J. Jance - Devil’s Claw

Dick Voland reached down and picked it up, dusting it off as he did so. “No harm done,” he said, holding it out to her. “A little bit of dust never hurt anything.”

Embarrassed, Kristin ignored the proffered gown and fled back inside, leaving Joanna the task of dealing with the gown herself.

“Thanks,” Joanna said as she stuffed it back into the box. Waiting long enough for her own blush to dissipate, she closed the trunk. When she straightened up, Dick Voland was still looming over her. He may have lost weight, but he was still six feet four. Joanna was wearing two-inch heels. The top of her baseball cap barely grazed the bottom of his chin.

“What can I do for you, Dick?” she asked, trying to put their conversation on some kind of businesslike basis.

For his part, Voland didn’t appear to be any happier about the situation than Joanna was. Acting for all the world like a dumbstruck teenager, he stared down at his feet for some time before he spoke.

“Marliss told me about the shower. I didn’t mean to upset anything, but I needed to talk to you.”

“The shower’s over. It’s fine. What do you want to talk about?”

“It’s awkward.”

“What’s awkward?”

Dick took a deep breath. “Look, Joanna. Reba Singleton has hired me to investigate her father’s death. I told her I thought she was way off-base. I told her that you and I had worked together for a long time and that, in my opinion, she’d just be throwing her money away. So she said did I want her to throw her money in my direction, or did I want her to hand it over to someone else? I couldn’t very well turn her down. I need the work.”

He paused, then continued. “I wanted to warn you,” he added. “Wanted to let you know what was going on so you wouldn’t be blindsided by all this. I came by last night and left a message. I guess Butch didn’t see fit to give it to you.”

The last thing Joanna would have expected from Dick Voland was kindness. “Butch did give me the message,” Joanna said, “but by the time I got home, it was already too late for me to return any calls. And, as you can see, so far today I’ve been caught up in a dozen other things.”

Dick glanced toward the interior of the restaurant. Standing up, the bank of balloons was still clearly visible through the windows. “I’m surprised Marliss wasn’t invited to the shower,” he mused, as if puzzled by an unintentional oversight. “I’m sure she would have enjoyed it.”

That one took Joanna’s breath away. Surely Dick Voland understood that she and Marliss Shackleford weren’t friends-would never be friends-any more than he would be buddies with Butch Dixon.

“It was a small shower,” Joanna said defensively. “Family, mostly. But, Dick, thanks for the heads-up on this other thing, about Reba, I mean.”

“You do know about Clayton’s will then?” he asked.

“I do now. Burton Kimball called this morning and clued me in.”

“She’s something, Reba is,” Dick said. “And she sure is on a tear about this. She’s going to push it all the way to the end.”

“Which is?”

“She wants me to gather enough evidence that she can present a case to the FBI.”

“The Feds?” Joanna yelped in surprise. “You can’t be serious.”

“Serious as can be. She claims her husband is friends with some big-wig assistant director who specializes in investigating wrongdoing in local law-enforcement jurisdictions. She’s also going to court first thing tomorrow morning to request an additional autopsy. Since Doc Winfield is your stepfather, she wants him to be required to turn over both his results and his tissue samples to another medical examiner for a second opinion.”

Sighing and scuffing one foot on the ground, Voland looked even more ill at ease than he had before. “So I guess you could call this a courtesy call,” he continued. “I’ll be coming around to the department tomorrow morning, Joanna. I’ll be asking for fingerprint information-on you.”

The whole time Dick Voland was speaking, Joanna hadn’t taken her eyes off his face. Rather than his usual bluster and bravado, she saw something else there, something she never would have expected to see-regret. She and Dick Voland had worked together for years. He had been her Chief Deputy for Operations, and he was someone Joanna had looked up to. At the beginning of her administration, while she had been fighting her way through an overwhelming mire of on-the-job training, she had counted on Dick Voland’s good sense and his years of law-enforcement experience for counsel and advice. Despite the unfortunate way things had ended between them, there remained a lingering respect-one that hadn’t been entirely obliterated and probably never would be.

“My prints are on Clayton Rhodes’ ignition key,” she said. “I’m the one who found the pickup in his garage. The engine was still running. At that point I had no way of knowing whether Clayton was dead or alive. There wasn’t time to go hunting for a pair of latex gloves. I had to shut the engine off.”

Voland nodded. “I figured as much, but try explaining a concept like that to a crazy woman. It’s hopeless. She didn’t believe a word of it.”

“No,” Joanna agreed. “I don’t suppose she did.”

Just then Marianne Maculyea emerged from the restaurant. Catching sight of Dick Voland standing there talking to Joanna, she frowned with concern. “You’ve been out here a long time,” she called across the top of Eleanor’s Buick. “Anything wrong?”

Marianne Maculyea was one of the few people in whom Joanna had confided the real reasons behind Dick Voland’s abrupt departure from the sheriff’s department.

“No,” Joanna said quickly. “Nothing’s wrong, Mari. Dick here was just giving me a preview of what to expect tomorrow morning at work. And I appreciate it, too, Dick. I really do. Thanks.”

“Okay, then,” he said. “You’re welcome. Guess I’d better be going. See you tomorrow.” With that, he folded his lanky frame small enough to fit back inside the Camry and then drove off.

Joanna turned back to Marianne. “What is it, Joanna?” Marianne asked. “You can say there’s nothing wrong, but I know better. I can see it in your face.”

“Reba Singleton has hired Dick Voland to gather enough evidence against me to ask the FBI to investigate my involvement in her father’s death.”

“She’s accusing you of murdering Clayton Rhodes?”

“That’s right.”

Marianne’s eye blazed with anger. “That’s the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard!”

“No, it’s not. According to Burton Kimball, if Reba tries to go against her father’s will, the expenses of that come straight out of her pocket. But if she can somehow prove that I’m responsible for his death, the state would be compelled to declare the will invalid. I don’t know all the applicable statutes well enough. It may not even be necessary for her to make a murder charge stick. Criminal negligence might be enough to invalidate the will.”

“But what’s the point?” Marianne asked. “Reba Singleton seems to have plenty of money of her own. According to what I heard, she came to town yesterday in a chauffeur-driven limo after flying into Tucson International in a private jet. Why does she even care what happens to her folks’ old place? It can’t be worth that much money.”

“I doubt it is,” Joanna agreed. “I’m sure it’s the principle of the thing. She regards Rhodes Ranch as hers. The fact that her father may have had other ideas about it is driving her crazy.”

“What can I do to help?” Marianne asked.

Joanna smiled. “Listening helps more than you know,” she said. “This isn’t exactly the kind of problem I want to broadcast to the world. There aren’t that many people I can talk to about it.”