C. Box - Breaking Point

It was a joke, but according to rumor, the response didn’t go over well with the First Lady.

“All I know,” Haley said, “is it’s time for me to move on and leave it to you younger guys. Things are changing, and I’m not changing with them.”

“I’m not that young,” Joe said, and as he did, April sashayed across the sidewalk and swung into the passenger seat.

“No kidding,” April said, listening in. “You’re practically fossilized .”

Joe shushed her, and said good-bye to Bill Haley.

As they passed the impressive hulk of the Saddlestring Hotel on the corner on the way to Bighorn Road, Joe said, “There it is.”

April grunted something, preoccupied with text messages on her phone.

April’s transformation from a moody, sullen, almost scary teenager into a bouncy and fashionable cowgirl had come so suddenly Joe and Marybeth were still reeling from it. It was almost as if she were trying on a new persona, Joe thought, like taking a new April for a test drive to see if she liked her. He was cautiously optimistic it might stick. Better a cowgirl than a Goth or Emo, Marybeth told him, pointing out that it had been two months since their foster daughter had worn all black or painted her mouth and nails the same color.

It could be worse: much worse, she’d said.

Joe had agreed, and still did. But the trouble with cowgirls, he knew, was the cowboys who came with them.

It was full dark and sultry when Joe pulled into his driveway and turned off his engine.

“Who’s here?” April asked, gesturing toward the ten-year-old Ford Explorer parked in front of the house. It was parked next to Hannah’s dented sedan.

“That’s Pam Roberson’s rig,” Joe said.

“What’s she doing here so late?”

Joe said, “There’s a lot going on with her husband.”

Joe heard talking from the kitchen table as he entered the house and took off his hat and boots in the mudroom. Daisy scrambled between his legs to engage Tube in a welcome-back wrestle-off in the middle of the front room, and Joe unclipped his Glock and placed it near his crown-down Stetson on the top shelf.

He took a deep breath before going farther. The small house seemed even smaller with all three girls home for the summer, plus Hannah and her mother. Every flat surface, it seemed, was cluttered with books, backpacks, water bottles, DVDs, magazines, and electronics. The entire place smelled of hair products.

April went straight to her bedroom and closed the door behind her without a word to anyone, as was her custom. Sheridan and Lucy shared the bedroom across the hall, but both seemed okay with the arrangement. Neither wanted to room with April, although they didn’t say so directly. Marybeth had let the girls sort out the sleeping arrangements under a parental philosophy she described to Joe as “Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell.”

Joe found Marybeth, Sheridan, and Pam Roberson sitting at the kitchen table, drinking iced tea. All three looked up expectantly, and Joe’s eyes lingered on Pam for a moment, trying to read her. She looked wan and exhausted, and thinner than usual, although she’d always been trim. Pam had an angular weathered face, high cheekbones, and thick shoulder-length strawberry hair feathered into an early-eighties look. She wore a sleeveless top and jeans, and her shoulders were freckled. Joe thought she was almost attractive-probably had been when she was in her teens and twenties-but looked and dressed as if she had never left that period.

Like her husband, she was plainspoken and blunt; smart, honest, and hardworking-if not well educated. Joe recalled her saying once she’d attended college for a couple of years but then dropped out when she’d met Butch. She wanted her daughter to get a degree. She doted on Hannah, whom she urged to strive high and accomplish something. Pam was intensely involved in school activities and was always there when the school administration needed a chaperone for a field trip or a dance, or cookies for a bake sale. She was one of those behind-the-scenes mothers who made everything work.

Although she’d been to their home many times to drop off and pick up Hannah, Joe rarely saw her because it usually happened during his working day when he was out in the field. It seemed odd to see her sitting with such familiarity at his kitchen table, and he guessed she must have done it frequently over the past two years of their daughters’ friendship.

“I heard they found two bodies on our lot,” she said, finally.

“News travels fast,” Joe said.

“Dulcie,” Marybeth said, holding up her cell phone. “She’s kept me in the loop.”

Joe nodded, wondering if Marybeth realized that by being kept in the loop she was now sharing information with a suspect, or at least the wife of a suspect.

“I heard you saw Butch today,” Pam said to Joe.

“I did.”

“Did he. . seem okay to you?”

“You haven’t heard from him yourself?” Joe asked.

Pam shook her head no and lowered her eyes.

Before proceeding, Joe glanced at Sheridan, who was watching and listening intently. He didn’t want her to become involved, just like he never wanted his family to become too involved, although they did. Sheridan knew the look and rolled her eyes.

It was an awkward time for them all, Joe knew. Sheridan had lived away at college for a year by herself, and now she was home. She was an adult, yet she wasn’t, and it was tough for all of them to sort out what exactly she was. She liked to eat with the family when her mom cooked-usually-but often went into town to be with her friends. She often declared her independence, yet was dependent when she wanted to be. Joe wasn’t sure yet how to act around her, and he thought Sheridan wasn’t sure what her role was, either. They had been extremely close while Sheridan grew up, and Joe thought for a while she might follow in his footsteps. Now he wasn’t so sure, and he suspected she wasn’t sure what she wanted to do, either.

In two weeks, she’d be heading off to Laramie for her second year at the university. Joe didn’t even want to think about it yet.

“There’s pizza in the fridge,” Marybeth said.

“I could make you a salad,” Sheridan offered. She was still wearing her T-shirt top that read BURG-O-PARDNER over the breast.

Joe raised his eyebrows.

“Part of my job,” she said. “After I take customers’ orders and turn them in, I have to make the salads and get soup and bread for them. So I’ve turned into quite the little salad jockey.”

“I don’t eat salad,” Joe said. “You know that.”

“You should start,” she said, grinning. “Man can’t live on meat alone.”

“I have.”

He sat down with a plate of pizza slices, glanced at Pam, and said, “So here we are.”

“Sheridan. .” Marybeth said.

“Yeah, yeah,” Sheridan said, pushing her chair back. “Nice to see you, Pam,” she said.

Joe noted she called her Pam, not Mrs. Roberson.

Then to Joe and Marybeth: “I’ll be out back in the barn with my new bird.”

“New bird?” Joe asked, surprised.

“Just a little kestrel,” Sheridan said over her shoulder as she went to the back door. “You’ll need to come out and see it.”

Joe and Marybeth exchanged glances. While Sheridan had been Nate Romanowski’s apprentice in falconry, both had assumed she’d lost interest. Apparently not, Joe thought.

Marybeth said, “Joe, Pam wants to talk with you to see if you can offer some advice.”

Joe narrowed his eyes. “I’m not a lawyer.”

“I know that,” Pam said.

“She doesn’t need legal help yet,” Marybeth continued, “but since you’ve been involved in this. . thing all day, you might have some insight.”