York laughed. “According to the rumors around town, I may be hearing from you any-way.”
“What rumors are those?”
“I heard you’re running for sheriff.” “You heard wrong.”
“Oh,” he said.
A moment later Joanna asked, “Why are you telling me all this, about this under the table deal with Angie? Wouldn’t you be better off with it just between the two of you?”
“Because she won’t finalize the deal until you give the okay.”
“And I’m not okaying anything until I see for sure that your name’s not in that book.”
York laughed again. “You really are one stubborn woman, aren’t you, but believe me. My name’s not in there.”
They found Angie Kellogg with her foot still securely wrapped in bandages sitting on the tiny front porch of Bobo Jenkins’ home in Galena Townsites, one of Bisbee’s subdivisions. Galena was an area where look-alike homes had been built as company housing during Bisbee’s mining heyday. After the mine closures in the mid-seventies, the houses, previously rented to employees, had been sold off at rock-bottom prices.
Angie was wearing what was evidently a pair of Bobo Jenkins’ oversized sweats. The arms had been rolled up several times and the legs bagged out around her ankles like pantaloons. She was holding two books in her lap. One, black leather with gold-embossed letters on the front, looked like a date book of some kind. The other was the same shabby bird book Joanna had seen before. The well-thumbed field guide was open and Angie’s face was alight.
“Bobo actually has a hummingbird feeder, right here by the porch,” she said pointing. “Two of those cute little things were here just a couple of minutes ago. I’ve never been that close to hummingbirds. Have you?”
“Not that I remember,” Joanna said.
“Did Mr. York tell you about my offer?” Angie asked.
Joanna nodded.
“What do you think?”
“I told him you shouldn’t make up your mind until we checked to see if his name is in Tony’s book”
“It isn’t,” Angie Kellogg said. “I already looked.”
TWENTY-TWO
That evening, the visitation at the mortuary went on for hours. Joanna shook hands with what seemed like hundreds of people, all of whom came to express their condolences. It was a wary, reserved gathering. Everyone in town was still in shock over the revelations about Walter McFadden and Ken Galloway, and they were all leery about how many others of their law enforcement officers might be caught up in the dragnet.
Toward the end, when visitors were finally beginning to dwindle, a young woman breezed into the room, pushing a wizened, much older man in a wheelchair. The two of them came directly to Joanna.
“Hello,” said the woman, holding out her hand. “You must be Joanna. I’m Cora, Cora Hancock. This is my Uncle Henry, Henry Adkins. I can’t tell you how sorry we are. Andy was such a nice young man. I just don’t know when I’ve ever met anyone nicer.”
Cora, Joanna wondered as her heart skipped a beat. She had planned to call that phone number in Nevada eventually-someday much farther down the line when she would be better prepared for what she might hear. But she had deliberately put it off for a while, until she felt stronger, until the raw wounds from the last few days had begun to heal. She had not expected to confront Cora, who seemed to have a last name after all. Yet, here she was, on Joanna’s home turf-and with Andrew Brady not yet in his grave.
But Cora, with her bleached blonde hair and amazing makeup, looked every bit the fallen woman Sandra Henning had described, except for her laugh which was warm and irrepressible.
“When I heard the funeral was scheduled for Saturday, I told Uncle Henry that I didn’t know if I’d be able to get off, since weekends are always the busiest time at Harrahs. Have you ever been to Laughlin, Nevada, by the way?” she asked, pausing minutely for breath. “It’s just across the Colorado from Bullhead City.”
Joanna shook her head. “Anyway, the director got somebody to fill in for me, so I told Uncle Henry we could come, and here we are. It’s been a long drive, although not as long as it seemed the last time I made it.”
Again she paused for breath, but Joanna was too dumbstruck to say a word. “That reminds me, did Andy get you that ring he was going to?”
Joanna held out her hand and finally found a way to speak. “This? He told you about my ring?”
“Oh, yes. There it is, just as pretty as he said it would be. And he told me about the rest of the surprise as well.”
“What surprise?”
“About the money. He told me he wasn’t going to tell you about it until your anniversary dinner because he was afraid you would make him take the ring back and remodel the bathrooms instead. He was such a wonderful man, such a nice man,” she added breathlessly. “This is all so terribly sad that I think I’m going to cry.” And she did.
Uncle Henry reached out and patted her elbow with one of his bony, gnarled old hands.
ere, there,” he said. “Don’t take on so, girl.”
Jim Bob and Eva Lou, en route to the door, happened by at that precise moment. Jim Bob stopped and looked down at the little old man in puzzled consternation, as if trying to remember the name of someone he knew.
“Henry?” he asked tentatively. “Is that you?”
Uncle Henry smiled broadly. “Jimmy B? I’ll be damned. The last time I saw you, you were still in short pants. It’s a shame that it takes such a sad occasion to get together after all these years. I mean, I barely remember what the original argument was about all those years ago, and now it doesn’t matter.”
“Uncle Henry?” Joanna asked.
Jim Bob nodded. “He’s my mother’s second-oldest brother. He and the rest of the family had a falling out years ago, when I was just a boy. Uncle Henry, this is Joanna, my daughter-in-law.”
Uncle Henry nodded. “Glad to make your acquaintance, and this is Cora. She’s actually my third wife’s niece-my wife’s dead now-but that’s too confusing, so we just say she’s my niece. She’s a dancer during the weekends, but she helps out in the office during the week.”
“Office?” Jim Bob asked. “What office?”
Uncle Henry waved impatiently. “Now that I’m too old and broke up to go out prospecting any more, I’ve got me a little one-man office in Searchlight. Sell a few things now and then, lease a few mineral rights here and there. That’s where Andy’s little windfall came from, by the way. Over the years, I’d put one of the grandnephews’ names on a claim, and if that one came in, I’d send them the money. Told ‘em not to say where it came from, of course. Didn’t want ‘em to get in trouble for having anything to do with an old black sheep.”
Cora blew her nose. “You’re not so bad for a black sheep,” she said. “And none of those kids ever turned the money down, either.”
“Including you,” he said with a smile.
She nodded. “Including me.”
“And you only give the gifts in cash?” Joanna asked.
Uncle Henry straightened in his chair. “Young woman, the Income Tax is the most abominable piece of illegal legislation ever palmed off on this land, but it exists. And to my mind, the only thing lower than a revenuer is a banker, so I try to conduct my business in a way that keeps those vermin out of it. If I give away less than ten thousand dollars at a time, nobody gets excited. And if I do it in cash, I don’t have to deal with banks. If I have a gift to be delivered, Cora usually handles it for me on her days off from the casino. I don’t like banks, but it’s still a very bad idea to send that much cash through the mail, understand?”
“Yes,” Joanna answered. “I believe I do.” “Where are you staying?” Jim Bob asked. “Well, I had thought we’d stay at a place called the Copper Queen Hotel, but evidently, that’s not too easy to get in and out of in a wheelchair, so we’ve got a couple of rooms at a place called the El Cobre Lodge.”
Joanna was still trying to sort things out. “So the money Cora gave Andy was from some kind of mining
