J. Jance - Devil’s Claw

Joanna Brady awakened Sunday morning as Jenny eased herself onto the side of the bed. “Where’s Butch?” Jenny asked.

“He went home,” Joanna mumbled sleepily. She would have liked nothing better than to roll back over and sleep a little longer, but Jenny was fully rested and ready for conversation.

“How come?”

“How come what?”

“Why’d he go home?”

“Because that’s where he lives.”

Opening her eyes, Joanna studied her daughter. Jenny was perched on the edge of the bed with her blond frizz of hair backlit by morning sun. In that light, she looked more like a haloed angel than a little girl. Joanna felt a sudden surge of thanksgiving that, despite Andy’s death, Jenny seemed to be doing more than merely coping. She gave every appearance of being a well-adjusted, sweet, and relatively innocent child. When Lucinda Ridder’s father was killed, Lucy had been almost the same age Jenny was when Andy died. Now, as a fifteen-year-old, Lucy Ridder was at best a runaway and at worst a homicide suspect.

Joanna reached over, grabbed Jenny by the shoulders, and wrestled her into a smothering bear hug.

“What was that all about?” Jenny demanded once she had wriggled loose.

“I love you is all,” Joanna said, clambering out of bed. “Now that I’m awake, I suppose we’d better get out and feed those animals. They’re probably hungry. Compared to the schedule Clayton Rhodes kept, you and I are a couple of slugabeds.”

Butch showed up while Jenny and Joanna were out in the barn doing chores. By the time they finished and returned to the house, breakfast was ready. There were glasses of fresh-squeezed orange juice and bowls of steaming Malt-o-meal waiting on the table.

“We’re a team,” Butch said cheerfully when Joanna kissed him good morning. “A well-oiled machine.”

The phone rang just as they were slipping into their places in the breakfast nook. Jenny scampered off to collect the phone and brought it back to the kitchen.

“Who is it?” Joanna mouthed as Jenny handed her the phone.

Jenny merely shrugged and rolled her eyes. “How would I know?” she returned.

“Hello?” Joanna said.

“Joanna,” Burton Kimball said. “Glad you’re there. Sorry to bother you so early on a Sunday morning, but I tried to reach you several times yesterday. When you didn’t return my calls, I was afraid you were out of town.”

Burton Kimball was a Bisbee-area attorney. His practice included a good deal of criminal defense work, and Joanna wondered which of his clients was in such dire straits that Kimball would be working this early on a Sunday morning.

“Sorry about that,” Joanna said. “I was out of town most of the day. Then, when we came back, I was called out on a case and didn’t get home until it was too late to return anybody’s calls. What’s up?”

“It’s about Clayton Rhodes,” Burton Kimball said.

“Clayton Rhodes!” Joanna exclaimed. “How can you already have a client, since my investigators aren’t close to having a suspect?”

“Mr. Rhodes was my client,” Burton returned. “I did some estate planning for him. His daughter showed up on her broom yesterday afternoon. The funeral is tentatively scheduled for Monday. Even so, Reba Singleton insisted on having the will opened and read yesterday evening. I tried contacting you beforehand so you could be here when it was read, but-”

“Why would I need to be there?” Joanna asked. “As far as I know, Clayton’s death resulted from natural causes. In any event-even in the case of an apparent homicide-there’s no need for a sheriff’s department representative to attend the reading of a will.”

“Not as a representative of the sheriff’s department,” Kimball responded. “You. Joanna Brady. The reason I wanted you in attendance is that you’re a major beneficiary.”

That stopped Joanna cold. “Me?” she asked dazedly. “I’m a beneficiary?”

“Yes. Clayton rewrote his will a year and a half ago. He left Rhodes Ranch to you-all three hundred and twenty acres of it. It’s free and clear, house and all.”

Joanna could barely believe her ears. “I don’t get it. Clayton Rhodes left his place to me?” she stammered. “That’s impossible! A ridiculous joke! You mean to say he left Reba out of his will entirely, that he disowned his own daughter in favor of me?”

“Not entirely. He and Molly had tons of savings bonds, as well as a whole bunch of certificates of deposit. There will be plenty of cash to pay final expenses, including all applicable income and estate taxes. Whatever money is left after taxes goes to Reba, but you’re to have the property and whatever personal effects Reba doesn’t want. You’re to deal with those as you see fit. No strings attached.”

Stunned, Joanna felt the blood drain from her face, causing both Butch and Jenny to cast worried looks in her direction. “What is it, Mom?” Jenny asked. “What’s wrong?”

“Clayton left two letters-one for you and one for Reba,” Burton Kimball continued. “I gave Reba hers last night. I was wondering if I shouldn’t bring yours out to you this morning. I want you to be aware of everything that’s going on because of Reba, you see. I’m concerned about her reaction. She and her father had been estranged for years-ever since her mother’s death-but I’m afraid this still hit her pretty hard. I wouldn’t be surprised if she didn’t try to make trouble, if she hasn’t already, that is.”

“When did you read the will?” Joanna asked.

“Yesterday evening. She came to see me around noon, about as soon as she got to town, I guess. I don’t think she even bothered to go to the funeral home before she showed up at my house-in a limo, no less-demanding to see the will right then. In all my years in practice, I’ve never seen anything like it. I tried to stall; told her there were other people involved who should be present as well, but when I couldn’t reach you, I finally went ahead without you. She insisted. Have you seen her yet?”

“Briefly,” Joanna said. “She was out here at the ranch yesterday afternoon. When we came home from Tucson. Her limo was stuck in my wash. The driver had to call Triple A to come pull it out.”

“Did she say anything to you?” Burton Kimball asked.

“She seemed upset. She said something to the effect that I had killed her father by working him into the grave. She asked me about the status of the investigation. I told her that since Dr. Winfield had ruled Clayton dead of natural causes, there wasn’t going to be any investigation. As soon as she heard that, she went off on a wild tirade about George Winfield having a conflict of interest in the case, but I didn’t think anything of it. I chalked it up to her being overwrought. In situations like that, people end up saying all kinds of things they don’t really mean.”

“I believe she meant it, all right,” Burton Kimball said softly. “She meant every word. After the will was read, she threw a fit. She ranted and raged and said that she’d had her suspicions, but now she was sure you had murdered her father and that George Winfield was helping you by covering it up.”

“Mom,” Jenny insisted. “What’s going on?”

Joanna waved her to silence. “You don’t think she’s serious, do you?”

“Unfortunately, I do,” Burton replied. “Now how can I get you that letter? You need to know what’s in it. Should I bring it out to the house?”

“No,” Joanna said quickly. “We’ll be coming to town in a little while. We can stop by and pick it up on our way to church. Where will you be?”

“Linda and the kids are going off to church themselves,” Burton said. “How about if I meet you uptown at my office. Say, forty-five minutes?”