wouldn’t let me near the guy last night. I may be able to see him later on this afternoon, when I get back to town. I wanted to wait until I had autopsy results, and they won’t be ready until later today. I just left the coroner’s office a few minutes ago. Dr. Winfield is up to his ass in alligators this morning. As I walked out the door, he was completing the paperwork on one autopsy and had yet to start the next one.”

“Autopsy results or not,” Joanna interrupted, “you’re still convinced that Hal Morgan’s our man? That he’s responsible for Bucky Buckwalter’s death?”

“No question.” Ernie Carpenter answered without the slightest hesitation. “We’ve got him dead to rights on this one. You can count on it, Sheriff Brady.”

“All right,” Joanna said. “Keep me hosted.”

Moments later, with Ernie oft and running, Joanna turned back to the various stacks of paper littering her desk. Determinedly, she shoved the material concerning Bonnie Morgan’s death back into its file folder, then she refocused her attention on the half-completed conference registration form. With that finished, she tackled the backed up correspondence.

Concentrating on clearing her desk, Joanna totally lost track of time. She was reading over an incomprehensible set of new federally mandated guidelines regarding jail-inmate rights when Kristin tapped on her door once again.

“What is it now?” Joanna asked.

“Your mother’s on the line,” Kristin answered. “She’s wondering where you are and aren’t you going to be late for the luncheon?”

It took a second or two for realization to dawn. “Damn!” Joanna muttered, leaping out of her chair and grabbing her purse. “What time is it, anyway?”

“Twenty to twelve,” Kristin answered.

“I’m late,” Joanna said as she bolted toward the private entrance in the corner of her office, one that opened directly onto her reserved parking place. “Tell her I’m on my way.”

She started the Blazer and rammed the gear shift into re-verse. If eleven-thirty was too late to pick up Eleanor Lathrop and Eva Lou Brady to take them to the women’s club lunch-eon, then eleven forty-five would be that much worse.

Nice going, Joanna told herself as she headed for her mother’s house. What do you do for an encore?

Expecting to be raked over the coals because of her late arrival, Joanna was surprised to find that her mother was in an expansive mood. While Joanna pushed the Blazer well beyond the posted speed limits, Eleanor regaled Eva Lou Brady with stories about her trip to Washington. It seemed that everything Bob and Marcie Brundage had done to entertain her had been perfectly wonderful, with the minor exception of finding a suitable beautician.

“I was so happy to get back to Helen Barco this morning and have a real shampoo for a change,” she announced. “All t hose places I tried in D.C. believe in using blow-dryers and curling irons. That’s just not the same thing as rollers and a real hair dryer.”

Only half listening as she drove, Joanna marveled at how easy it seemed for Bob and Marcie to get along with Eleanor. I laving grown up in an adoptive family, he and Eleanor were evidently able to relate to one another as adults, without all the complications and conflicts of childhood and adolescence getting between them. In a way, Joanna felt almost jealous. Maybe, if she and Eleanor had met on an adult basis as well, in some kind of social setting, perhaps they, too, would have been able to like each other. As it was…

Joanna came back into the conversation in time to hear her mother declare, “People like that are an absolute menace.” Eleanor was half-turned in the passenger seat and speaking over her shoulder to Eva Lou, who was seated in back. “They take the law into their own hands, without giving a thought to anyone else.”

For a moment, Joanna thought the discussion had something to do with her driving. Carefully, she eased her foot off the accelerator and watched the speedometer fall from eighty back down to a more responsible sixty-five. Eva Lou’s reply, though, was proof enough that the Bucky Buckwalter murder was actually the subject under discussion.

“I suppose Terry will have to close the place up,” she said.

Eleanor nodded. “That’s what she said when I saw her this morning. That she’s already making arrangements to sell out. It has something to do with the fact that she can’t keep the clinic open without a licensed vet on the premises.”

“What will people in Bisbee do about their pets in the meantime?” Eva Lou asked.

“Drive sixty miles roundtrip, I suppose,” Eleanor answered. “They’ll either have to go all the way out to Sierra Vista, or down to Douglas.”

Eva Lou clicked her tongue. “That could be a real hardship. Think about poor old Mr. Holloway. He just loves that cute little dog of his. He calls her Princess, and treats her like one, too. They go everywhere together, but Jed Holloway’s eyes are getting so bad now that he only drives in town anymore. He’d never dare go as far as Douglas. What’s he going to do the next time Princess needs a shot?”

“I can’t imagine,” Eleanor sighed. “‘That’s exactly what was saying a moment ago,” she added. “I feel sorry for the man, losing his wife and all. But still, he might have give some thought about how his actions would affect the rest of us.”

Joanna felt like saying that Hal Morgan’s grief-fueled fixation on Bucky Buckwalter had most likely left no room ft thinking about the consequences of depriving the citizens of Bisbee of their only vet. She thought about it, but let it go. Instead, she focused in on one part of her mother’s conversation-that Terry Buckwalter would be closing the Buckwalter Animal Clinic.

“You saw Terry Buckwalter in town this morning? Joanna asked.

Eleanor nodded. “That’s right. At Helene’s,” she replied. “She was having her hair and makeup done. I have to say she looked great-better than I’ve ever seen her.” Eleanor turned to Joanna and gave her daughter’s hairdo a critically appraising once-over.

“Speaking of hair, isn’t it about time you had yours cut again? It’s getting a little long. You probably should have had it done before today’s luncheon. Aren’t there going to be newspaper photographers?”

This was part of what Joanna had dreaded about accompanying Eleanor to the luncheon. It was inevitable that she would end up on a tightrope, caught between the two wider divergent roles of dutiful daughter and sheriff honoree. In the past, she might have been pulled into one of Eleanor’ endless debates on the subject of beauty and grooming, but for once, she wasn’t. She was too preoccupied with something else, something Eleanor had said. The words had hit far too close home.