J. Jance - Partner In Crime

She used the arms of the deep leather chair to raise herself to her feet. “There’s a lot more I’d like to discuss with you, Sheriff Brady, but not tonight. I’m just not up to it.”

“I understand,” Joanna said. “I know you already have my phone numbers. Feel free to call anytime.”

Nodding, Cornelia started toward the elevator. As she rounded the stairs, she stopped and turned back to us. “By the way,” she added. “I’m glad to know you and Mr. Beaumont are working on this situation together, Sheriff Brady. It gives me a lot more confidence that something will come of it.”

Not wanting to be chewed up and spit out by Sheriff Brady, I stood up, too. “I could just as well be going,” I said.

“No, you don’t,” she said. “I want to talk to you.”

I sat back down and slumped down on the couch. Here it comes , I thought, remembering being hauled on the carpet by the daunting Miss Heard.

“How long have you been in town?” Joanna asked.

“Since around one P.M.,” I said.

“And who all have you talked to since then?”

I pulled a tattered notebook out of my pocket and consulted the list of names I had jotted there. “Cornelia Lester, Harvey Dowd, Angie Hacker, Archie McBride, and Willy Haskins. Later on I spoke to your chief deputy Mr. Montoya and also to a reporter named Marliss Shackleford.”

Sheriff Brady’s eyes registered surprise when I mentioned the last name on the list. “You’ve talked to Marliss?” she asked.

“You know her, I take it?”

Joanna nodded grimly. “We’re not on the best of terms.”

I suppose I should have let it go at that, but I felt constrained to tell her the rest. “You should be aware that I met with her earlier this evening,” I said. “Marliss introduced herself to me down at the crime scene, the one where you sent me packing. Then, a little while ago, she came here, to the hotel, and interviewed me.”

“About?”

“She wanted to know why I was in town,” I said.

“What did you tell her?”

“I told her I was sent as an observer for the Washington State Attorney General’s Office. I doubt that was what she was really after, though. She seems to be under the impression that Ross Connors doesn’t think your department can handle the Latisha Wall case. I believe her exact words were: ‘Ross Connors has no faith in Sheriff Brady’s ability.’ Something to that effect, anyway.”

“What did you tell her?”

“That both Mr. Connors and I thought you were doing fine.”

Joanna blinked. “Thanks,” she said.

“There’s something else,” I added.

“What’s that?”

“She started asking questions about the Bobo Jenkins interview.”

“How did she know about that?” Joanna demanded.

“I sure as hell didn’t tell her,” I responded quickly. “I may be a royal pain in the ass as far as you’re concerned, Sheriff Brady, but I know better than to compromise an ongoing investigation by leaking information to the press. The same can’t be said for everyone in your department, however. Someone on your staff needs to learn to keep his mouth shut.”

There was a long period of silence after that. The longer Joanna Brady went without speaking, the more I figured I had blown it for sure. If there had ever been a remote chance of the two of us working together successfully, it was gone for good.

“Thanks for telling me,” she said finally. “I’m pretty sure I know who Mr. Big Mouth is, but I haven’t figured out what to do about him.”

“If I were you,” I told her, “I’d kick ass and take names later.”

She laughed then. “I’ll take that suggestion under advisement.” Her single burst of laughter seemed to put us on a whole new footing. “Cornelia Lester isn’t the only one who needs to hand out apologies,” she said. “I believe I owe you one as well.”

“What for?”

“You’ve been in town for less than twelve hours, Mr. Beaumont. And yet, without any help from me or my people, you’ve managed to sort out most of the major players in this case.”

“I used to be…” I began.

“I know. You used to work homicide at Seattle PD. I’m guessing you must have been pretty good at it. The truth is, we are shorthanded at the moment, so if you’re still willing to help, please be at my office tomorrow afternoon at one. I’m creating a task force, and you’re more than welcome to join it.”

Nothing short of flabbergasted, I said, “I’ll be there.”

Joanna stood up then and held out her small hand with that surprisingly firm grip. “It’s late,” she said. “My daughter’s dog had to be put down today. I should be at home with Jenny instead of out here traipsing all over the county. I’ll see you tomorrow, then?”

I nodded. “One o’clock.”

“Sharp,” she added.

“I’ll be there.”

As she walked away, I was still shaking my head in utter befuddlement. It may have been my birthday, but I was no closer to understanding women than I was on the day I was born.

I sat for several minutes listening as the noise from the bar got louder and louder. It kept tugging at me. Finally, breaking free, I headed up to my room. Once there, I glanced at the clock. It was nearly midnight, but my night-owl grandparents would still be wide awake.

I dialed their number and was relieved when my new stepgrandfather, Lars Jenssen, who is also my AA sponsor, answered the phone. “Ja sure,” he said. “If it isn’t the birthday boy! Beverly tried calling you off and on all day, but there was no answer on your dang cell phone. She’s in getting ready for bed. Hang on. I’ll go get her.”

“No,” I said quickly. “Don’t do that. This isn’t that kind of call.”

“You having a tough time?” Lars asked, immediately switching gears. “You thinking about having that first drink?”

“Yes,” I admitted. “I am.”

“Well, then,” he said. “Let’s talk about it.”

And we did.

DRIVING UP TO THE HOUSE at High Lonesome Ranch, Joanna was vividly aware that with Sadie gone, neither of the dogs came bounding down the road to greet her. When she pulled into the yard, she noticed a light still burning in the window of Jenny’s corner bedroom.

Butch was in bed reading when she went in to undress. “Did Jenny ever come out of her room?” Joanna asked, kissing him hello.

“Once,” he said. “To feed Tigger and let him out. Other than that, I haven’t seen her.”

“Did she eat dinner?”

“Nope.”

“Her light’s still on,” Joanna said. “Maybe I should go talk to her.”

“Good idea,” Butch said. “You can try, anyway.”

Hoping Jenny might be asleep, Joanna opened the door without knocking. Inside the room, Jenny lay on the bottom bunk, one arm wrapped tightly around Tigger, who was curled up next to her. Tigger thumped his tail when Joanna first entered the room, but he didn’t try to slink off the bed, where, under normal circumstances, he wasn’t allowed.

“You awake?” Joanna asked, sinking into the creaking rocker next to the bed.

“I fell asleep this afternoon,” Jenny said. “Now I can’t sleep. I’m lying here, thinking.”

“About Sadie?”

Jenny nodded. “She was just always here, Mom. I never thought she’d go away. She never seemed sick. She never acted sick.”

“That’s the good thing about dogs,” Joanna said. “They don’t complain. The bad thing is, they can’t tell us what’s wrong with them, either. And they don’t live forever, Jen. What’s important is what you said this afternoon. We loved Sadie and took care of her while she was here with us. Now we have to let her go. And you were wonderful with her, sweetie. No one could have done more.”