J. Jance - Fire and Ice

When the priest spoke about Marcella as a troubled young woman who had been working to turn her life around, Mason broke down into shuddering sobs. It was Elena who put her arm around the man’s heaving shoulders and gave him a comforting hug. That was when I noticed the watch on her wrist-a brand-new Seiko. It pleased me to know that Mason Waters had chosen to give Marcella’s Christmas present watch to her mother.

I’m used to the well-manicured, perpetually green cemeteries we have in the Pacific Northwest. On that blustery April day, Bisbee’s so-called Evergreen Cemetery was anything but green or well manicured. We gathered in a surprisingly small group of twenty or so as Marcella’s Costco.com casket was lowered into the ground.

Mel and I were on our way back to the Caddy when someone called my name. I turned back to see Joanna Brady hurrying after us, followed by a man who, although he appeared to be somewhere in his early forties, was already completely bald.

“I couldn’t let you get away without thanking you for what you did for Jaime,” she said, taking my hand and pumping it. “What you both did,” she added, turning to Mel. “I’m Sheriff Brady. This is my husband, Butch Dixon.”

What might have been an awkward moment wasn’t. As Mel and Butch chatted amiably, I turned my attention on Joanna. She seemed older than she had been back when we first met. There was that indefinable something in her eyes-a natural sadness that comes from having seen too much. And I detected a tiny patch of gray in her otherwise bright red hair.

“If you hadn’t intervened…” Joanna continued.

“Look,” I said. “For a while there, wanting to take revenge got the upper hand. What finally carried the day is that Jaime Carbajal is a good man. More than that, he’s a good cop. If he had used that gun on Miguel Rios, Jaime would have been going against everything he believes in-everything we all believe in.”

“Yes,” Joanna said, looking up at me. “Sometimes walking away is the best thing you can do.”

In the old days I would have taken that remark at face value and assumed she was still talking about Jaime Carbajal. But I’m smarter now, at least as far as women are concerned. She had changed the subject.

“And believe me,” she added, “I really appreciate it.”

Moments later, she took Butch’s hand and the two of them did just that-they turned and walked away. I knew as they did so that whatever had happened or might have happened between Joanna Brady and J. P. Beaumont was over, completely over, once and for all. She had put it firmly in the past, and so had I.

“Come on, Mel,” I said. “We’ve got a plane to catch. Let’s go home.”