by J. A. Jance
Joanna raised her eyes until they met and held Marianne Maculyea’s serious, gray-eyed gaze. “And what did you decide?” Joanna asked.
Marianne raised her glass and finished off the drink. “That somebody’s lying,” she answered cheerfully. “All we have to do now is figure out who.”
She got up then, picked up her glass, and carried it into the kitchen. “I’m going home now,” she said, gathering her purse and keys. “You’ve got to be dead on your feet. We’ll thrash this all out tomorrow. In the meantime, try to get some sleep.”
Coming back to Joanna’s side, she gave her a quick hug. “Will you be all right here by yourself?”
“Go on home,” Joanna answered dully. “I’ll be fine.”
For some time after Marianne Maculyea drove out of the yard, Joanna continued sitting at the table. Weary beyond all reason, she knew she needed to go to bed. Twice she got up and started for the bedroom and twice she turned back, unable to open the bedroom door.
Tired as she was, she couldn’t bring herself to step inside the room that had once been her haven from the rest of the world. How could she possibly lie down on her side of that double bed, the one she and Andy had slept in all their married life? How could she put her head down on a pillow when the one next to hers would still be laden with Andy’s distinctive scent? How could she go near a closet where his dirty clothes would still be lying in a haphazard pile on the floor and where his freshly ironed shirts and pants would still be hanging on his side of the closet waiting for him to come put them on?
No. The bedroom was definitely off limits, but Marianne Maculyea’s whiskey was having the intended effect on Joanna’s fatigued body. Finally, barely able to put one foot in front of the other, she shambled to the linen closet and dragged out one of Eva Lou’s heavy, hand-crocheted afghans. Still wearing the terrycloth robe, Joanna turned off the lights, wrapped the an around her, and lay down on the living couch.
As soon as she lay down, she knew it had been a mistake to turn out the lights. In the darkness, the house seemed oppressively quiet. Joanna started to get up and turn them bark on, but just then Sadie came over to the couch and sniffed curiously at the afghan-wrapped cocoon. For some time the dog stood with her soft chin resting on Joanna’s shoulder. Finally, voicing her objection in a huge sigh, Sadie flopped down on the floor next to the couch.
That night Joanna Brady fell asleep to the comforting rumble of Sadie’s steady snores. In the face of that impossibly empty silence, the dog’s company was a vast improvement over being alone.
TEN
Jennifer awakened her mother early the next morning. At seven o’clock the child was already up and dressed. “Am I going to school?” she asked.
Lying on the couch, it took Joanna a moment before she was fully awake and functioning enough to realize where she was and why Jennifer was asking.
Fighting off despair, Joanna looked at her daughter. “There’s lots to do. We have to finish planning Daddy’s funeral today.”
“But it’ll be boring,” Jennifer objected. “Besides, all the other kids will be in school. I already missed yesterday. Can’t I go? Please?”
Joanna was torn. Inarguably, it would be easier to do things without having to worry about Jennifer, but as a mother, she wondered about the propriety of Jenny returning to school so soon after her father’s death.
“If you really want to go, I suppose it’ll be all right,” Joanna agreed finally. “But I’ll take you. I’m not sending you on the bus. Have had breakfast?”
“Not yet,” Jenny said.
Joanna heaved off the afghan. “You go eat. get dressed.”
Alter another quick shower to subdue her hair, Joanna found that in the daylight, the room wasn’t quite as bad as it had been at ht. Just inside the bedroom door she discovered the Arizona Inn shopping bag. She had no idea how it had ended up there; perhaps her mother had brought it along with her m Tucson. In any event, once dressed in a sweatshirt and ratty jeans, she took her work boots out of the bag and carried them along with her to the kitchen.
She found Jennifer in the breakfast nook reading the cereal box and crunching down a bowl of Cheerios. “I made coffee,” Jenny said. “I hope it’s not too strong.”
Joanna paused long enough to pour a cup. It was strong, all right, but Joanna took it without complaint and without watering it down, either. She dropped her boots on the floor and settled down opposite her daughter. Jenny looked up at her questioningly.
“Are you mad because I’m going to school?” she asked.
Joanna shook her head. “I’m not mad at anybody,” she said.
“Something like this never happened to me before,” Jennifer continued. “I don’t know how to act.”
Joanna managed an affectionate smile. “At times like this, it’s probably best to do whatever feels right. If you feel like going to school, go. How does that sound?”
“Fine,” Jennifer nodded, then added, “Grandpa’s here.”
Joanna looked around. “He is? Where? When did he get here?”
“While you were in the shower. He said he’d be out in the barn getting hay for the cattle.”
Joanna hunched down and began to pull on her boots. “Why’s he doing that?” she flared. “I can feed cattle, for Pete’s sake. I’m not helpless, you know.”
Jennifer shrugged. “He said you have enough to worry about right now, so he’s taking care of the animals.”
“Well, he shouldn’t!” Joanna exclaimed indignantly, straightening up and heading for the door.
“Maybe it seems right to him,” Jennifer observed, without looking up from her cereal bowl. “Maybe it’s what he feels like doing.”
Joanna stopped at the door and looked back at her daughter, struck by the adult wisdom in her child’s words. Sometimes Jennifer amazed her.
“Maybe you’re right,” Joanna said. “Finish your breakfast and brush your teeth. I’ll go see Daddy Jim needs any help. When we finish, I’ll take you to school.”
By the time Joanna went outside, though, Jim Bob Brady had already finished with the cattle and was coming from the barn to the house. He looked far older and more stoop-shouldered than Joanna remembered. There d always been a remarkable physical resemblance between Jim Bob Brady and his son. As the old man walked toward her now with the early morning sun on his face, Joanna felt a sharp pang of loss. She would never have a chance to see how Andy would look at that age, to watch how his hair might grow gray or see how sunlight and hard work might have etched lines into his smooth features.
“Done already?” she asked.
Daddy Jim nodded. “It wasn’t much.” “Would you like some coffee? Jenny made it.”
The old man sighed. His eyes were puffy and red-rimmed from lack of sleep. “No, tanks,” he said. “Reckon I’d better head on home. Mama’s taking this real hard. I shouldn’t leave her alone for very long at a stretch.”
“Is she all right?” Joanna asked. “She seemed okay last night.”
Jim Bob shook his head. “You know Eva Lou,” he said wearily. “She’s fine as long as she’s busy doin’ for somebody else, but this morning, I think it finally hit home, what with the rumors and all.”
“You’ve heard them, too?” Joanna asked. She had hoped to spare her in-laws from some of the ugliness, but that was impossible. They lived in the town. They had eyes and ears.
Daddy Jim shrugged. “Heard some of ‘em last night right here from old Clayton Rhodes. I didn’t pass ‘em along to Mama, though, ‘cause I was afraid they’d like to kill her. Wouldn’t you know somebody called her up bright and early this morning to talk about it? And it was on the TV news as well. To hear them talk, it’s like it’s all cut and dried, like Andy’s guilty as sin when he’s not here to defend himself. It don’t seem fair to me that you’re innocent until proven guilty ‘less, of course, you’re dead. Then all bets are off. I’ll tell you what, it’s about to break Eva Lou’s heart. I mean, it’s bad enough for him to be dead, but this�
�� Damn!”
The old man strode away from her a few paces and swiped savagely at his eyes with his shirt sleeve. In all the years she’d known him Joanna had never seen her father-in-law shed tear.
Alter a time he straightened his shoulders d drew a deep breath. “Where’s it gonna end, Joanna?” he asked, walking back to her. “You hear all these terrible things, all these. It don’t seem possible that they’re talking about my boy, about my Andy, about him killing somebody in cold blood, about him taking money from drug dealers and all. But nobody’s standing up for him, either. No one’s yelling from the rooftops that Andrew Roy Brady never did any such thing!”
“I am,” Joanna said quietly.
Jim Bob Brady looked at her earnestly. “So you don’t think he did all those things, either, you?”
“No.”
“But what do we do about it?”
“Try to prove they’re wrong,” Joanna answered.
“How?”
“I don’t know. By going to the bank and finding out where the money came from to buy my ring, for one thing,” she replied. “By finding out exactly when Lefty O’Toole was murdered and by showing conclusively that Andy was nowhere around when that happened”
“Have you seen this note they keep talking about?” Jim Bob asked hoarsely. “The suicide note?”
“Not yet, but I will. He wouldn’t do that, Daddy Jim.”
“Don’t you think I know that?” Jim Bob Brady returned. “Don’t you think I know my own son well enough to say he’d never do such a thing, never leave his wife and child to make it on their own?” His voice cracked and he stopped for a moment.
“But how do you convince somebody else?” he continued. “I called Dick Voland last night after Mama fell asleep. I called then because I didn’t want her knowin’ what I was up to. I asked him straight out about hirin’ a private investigator to look into this matter. Do you know what he says to me? He tells me to save my money and not bother. They must think they’ve got a pretty good case.”
“Except for one small thing,” Joanna asserted vehemently. “Andy didn’t do it. He wouldn’t kill another human being, not unless his very life depended on it, and maybe not even then.”
The dim light of hope seemed to switch back on in Jim Bob Brady’s eyes. “Do you think we’ll we be able to prove it, Joanna?” he asked. “Will we be able to get anyone else to see it our way?”
The old man’s tremulous hope caused a sudden stiffening in Joanna’s spine. “We’re going to try,” Joanna responded. “We’re going use every trick in the book.”
Jim Bob Brady shook his head. “I can’t tell u what it would mean to Mama, if you found out Andy didn’t do all those awful things,” he said.
For a moment, neither of them spoke, then he went on. “Thank you, Joanna. You do whatever it is you need to do, and don’t worry out the stock. Clayton and I talked it over last night. He says he’ll come over of an evening, and I can handle mornings. That way you won’t have to worry about it.”
“Daddy Jim,” Joanna objected firmly. “I appreciate the offer, but these cattle are not your problem. Jennifer and I can take care of things round here.”
“Maybe so,” Jim Bob Brady agreed. “In fact, don’t have a doubt in the world. The point, you shouldn’t have to. Not right now. Besides, bein’ back out here takes my mind off my troubles, helps me think about other things.”
If that was true, if coming out to do chores was therapeutic, Joanna could hardly tell him no. “All right,” she conceded reluctantly, “but promise me that you won’t work too hard, that you won’t overdo it.”
“I promise,” he said quickly. “I may look old and all wore out, but I can still heft me a mean bale of hay now and then.”
Behind them the screen door on the back porch banged open. “Mom,” Jennifer said, “are you ready? It’s getting late.”
“She wants to go to school today,” Joanna explained, worried that her father-in-law might take offense. “I told her it was up to her, that I’d take her in if she wants to go.”
“I’m headed that way myself, Jenny,” Jim Bob Brady said, speaking to the child over her mother’s head. “Your mom’s real busy. Go get your stuff. I’ll drop you off on my way back home.”
Jennifer dashed back into the house. The old man stepped closer to Joanna. This time, when he spoke, it was almost a whisper. “I don’t mean to pry, Joanna, but are you and Jenny gonna be all right as far as money’s concerned?”
He asked the question awkwardly, as though he knew he had no right to ask but found himself powerless in the face of his agonizing need to know.
“We’ll be fine, Daddy Jim,” Joanna answered. “I work for an insurance company, and Milo saw to it that we owned some. There’ll be money from that and from Social Security as well. You don’t have to worry on that score.”
He sighed with relief. “I’m real happy to or it. Maybe it’ll help me sleep a little better tonight, but then again, maybe not.”
Once more the screen door banged. Jennifer appeared between them carrying a lunch bag and a stack of books. Jim Bob Brady patted her shoulder fondly. “I suppose we’d best be getting along. Otherwise, you’re gonna be tardy.”
Jennifer headed toward the Honda, but despite his words, Jim Bob made no move to follow. He stood with both hands shoved deep his pockets.
“You know,” he said thoughtfully, “Mama and me were both pretty upset way back then when you and Andy turned up pregnant and all. We thought you was too young and crazy get married and make it work, to make a go of it, but you did, by God.
“You were still just a kid, Joanna, but you de him a hell of a good wife. You helped him with school and made him grow up in a way Mama and I never could have. I want you know right now that you’re as much a daughter to me as Andy ever was a son, and I don’t want you to forget it. If you and Jenny need something, anything at all, you come to me first, you hear?”
Joanna nodded wordlessly, her eyes filling with tears.
“Good,” he said. “I just wanted you to know.”
With that, he pulled his hand from his pocket and held it out to Joanna. It was an odd, surprising gesture. After all he’d said, she expected a hug, but Jim Bob Brady came from stem, dry-land farming stock where physical displays of affection didn’t come easily.
Joanna reached out to return what she thought was a proffered handshake. Instead, he placed something in her upturned palm and pressed her fingers shut around it.
Startled, Joanna opened her hand and looked. There, neatly folded into a tiny square, lay a piece of paper money. She unfolded it, thinking it might be a ten or a twenty. Instead, she found it to be a single hundred dollar bill.
“There’s more where that came from,” Jim Bob Brady declared in a forceful whisper.
With that, her father-in-law turned and strode away. Blinded by tears, Joanna stumbled back into the kitchen, sank into the break-fast nook, put her head down on her arms, and bawled her eyes out, grateful that there was no one else around the house to see or hear her do it.
It was some time later before she managed to pull herself back together enough to get up and pour a second cup of coffee. She supposed it would be like this for some time-one step forward and two back, then she’d be fine for while until something set her off again. In her present condition, kindness was almost ore difficult to handle than anything else.
The fit of crying had passed and she was just beginning to work on a complex TO-DO list when the phone rang. Afraid it might be her mother, she almost didn’t answer. Finally she did.
“Mrs. Brady?” a man asked. The voice sounded familiar, although at first Joanna couldn’t place it.
“Yes.”
“Dr. Sanders,” he announced. “From University Hospital.”
“Oh, yes,” she said, thinking she must have fled to fill out one of the billing forms properly. “What can I do for you, Dr. Sanders?”
He paused. “This may sound funny, Mrs. Brady, but with all d
ue humility, I’m a good doctor and an excellent surgeon. When you ked about your husband’s prognosis yesterday morning, I gave you the worst possible scenario. I always do that as a matter of course, so that families have a chance to work backwards from there. I couldn’t predict the eventual outcome of the possible paralysis, but from the family’s standpoint, a partial recovery would have been better than no recovery at all, if that’s what you’re prepared for. Does that make sense?”
“Yes.”
“I usually take Wednesday afternoons off. If I had thought your husband’s condition was that critical, I never would have left the hospital. That’s why I wasn’t there when your husband’s status deteriorated so rapidly. Now, I’m trying to make sense of what happened.”
“They scheduled an autopsy,” Joanna said.
“I know. Actually, I’ve already seen it. The preliminary results are inconclusive. With the kind of extensive injuries your husband sustained, I would have expected to find a stray blood clot that had come loose and made its way to either the heart or lungs, but the medical examiner found nothing of the kind. She’s ordered a full battery of toxicology tests, but those take time.”
“Toxicology?” Joanna asked. “Why that?”
“Because,” he answered, without really addressing the question. “The reason I’m calling you right now,” he continued, “is to see if you noticed any change in your husband’s condition the last time you saw him.”
“No. None. I was away from the hospital, too, when it happened. Have you spoken to the other doctor?”
“What other doctor?” Sanders demanded sharply.
“The one who stopped by just before Andy went into cardiac arrest. My mother said he told her everything was fine.”
There was dead silence on the other end of the line. “Mrs. Brady,” Dr. Sanders said slowly. “I have your husband’s chart right e in front of me. There’s no indication of a doctor’s visit after my last rounds at 11:30 A.M. just before I left for the day. Did your mother mention a name?”
