Dead Wrong

Returning to their booth, Joanna discovered that Jenny was gamely carrying on, regaling the Dixons with stories about Lucky and the trials and tribulations of training a deaf dog.

“I can’t imagine why anyone would want to keep a dog like that,” Margaret said. “If it were up to me, I’d have put the poor thing down. When animals are damaged like that, it’s not fair to keep them alive.”

Jenny may not have inherited her mother’s red hair, but Joanna’s hot temper was very much in evidence in the scathing look Jenny leveled at her newest grandmother.

“He’s not damaged, and he’s not a poor thing, either,” Jenny objected hotly. “Lucky’s a happy dog, and he’s also very smart. He can do all the things the other dogs do, but we use hand signals with him instead of words.”

Don, realizing that his wife had spoken out of turn, tried to smooth things over. “Are there trainers who specialize in working with deaf dogs?” he asked. “Did you have to send Lucky someplace special?”

“I’m training him at home,” Jenny declared. Sitting with her arms crossed, it was clear she wasn’t at all pacified. “Butch and I found a whole lot of information on the Internet and in some books, too. It just takes patience.”

And a little common sense, Joanna thought.

“Butch just called,” she said. On her way into the restaurant she had decided to let Butch give his parents the news about his unexpected award. Now, though, needing an icebreaker, she changed her mind and told them herself. “He’s receiving a new writer’s prize tonight, based on the quality of his manuscript for Serve and Protect. A prize and a check for ten thousand dollars. That’s why his editor was so adamant about him going to El Paso. She knew the award would be announced at the banquet tonight, and she wanted him there to receive it.”

“Great!” Don Dixon boomed. “That’s terrific news. Butch must be ecstatic.”

Margaret’s enthusiasm was notable for its absence. “Ten thousand dollars for a murder mystery?” she asked. “Imagine that!”

Her comment left Joanna grateful that Butch hadn’t been the one broaching the subject after all. Jenny, on the other hand, bounded out of the booth and began clearing the table.

“She’s a great little helper, isn’t she,” Margaret said. Fortunately, she didn’t see the silent roll of the eyes Jenny gave her mother on her way to the trash containers by the door.

“Yes,” Joanna agreed. “She certainly is.”

Back at High Lonesome Ranch, Jenny was quick to take Tigger and Lucky and retreat to her own bedroom, leaving Joanna to deal with the unexpected company as best she could. Margaret was full of unsolicited advice. On childbirth? Natural with no unnecessary anesthetics. Child rearing? Definitely in the corner of “Spare the rod; spoil the child.” Working mothers? A bad idea. Where did Joanna think this whole new generation of juvenile delinquents came from? Or ill-behaved household pets? Letting them have the run of the whole house was another bad idea- downright unsanitary and dangerous. How about all the children who ended up being mauled by family pets? Everything in Margaret’s litany of modern evils was laid at the door of working mothers. For Joanna it was all amazingly familiar. At times she wondered if Eleanor Lathrop Win-field and Margaret Dixon hadn’t been created with the DNA equivalent of a rubber stamp.

It was a relief when, at eight-thirty, the telephone rang. More than half hoping it was something that would necessitate her driving to a crime scene, Joanna lumbered her unbalanced center of gravity off the couch and went to answer.

“Sheriff Brady?” Ernie Carpenter asked.

“Yes.”

“You weren’t asleep or anything, were you?”

I wish, Joanna thought. “No,” she said. “Not at all. What’s up?”

“I know it’s late,” Ernie said, “but I was wondering if I could stop by for a while to talk to you.”

For the first time since Joanna had known him, Ernie Carpenter sounded oddly ill at ease and uncertain.

“If you’d like me to meet you at the department…” she began.

“No,” he said. “This is personal. If you don’t mind, I’d really rather stop by the house. I’m in town, so it’ll be a few minutes before I get there, but it won’t take long.”

“Sure,” Joanna said. “That’ll be fine.”

She went back to the couch and found both Margaret and Don Dixon looking at her expectantly. Ernie had explicitly arranged to meet with Joanna away from the department. Obviously whatever he had to say he wanted said in private and without Butch’s parents hanging on his every word.

“It’s one of my detectives,” she explained. “He’s coming by to brief me on the developments in one of our homicide cases.”

Fortunately Don Dixon took the hint. “Come on, Margaret,” he said, taking his wife’s hand and helping her to her feet. “We’d better turn in then. If Joanna has work to do, we certainly don’t want to be in the way.”

“You’re sure you’ll be warm enough out there?” Joanna asked. She had invited Margaret and Don to stay in the guest room and had been more than slightly relieved when they had turned her down.

“Oh, heavens, yes,” Margaret replied. “The RV is just as cozy as it can be.”

“Good night, then,” Joanna said. “Sleep well.”

Lady, who had made herself scarce with a strange man in the house, emerged from the bedroom and stayed next to Joanna on the couch. As soon as Ernie Carpenter turned up at the front door, Lady bailed again.

“Come in,” Joanna said, ushering Ernie into the living room. “Can I get you something?”

“I’m not working at the moment,” he said. “You wouldn’t happen to have a beer, would you?”

Joanna went out into the kitchen and returned with Butch’s last bottle of Michelob Ultra. “What’s up, Ernie?” she asked, handing it to him. “You look upset. Is something the matter? Is it Rose?”

Ernie took a long sip of beer. “No,” he said, lowering the bottle. “It’s me.”

“What about you?”

“It’s not something that’s easy to talk about,” he answered. “I mean, you being a woman and all…”

“Ernie,” she urged. “Tell me.”

He took another sip of beer. “You may have noticed I’ve missed some shifts lately.”

“Yes,” she said. “Frank and I had noticed.”

“Well,” Ernie said, “it’s because I’ve been seeing a doctor- up in Tucson. Rosie told me I needed to tell you about it, so you’d know what’s been going on.”

“What is going on?”

He sighed. “When I went in for my annual physical, Dr. Lee said my PSA was way out of whack. He sent me to a specialist in Tucson.”

“PSA?” Joanna asked, feeling stupid.

“Prostate-specific antigen,” Ernie explained. “It means I’ve got prostate cancer.”

For a moment, Joanna could think of nothing to say. Finally she said, “Ernie, I’m so sorry.”

He nodded. “Me, too. Believe me. I got the news a couple of weeks ago. For a while I just couldn’t process it. Couldn’t think how it was possible for me to have cancer. I’ve always been healthy as a horse. And then, just like that, you’re sitting there in the doctor’s office, he says the magic words and wham-o, all of a sudden you’re a cancer patient. It’s like falling off a cliff.”

Joanna thought about finding Andy lying wounded along High Lonesome Road. Yes, it had felt just like that. One minute she had been mad as hell at him for being late for their tenth-anniversary dinner, and the next minute she was crouched in the dirt, praying for help, and applying pressure to his gunshot wound in hopes of keeping Andy from bleeding to death. It had been exactly like falling off a cliff.

“What’s the prognosis?” she asked.

Ernie shrugged. “You know how doctors are. They think they caught it early and all that happy baloney^ but who knows? Since nobody ever had me do a PSA test before, they’re not really sure how long it’s been around.”

“What about treatment?” she asked.

“That’s the thing. We’ve been trying to find out what all the options are. Surgery, radiation, whatever. Rosie and I have been meeting with people-doctors and patients both-trying to figure out what’s the best thing to do. Supposedly I’m a good candidate for seeds…”

“Seeds?”