Jenny nodded. “Okay.”
Since Jenny wasn’t crying, Joanna didn’t either. Instead, she thought about how many years the long-legged bluetick had been part of their lives. Jenny was barely a year old when Andy brought the gangly, ill-mannered six- month-old puppy home from work. Another deputy had bought it for his son but had subsequently discovered that both his wife and son were allergic to dogs. Or perhaps just to that particularly energetic and rambunctious dog. He had been on his way to drop Sadie off at the pound when Andy had intervened.
Initially, Joanna had voiced the same kinds of objections to Sadie that she would attempt to use years later when Jenny wanted Kiddo. They didn’t need a dog. Dogs were too much trouble, too much work. But Andy had insisted, and Jenny had been ecstatic. “Mama” or “Dada” may be the first words most children speak, but for Jennifer Ann Brady, it was “’Adie.” It would be another two years before she’d be able to get her little tongue around that initial
And if Jenny was crazy about the dog, the feeling was mutual. The two were inseparable. Joanna could recall few family snapshots of Jenny that didn’t have Sadie lurking, lop-eared and panting, in one corner or another. Only in more recent ones had Sadie been joined by Tigger’s clownish presence.
Fifteen minutes after his phone call, Butch drove up and parked beside the Eagle. When he entered the waiting room, a buzzer in the back of the office announced the newcomer’s arrival. The sound of the buzzer reminded Joanna of the jangling bell over the door of the Castle Rock Gallery. Determinedly, she shut the thought away. Now was not the time.
Butch took the chair on Jenny’s far side. “What’s happening, Tiger?” he asked.
Jenny looked at him for a long minute before she answered. Then her long-lashed blue eyes filled with tears and she threw herself into Butch’s arms. “It’s Sadie,” she croaked. “She’s sick. I think she’s going to die.”
Butch held her and stroked her hair. “There, there,” he said, while his eyes sought Joanna’s over the weeping child’s head.
Joanna bit her lip, nodded in confirmation, and wondered why Jenny had gone to Butch for comfort rather than to her own mother. The obvious snub hurt Joanna in a way that surprised her.
“I’m sorry, Jen,” Butch continued, holding her tightly. “I’m so very sorry.”
Jenny’s desperate sobs subsided finally, but they were all still sitting that same way – with Jenny in Butch’s arms and Joanna off to one side – a few minutes later, when Dr. Ross emerged from the backroom. “Joanna, if you’d like to come with me and…”
Seeing the grim expression on the vet’s face, Joanna knew it was bad news. By taking Joanna aside, Millicent Ross hoped to spare Jenny further heartache. But in this instance, Joanna decided, Jennifer Ann Brady had earned the right to be treated as a grown-up.
“Sadie is Jenny’s dog,” Joanna said, shaking her head. “Whatever’s going on – whatever has to be decided – we’ll all hear about it together.”
Millicent sighed and nodded. “Very well,” she said. She eased her stocky frame into another of the waiting-room chairs. “I’ve looked at the X rays. Sadie has a large tumor on one of her lungs and a smaller one on the other. The larger one is affecting her heart.”
“Tumors?” Jenny asked. “How can that be? She hasn’t been sick or anything.”
“It’s like that with animals sometimes,” Millicent Ross explained gently. “Tumors come on swiftly. A few months ago, when Sadie was here because of that poisoning incident, there was no sign of a tumor. Now there are two. Her lungs are filling up with fluid. That’s why she’s having such difficulty breathing.”
Jenny’s lower lip trembled. “What can you do?”
Dr. Ross shrugged her shoulders. “Nothing, really,” she said. “Sadie’s in pain and she’s suffering. The longer we wait, the harder it will be for her.”
“You mean we should put her to sleep?”
While Joanna found herself unable to speak, Jenny had asked the questions.
“Yes,” the vet replied.
“When? Now?”
“There’s no sense in prolonging it, Jenny. I can do it this afternoon – as soon as you leave.”
“No,” Jenny said at once. “We’re not leaving. I want to be with her.”
“That’s really not necessary,” Dr. Ross said. “She’s still strapped to the gurney…”
“Sadie doesn’t like being at the vet’s, and she hates those metal tables,” Jenny said determinedly. “They scare her. I have her blanket right here. Let’s take her off the gurney and put her on that. I’ll sit on the floor and hold her while you do it. That way she won’t be afraid.”
Millicent Ross nodded. “Good thinking,” she said. “If you’ll come with me, then…”
Still clutching the blanket, Jenny stood up. She glanced briefly at Joanna, then she stiffened her shoulders. “Okay,” she said. “I’m ready.”
As the door to the back office closed, Joanna burst into tears. She fell into Butch’s arms. As he moved to comfort her, his eyes, too, were brimming.
“Jenny knew it was coming,” Joanna managed in a strangled whisper. “That’s why she brought along the blanket.”
“She’s one smart kid,” Butch said admiringly. “I wonder where she gets it.”
I MADE MY WAY back uptown and located the Copper Queen Hotel. The closest parking place was two perpendicular blocks away. There was no bellman, but my room was ready. I checked in and then took myself downstairs to the restaurant. My scanty airline breakfast had long since disappeared. I was more than happy to mow my way through one of the Copper Queen’s generously greasy hamburgers. I hadn’t had one that good since Seattle’s old Doghouse Restaurant closed up shop years ago.
Joanna Brady may not have won any Miss Congeniality awards, but something she had said stuck with me. She had called me a plumber, and I supposed that was true. The sheriff of Cochise County wasn’t pissed at me so much as she was at Ross Connors for taking so long in getting back to her department with the needed information. I admit I was puzzled by that, too.
None of the information in Latisha Wall’s file had seemed so volatile or critical or even confidential that it couldn’t have been faxed back and forth to Cochise County without a problem. Due to that AG-enforced lag time, Joanna Brady was going to make me cool my heels for a while. I had told her I would spend my down- time looking for people from Anne Corley’s past. And maybe I would, but there was something almost physically addictive about once again sinking my teeth back into an active homicide investigation. Being benched and put on the sidelines by the likes of Sheriff Brady wasn’t how J.P. Beaumont played the game.
And so, using a paper napkin from the other, unused, place setting at my table, I began making notes. There were really only a few possibilities. One: Rochelle Baxter/Latisha Wall had died of accidental or natural causes. In either of those instances, no one was responsible, and both Joanna Brady’s department and mine were off the hook. Two: The victim had indeed been murdered. Why? A: She had died as a result of something that had happened while living in Bisbee. If that was true, the solution was entirely Joanna Brady’s responsibility. Whatever her “investigators” might or might not have discovered had nothing to do with me.
Or B: The woman Bisbee knew as Rochelle Baxter had been murdered because she was really Latisha Wall. The trail there would likely lead back to her having blown the whistle on UPPI. In that case what had happened to her definitely
As far as I know, I’m not on a nodding-acquaintance basis with anyone currently or formerly in a witness protection program. Even so, I understand that programs like that can operate successfully only so long as the fewest possible people know details of the arrangements. Cumbersome bureaucracies leave behind paper or computer trails with far too many opportunities for unauthorized personnel to access the same information. Computers are susceptible to hacking. Stray pieces of paper can end up damned near anywhere.
I remembered that among the supposedly confidential pieces of paper Harry I. Ball had given me before I left town was one with a list of telephone numbers scribbled on it. I had been directed to guard that scrap of paper with
