J. Jance - Devil’s Claw

Don’t bother telling him, Joanna thought. That’s the last thing he needs to know!

“Well?” Maggie asked. “Are you?”

Her tone implied that there was an unanswered question lingering in the air, one Joanna had somehow failed to hear.

“Am I what?” Joanna returned.

“Are you and Butch planning on having kids?” Maggie prodded. “The magazines are always filled with articles about women and their ticking biological clocks, but I think men’s do, too. And at Butch’s age-”

“Come and get it while it’s hot,” George Winfield announced as he walked by the table carrying a platter piled high with strips of broiled flank steak. “We’re serving this buffet-style,” he added. “Come into the kitchen and fill your plates. Those who want to can come back outside to eat.”

“Let me give you a hand, Maggie,” Don Dixon said, stopping by the table to help his wife rise from the picnic bench. While Don led Maggie into the house, Eva Lou stood up and wordlessly gave Joanna a sympathetic pat on the shoulder as she walked by. Meanwhile, a stunned Joanna stayed where she was. With a last flourish of trumpets, the mariachi music faded to nothing and the boom box clicked off, leaving the backyard in welcome silence.

“Are you all right?” Butch whispered near her ear a few moments later. “Would you like something to drink?”

Joanna shook her head. “I don’t think George and Eleanor have anything strong enough,” she returned.

Butch shook his head. “I can’t believe she said that-the third one’s the charm. She’s something else, isn’t she?” he added. “It’s like that old saying about how absence makes the heart grow fonder. When I’m not around her, I always end up convincing myself that my mother can’t possibly be as bad as I remember. Then, once we get within shouting distance of one another, it all comes back to me. Believe me, it’s no accident my grandparents wound up retiring to Sun City. I’m pretty sure my stepgrandfather was looking for a way to get away from his stepdaughter. I don’t think he or Grandma were the least bit unhappy that Mother hated Arizona. It seemed to suit both of them just fine.”

“No wonder Eleanor doesn’t bother you,” Joanna said. “She may be a piker at times, but right now she seems mild by comparison.”

“That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you all along,” Butch said with a rueful grin. “I told you that you just didn’t know when you were well off.”

Jenny came to the back door and stuck her head outside. “Aren’t you two going to come inside and fill your plates?”

“In a minute,” Butch called back, then he turned to Joanna. “Are you all right?”

“I’m fine, really,” Joanna said. “Maggie takes some getting used to, is all. And how did we end up out here in the yard? Mother hates barbecuing and picnics and all the bugs that go with them. And she’s not that fond of Mexican food, either. That’s why I didn’t worry about not changing clothes. I figured we were in for one of Mother’s six-course sit-down extravaganzas.”

“That was before she caught sight of my mother’s hefty backside,” Butch said. “I think the thought of Mother sitting on one of Eleanor’s fine dining room chairs was enough to spark an instant change of menu and venue both. That’s also about the time Eleanor decided to invite Jim Bob and Eva Lou along for the ride. I think she hoped they’d serve as leavening agents, but when I met Eva Lou on her way inside a few minutes ago, even she looked like she’d had enough.”

“How do you tolerate her?” Joanna asked.

Butch shrugged. “I live in Arizona, and my parents live in Chicago,” he said. Behind them, Joanna heard the back door slam. “Here they come,” he added. “We’d better go fill our plates.”

By the time Joanna and Butch reached the head of the serving line, everyone but George Winfield had abandoned the kitchen in favor of outside dining. George stood at the counter dealing out plates loaded with meat, tortillas, and steaming, freshly made tamales.

“How are the love birds doing?” he asked, as Joanna and Butch paused by the counter and began dishing up condiments.

“Fine,” Butch and Joanna both said at once, then they burst out laughing.

“Sure you are,” George agreed. “For somebody getting the third degree, you’re both in great shape. Hey, would you two like to sit inside? My guess is the picnic table is already full to overflowing.”

It was true. Six was the maximum number of diners that could be accommodated at the wooden outdoor table. “But won’t Eleanor be pissed?” Joanna asked.

“Let her,” George said with a shrug. “After all, doing dinner this way was her bright idea. There’s no reason we should all have to suffer.”

In the end, the three of them settled at the kitchen table. The food was good. The tamales were thick and spicy. The tortillas were soft and see-through thin. And the strips of ancho-flavored steak had been grilled to spicy perfection. Until Joanna put the first bite of food in her mouth, she had no idea how hungry she was. For several minutes Butch, Joanna, and George ate in companionable silence.

“Your old friend Fran Daly was in town today,” George said at last when he paused from eating long enough to unwrap the corn husks from his tamale.

Dr. Daly was the assistant medical examiner in neighboring Pima County. In the course of the past few years she and Joanna had been involved in several different joint investigations. After a somewhat rocky start, the two women had come to have a good working relationship.

“What for?” Joanna asked.

“She showed up to be Reba Singleton’s hired gun,” George Winfield replied.

“To do Clayton Rhodes’ autopsy?” Joanna asked. George nodded. “How’d it go?”

“Pretty much the way I said it would,” George replied. “Fran Daly says the same thing I did-Clayton Rhodes died as a result of a cerebral hemorrhage. That should get Reba off your back for good and all. And now that I’ve released the body and Little Norm Higgins from the funeral home has collected it, Reba should be off my back, too.”

“When’s the funeral?” Joanna asked.

“According to Little Norm, they’ve scheduled it for tomorrow at two. Reba says she wants to have it ASAP so she can get back home to California, which is good riddance as far as I’m concerned.” He added, “And while we’re on the subject of autopsies, I know what killed Sandra Ridder-loss of blood combined with peritonitis. If the Volksmarchers had found her in the morning and she’d been treated with massive doses of antibiotics, she might have made it. But as it was…” George shrugged.

Joanna glanced at Butch to see how he was handling this graphic dinnertime discussion. Chewing thoughtfully, he seemed unfazed.

“Will you be going to Clayton’s funeral?” he asked Joanna, as if just then becoming aware of a pause in the previous conversation.

She nodded. “Yes, of course I am.”

“And Jenny?”

“I don’t know. I’ll leave that up to her. When we first talked about it, I know she was planning on going. Why?”

“I want to take the folks out sight-seeing tomorrow,” Butch said. “It’s better than having my mother prowling around my house all day, looking through drawers and opening my cupboards. Besides, they’ve never been in southern Arizona. I wanted to show them the sights-the Wonderland of Rocks, Boot Hill, maybe even Kartchner Caverns.”

“Sounds like a big day.”

Butch nodded. “I’m hoping to wear them out. Maybe that way they’ll be ready to go back out to the park at a decent hour in order to get some sleep. But if I have to be back in time to take care of Jenny after school…”