J.A. Jance - Dead Wrong

“I am taking it easy,” she countered. “I came here to wait for Jenny to finish up with her Girl Scout car wash. It was easier and closer to just wait around here at the office than it was to spend the whole day running back and forth between town and home.”

“Oh,” Butch said, sounding somewhat mollified. “I forgot all about the car wash. So you’re not working.”

“Not really,” Joanna said. “And how’s the conference?”

“I’ve met a bunch of interesting people,” he said. “And I’ve gone to several panels. Even though they all write murder mysteries, the authors seem to have all different kinds of ideas about how to do that job. And the woman I told you about yesterday, the one who was so upset because I had review copies of my book here and she didn’t?”

“What was her name again?” Joanna asked.

“Christina Hanson. It turns out she’s a pretty decent person after all. We had breakfast together this morning. It’s like we’re all in the freshman class of the writing business.”

“So you’re having a good time?”

“Yes, and I’m very glad to be here,” Butch answered. “Thanks for encouraging me to come. Sometimes, when I’m working away all by myself, I feel like some kind of freak. The good thing about being here at the conference is that I’m finding out there are a whole lot of other freaks just like me, and they are going to like my book. Now tell me about you. How are you feeling?”

“Pregnant,” Joanna replied. “Nine and a half months’ worth, in fact, even though that’s not quite true. So I’m a little grumpy, but it’s nothing dropping twenty pounds or so of ballast won’t help.”

“Do you want me to come home tonight?” Butch asked. “There are a couple of panels I wanted to see tomorrow, but if you’d rather I came home…”

“No, Butch,” she said. “You signed up for the conference and I want you to stay for the whole thing.”

“Maybe you and Jenny should stay in town tonight-maybe with Eva Lou and Jim Bob. Or maybe they could come stay with you. I worry about you being out at the ranch all by yourself.”

“I’m not all by myself,” Joanna said. “As you just pointed out, Jenny’s there, too. If the baby decides to come early, she’s more than capable of summoning help. Besides, how could I come to town? Do you think Jenny and I could just show up on Jim Bob and Eva Lou’s doorstep with three dogs in tow and say ”Take us in‘?“

“No,” Butch said. “I don’t suppose you could.”

“I’m a big girl,” Joanna said. “In more ways than one. And I’m fully capable of handling whatever comes up.”

“Right,” Butch said. “And I didn’t mean that you weren’t.”

But it is what you said , Joanna thought.

They talked a while longer, but Joanna was still slightly steamed when she got off the phone. After the call she stayed in her office for the next two hours, using the unexpected quiet time to read a few of the most recent issues of law enforcement magazines and journals that tended to stack up on her bookshelf without her ever having time enough to glance at them. At three o’clock her cell phone rang.

“I’m ready to go home,” Jenny announced.

“How was it?”

“Great,” Jenny said. “We made almost two hundred dollars, over twice as much as we made last year.”

It was nearing four when they turned off High Lonesome Road and onto the rough dirt track that led to the house. As usual, the three dogs came out to the road to greet them and race them into the yard. The only problem was, when Joanna arrived at the house, someone else was already there. A huge Itasca motor home towing a Geo Tracker with Illinois plates was parked in the driveway, blocking access to Joanna’s garage.

The door opened and Joanna’s mother-in-law, Margaret Dixon, bounded down the steps, waving enthusiastically.

“Oh, no!” Jenny managed.

Joanna rolled down her window. “Those god-awful dogs of yours wouldn’t let us out, but now that you’re here, I’m sure it’s all right. They won’t bite, will they?”

“No,” Joanna said. “They won’t. What are you doing here?”

“What do you think?” Margaret returned. “You don’t think Donald and I would miss the arrival of our very first grandchild, do you? I mean, better late than never.”

“Did Butch know you were coming?” Joanna asked.

“Of course not. It’s a surprise.”

It’s a surprise, all right, Joanna thought.

“Where is he, by the way?” Margaret Dixon continued. “Him being a house husband and all, I thought for sure he’d be here.”

“He’s in El Paso at a conference,” Joanna said stiffly.

And I’ll be damned if I’ll call him and ask him to come home early!

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…