J. Jance - Fire and Ice

“No,” Butch said. “Don’t do that. I’ll pick you up at the Justice Center. We can leave from there.”

That seemed like an odd idea since Joanna would have to drive right by High Lonesome Road to get back to her office, but for a change she didn’t debate the issue.

“Sure thing,” she said. “See you there.”

Once Butch was off the line, Joanna dialed her direct number, counting on her secretary, Kristin Gregovich, to pick up the phone.

“How are things?” Joanna asked when Kristin answered.

“As far as I can tell, everything’s under control.”

“How about next month’s shift schedule?”

“I helped Chief Deputy Hadlock clean up a couple of items,” Kristin told her. “But it’s posted now. I think it’s fine.”

“Glad to hear it,” Joanna said. Maybe Tom Hadlock was starting to get the hang of things after all. “Anything else I should know about?”

“Not that I can think of,” Kristin said.

“Good. I think I’m going to take the rest of the afternoon off and go to Tucson with Butch.”

“I hope you have a great time,” Kristin said, which seemed like an odd response.

“I doubt it,” Joanna said. “Shopping has never been my long suit.”

When she pulled up into her reserved parking place behind the building, she was surprised to see Butch already waiting there. As she stopped her Crown Victoria, she caught him glancing at his watch. Rather than going into the building, she simply transferred her briefcase and purse into the backseat of his Subaru. Then she let herself into the passenger seat and buckled up.

“What time does Costco close?” she asked.

“Around six,” he said.

“Good, then,” Joanna replied. “We have plenty of time.”

She sat back in the seat and closed her eyes, relishing the idea that Butch would be doing the driving.

“So what have you really been up to all day?” he asked.

Which meant that the understated “Fine” she had given him earlier hadn’t done the trick. “I’ve been at a crime scene,” she told him.

He knew without asking that this meant a homicide crime scene. In the course of the next two hours, as they drove the hundred miles between Bisbee and Tucson, she told him about it. At least she told him what she could. He was interested as her husband, but Butch was also interested in what she had to say because he was a mystery writer. Occasionally what she told him about real cases got run through his mental blender and emerged through his fingers transformed into fiction.

After that, they talked about plans for Frank Montoya’s bachelor party. Since the bride was an ER physician and since most of the attendees would be police officers, the party would be tame by bachelor-party standards-no stripper and no booze-with the Texas Hold’Em proceeds and winnings going to the local Jail Ministry.

“We have enough tables and chairs now?” Joanna asked.

“Plenty,” Butch told her.

“What’s on the menu other than steak?”

“Don’t worry your pretty little head about that,” Butch said with a grin. “Carol and I have that covered.”

Lost in talking, Joanna didn’t pay attention to the exit signs and was surprised when they turned off on Kino. “Isn’t this the long way around to get to Costco?” she asked. By then, if six o’clock really was the deadline, they were coming right up on the witching hour. Butch seemed unperturbed.

“No problem,” he said. “We’re fine.”

When he turned off on Elm rather than Grant, Joanna was really surprised. “If we’re going to go down side streets, we’re never going to make it on time.”

“Yes, we will,” he said, pulling to a stop outside the valet stand at the Arizona Inn. “Our dinner reservation isn’t until seven.”

“Dinner here?” Joanna asked. “In this?” She looked down at a her uniform, which, after spending most of the day at a dusty desert crime scene, was much the worse for wear.

A bellman, pushing a luggage cart, came over to Butch’s side of the car. “Checking in, sir?” he asked through the window.

Butch nodded and punched the button to open the gate to the Subaru’s luggage compartment, then he turned to Joanna and grinned. “Happy anniversary,” he said.

“But wait,” Joanna objected. “Our anniversary is over a week away.”

“I know,” Butch said. “You’re a very tough woman to surprise. I figured jumping the gun was the only way to make it work. If I had told you in advance, you’d have ended up finding a dozen reasons why we couldn’t or shouldn’t do it.”

Right then, Joanna was a whole lot more than merely surprised. She was astonished, and not in the least because she herself had completely forgotten about their upcoming anniversary.

“But I don’t even have a card for you,” she objected. “And what about going to Costco?”

“Shopping is scheduled for tomorrow,” Butch declared firmly.

“But by the time they open, I should be back at work.”

“Didn’t I tell you? Tomorrow you’re taking a vacation day. With all the excitement of Frank’s wedding festivities, I figured our own anniversary would get lost in the shuffle. So tonight it’s just the two of us. We have the whole evening to ourselves-dinner with no kids, no dogs, no chores, and no telephones, either,” he added. “Our cell phones are switched off for the duration as of now. If there’s some problem at home or at the department overnight, they’re going to have to figure it out without us.”

By then the bellman had emptied the back compartment and closed the door. Joanna was relieved to see that there were two suitcases on the cart-one for Butch and one for her. “Just leave the keys,” the bellman said. “I’ll park it over there.” He pointed to a graveled parking lot across the street.

Years earlier, the first time Joanna had stumbled across the Arizona Inn, it hadn’t been as a paying guest. She had fled University Hospital, trying to escape the appalling news from the doctor that Andy was unlikely to survive, that his bullet wounds would most likely prove fatal. She had ended up at the grand old hotel tucked into a seemingly residential neighborhood entirely by accident. She had been surprised by its improbably pink walls and lush, lovingly manicured grounds. She had hidden out there, weeping in one of those Alice-in-Wonderland-looking blue-and-white-striped chairs and trying to grapple with the fact that she was about to become a widow. Now, though, walking into the shadowy lobby of the old hotel and up to the desk with Butch beside her, she felt entirely different. That had been one life; this was another.

When they reached their spacious room-a casita, really-there were two chilled glasses of champagne waiting. Joanna’s suitcase, sitting on the luggage holder in the walk-in closet, was loaded with one dinner-suitable little black dress and with suitable underwear as well. There were panty hose and-even without the lingerie laundry bag-a black bra and matching panties that dated from their honeymoon. Packed in with the clothing was a pair of black sling-back heels and enough toiletries and makeup to make showering a welcome possibility.

“How did you pull this all together?” she asked.

“I had some help,” Butch told her. “Jenny packed your bag, Kristin cleared your calendar, and Tom Hadlock said he’ll hold down the fort.”

“Thank you,” she said. “You’re really thoughtful.”

He grinned. “And you’re lovely,” he returned. “I’m really lucky.”

“We both are.”

“Would you care to go to dinner?”

“Yes,” she said. “Let’s.”

By the time I made it back to North Bend, it was late afternoon, and the snow had turned to rain-not the usual steady drizzle we’re accustomed to in Seattle but a kind of torrential downpour that can melt snow too fast and send rivers pouring up and over their banks. I went to the address I had jotted down for Ken Leggett, the guy who had found the body.