J. Jance - Dead to Rights

“Sounds like a nice guy.”

“You don’t know the half of it,” Terry said. “If it hadn’t been for him, I don’t know what I would have done. By the time we’d paid oft the defense attorneys and it was time for Bucky to go for treatment, we were tapped out completely. I knew I needed a substitute vet while Bucky was gone, but there wasn’t a dime to pay for it. Reggie came to the rescue again. Reggie and Bucky had covered calls for one another on occasion. This time, he subbed for Bucky on top of keeping up with his own practice. When I told him about the money situation, he told me not to worry. He was nice enough to add his bill for professional services rendered to the other loan. That’s the only reason we made it through.”

“What you’re saying is that Dr. Wade has what amounts to a mortgage on the practice.”

Terry nodded. “For right now. When the sale closes, he’ll give me the difference between the valuation formula and what he’s already paid. And as for moving fast, we pretty much have to. The valuation formula is based on selling the practice as a going concern. If there’s too much of a break, then customers end up going elsewhere.”

“And this is a regular buy/sell arrangement?”

“Maybe not regular,” Terry allowed. “When Milo Davis set it up, he said it was a little unusual. Still, though, it worked.”

“Milo set it up?”

“It wasn’t all finalized until Bucky got out of treatment in mid-December.”

That was why Joanna had known nothing about it. The buy/sell arrangements had happened after she left the insurance agency.

“You’re saying that Reggie Wade is paying full value without any haggling?”

“No haggling at all. He’s following the buy/sell agreement right down to the letter.”

Joanna nodded. The idea that moving too fast would leave Terry Buckwalter open to being cheated had been one of Joanna’s concerns. Judging from what Terry had said, however, that evidently wasn’t the case. In addition, Joanna liked knowing that Milo Davis, her ex-boss, had been involved in drafting the agreement. Milo was scrupulously fair.

“That reminds me,” Terry said. “What about the insurance?”

“What about it?”

“How long will it take to pay off? I know I’ll have to sign claim forms and all that, but I’m trying to get some idea of how long it will take to pull all of this together so I can leave town.”

Somehow, Terry Buckwalter’s desire to put Bisbee behind her no longer seemed nearly as sinister as it had earlier. Considering the situation with Bebe Noonan, Terry’s wanting to leave town was entirely understandable. Nonetheless, when it came to insurance proceeds, desire and reality were on a collision course.

“With a death like this,” Joanna told her, “a homicide, investigations are automatic. Those take time. Months, in fact.”

“Months!” Terry echoed. “But why an investigation? Bucky’s dead, isn’t he? We owned the policies, we paid all the premiums, and I’m the beneficiary. What’s there to investigate?”

Lots, Joanna thought. “For one thing,” she said aloud, “insurance companies generally don’t want to pay out benefits until they’re reasonably assured that a killer isn’t reaping some kind of financial reward. They frown on beneficiaries who murder in hopes of collecting.”

“They can do that?” Terry asked.

“They do do that, ”Joanna told her.

“But I don’t want to wait,” Terry said. “The next qualifying school starts in a matter of weeks. If they let me in, I don’t want to miss the opportunity. Peter’s worked so hard on getting me this chance to prove myself. I can’t blow it now.”

“What chance are you talking about?” Joanna asked.

“Remember Peter Wilkes, my golf pro? You met him the other day. He has an old friend, a grade school buddy, who owns golf courses and golf equipment stores all over the country. According to Peter, he also has enough pull so that, if I’m good enough, he can maybe get me a spot in the next Q-school strictly on his say-so. If I do well there, I’ll be able to get a provisional card. It’s the chance of a lifetime, Joanna. A chance to finally get to do something.”

“What would have happened if Bucky hadn’t died?” Joanna asked.

“I would have gone anyway,” Terry said determinedly.

“Did Bucky have any idea all this was going on? That you were making these kinds of arrangements?”

Terry looked at Joanna and shook her head. “You really don’t understand. Bucky had his life and I had mine. We lived in the same house, but that was more a matter of convenience than anything else. It beat paying two sets of house payments.”

Terry Buckwalter was describing a kind of empty marriage that was totally outside the realm of Joanna Brady’s experience. She glanced first at her own wedding ring and then at the pale white imprint left behind where Terry had removed hers.

“Would you have divorced him?” Joanna asked.

“I don’t know,” Terry said. “I was building up to it. Thanks to Peter, I was finally coning to a point where I had enough confidence to think I could make it on my own.”

“Without having to kill him?”

Terry looked sharply at Joanna. “Yes,” she said. “Without having to do a thing. I may be relieved he’s gone-glad that I don’t have to do anything or jump through any legal hoops to resolve the situation. But that doesn’t mean I killed him.”

Joanna nodded. “No,” she said, “I don’t suppose it does.”

For the better part of half an hour, the two women had been speaking together in a totally candid fashion. Terry’s answer was delivered with such blunt, unblinking openness, that Joanna didn’t doubt it. The problem was, if Hal Morgan wasn’t responsible for Bucky’s murder and if Terry wasn’t either, then who was?

“You didn’t mention any of this the other afternoon when Detective Carpenter and I were here.”

“Believe it or not,” Terry said, “I have some pride. With Bucky gone, I didn’t see any reason to dig up all this crap. That was before I knew about Bebe’s being pregnant. That’s going to be tough to keep under the rug.”

“I remember your telling us that Bucky was home the whole evening the night before he died. Is that true?”

“No.”

“Where was he?”

“You guess,” Terry said.

“With Bebe?”

“Probably,” Terry replied. “Obviously I don’t know for sure. It isn’t the kind of thing someone would tell his wife, not even a worm like Bucky. ‘Hey, I think I’ll dash out to Double Adobe and knock off a piece of tail.’“

Joanna heard once again the hard edge of anger in Terry’s biting words. This time she recognized them for what they were. A different form of grief perhaps than dissolving into tears, but grief nonetheless. In Terry Buckwalter’s case, it wasn’t a matter of mourning something that had ended so much as something that had never been.

“That’s where Bebe Noonan lives?” Joanna asked gently.

Terry nodded. “On her folks’ place. It’s three or four miles east of Double Adobe.”

“Someone will have to talk to her.”

“I know. Do you think-?” Terry stopped abruptly.

“Do I think what?”

“No,” Terry said, shaking her head. “Never mind. She wouldn’t have.”

“Wouldn’t have what?”

“Bebe was there at the time Bucky died, wasn’t she?” Terry asked. “Maybe he told her the same thing he told me-the same thing I told Bebe just a little while ago. To get rid of it. Maybe he gave her a choice of the baby or him and she was smart enough to choose the baby.”

“Was she here the day before, when Hal Morgan first showed up?” Joanna asked.