J. Jance - Fire and Ice

Joanna disappeared into the bedroom and stripped out of her uniform. She had bought a bright green blouse to wear with her jeans that night, along with a pair of boots that she had inherited from Jenny when her daughter outgrew them. As for Jenny appropriating some of her mother’s clothing? Jenny’s last sustained growth spurt made that no longer an issue.

With her hair combed and her makeup retouched, Joanna headed out to the living room to play hostess just as the first guest arrived. In terms of food, Butch and Carol had clearly outdone themselves. They had assembled an inspiring array of chips and dips and salsas to serve as ice-breaking snacks. Knowing that most of the guests would have a law enforcement background, Frank had insisted that his bachelor party would be a booze-free zone. Since Frank was now joining Joanna in a media fishbowl, she had applauded the decision. Neither she nor Frank could afford to have any of their officers picked up and charged with post-party drunk driving.

Frank had also made his wishes clear when it came to proposed party entertainment. He placed an absolute embargo on the idea of strippers. Period. He and Butch had settled instead, on the idea of a roast augmented by a charitable poker party, with all proceeds from Texas Hold’Em going to Frank’s charity of choice, the Jail Ministry. Since this would be considered social gambling, there had been no need to purchase any kind of gaming license, but just to be sure, Butch had checked out the applicable statutes with the county attorney well in advance of the party. His inquiry to Arlee Jones’s office had given Butch the information he needed, but it had also backfired and generated a minor tempest all its own due to the fact that Arlee-also at Frank’s behest-hadn’t been invited to the party.

The guests arrived one and two at a time. With the exception of a couple of relatives, most of the guests came from Frank Montoya’s world of work. Some were old colleagues and some new colleagues. To begin with, the two sets of folks seemed to stalk around one another, stiff-legged and suspicious, until Butch’s smooth program of hospitality began to work its magic. Before long, people were laughing and talking and settling in to have fun.

In advance of dinner being served, Ted Chapman, the Jail Ministry’s executive director, circulated among the snack-munching guests hawking poker chips. “Best of luck to you,” he said with a smile each time he managed to extract a twenty- or thirty-buck donation from someone’s pocket. “And don’t worry. There are plenty more where these came from. God does provide, you know,” he sometimes added with a wink.

Joanna’s mother and stepfather had delayed their planned springtime departure for Minnesota long enough to enjoy the festivities. That meant George Winfield was there on his own. As M.E. emeritus, he seemed to be enjoying himself immensely. To Joanna’s considerable relief, Guy Machett was a welcome no-show. The last guest to arrive was Frank’s older brother Thomas, who had driven down from Phoenix. When Joanna opened the door and found him on the porch, she felt more than a little guilty. By rights, Thomas Montoya should have been Frank’s top choice for best man, but he didn’t seem the least bit offended by the oversight. He greeted Joanna warmly, first with a handshake and then, after a moment’s consideration, with a hug as well.

“Now where’s that little brother of mine?” he asked as Joanna ushered him into the house. And with that, Thomas Montoya went wandering off in search of the groom.

About the time Butch stepped outside to grill the steaks, Frank’s ritual roasting began in dead earnest, and for the most part it was good clean fun. Old and new colleagues alike teased him about trading in one short red-haired woman for another, taller model. (Frank’s fiancee, LuAnn Marcowitz, was a good six inches taller than Joanna, and her hair-a wild tangle of bright red curls-was a good six inches longer than Joanna’s hairdo as well.) Joanna was glad no one mentioned that both she and the bride tended to be bossy at times.

People pulled Frank’s leg about his going for an “older woman.” LuAnn was four years older than Frank, and there were plenty of people who were ready to assure him, jokingly or not, that, as a longtime bachelor, he would soon regret stepping into the middle of a ready-made family.

That thought had occurred to Joanna as well. Frank was used to the peace and quiet of living by himself. She wondered how he’d manage with a new wife, two teenage stepchildren, and a mother-in-law, all living under the same roof. On the other hand, Joanna knew he’d been lonely for a long time. Even so, a sudden dose of that much togetherness, combined with a stressful new job, might be challenging for anyone to handle.

But Tom Montoya had the final word on the family situation. “My mother had given up on Frank’s ever having children a long time ago,” he told them. “I can tell you she’s thrilled to have a new set of grandchildren, no matter how she gets them.”

For the time being, his comment carried the day.

A while later, Butch enlisted Tom’s help in bringing the steaks back into the house. They brought in separate platters loaded with mouthwatering grilled rib eyes on Fiesta Ware platters. Steaks on the red platter were rare. The ones on the peacock-blue platter were medium, and the few scrawny steaks on the black platter were well done.

Before Carol left, she had set out stacks of plates, silverware, and napkins that would make serving easy. The platters of cooked steak took the place of honor at the top end of the counter, next to the plates and cutlery, but they were soon joined by the rest of the abundant feast: a huge bowl of mixed-greens salad; two kinds of potato salad, hot and cold; a steaming crock of cowboy beans accompanied by a vat of fiery jalapeno-dotted salsa. At the far end of the counter was the bread-and-butter station, which boasted two loaves of freshly baked and sliced sourdough bread and several pie plates of corn bread.

Joanna waited until the guests had loaded their plates before she filled her own. Then she wandered into the family room and took one of the few remaining spots at one of the tables-a chair that happened to be next to Jaime Carbajal’s. He had come to the party because he had said he would be there, and he was clearly having to make an effort to be part of the festivities.

“How’s it going?” Joanna asked.

He shrugged. “Okay, I guess,” he said.

“You don’t sound very convincing,” Joanna told him. “Did you talk to Luis about his father and about the locker situation?”

“Yes,” Jaime said.

“How did it go?”

Jaime shrugged. “He was pretty mad at first and stormed off into the bedroom. But I think you’re right. He’ll get over it and come around eventually. It’ll take time. He and Pepe were still in their room talking when I left to come here. I could hear their voices, but I couldn’t hear what they were saying.”

Pepe, Jaime’s son, was only a few months younger than his cousin.

“I suppose Luis had already told Pepe about what had happened to his father.” Joanna’s comment was more a statement than it was a question, and Jaime shot her a sidelong glance.

“How did you know that?” he asked.

“You’ve told me before that Pepe and Luis are close, more like brothers than cousins. Since they’re also kids, it stands to reason that if Luis had confided in anyone, it would have been Pepe. That’s a good thing, Jaime. Give Luis some credit. He was smart enough to realize he couldn’t deal with this crisis by himself. We should all be thankful that he had someone to go to with his troubles. We should also be glad that he was smart enough to go looking for help.”