J.A. Jance - Dead Wrong

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.