“No, you won’t,” Joanna said, keeping her tone level but firm. “I’m sorry, but I have a job to do here. I expect you to go home with Marianne and let me do it.”
What had worked in regard to the hair appointment didn’t work when it came to the ride back home. The corner of Eleanor’s mouth turned down.
“Well!” she exclaimed in a voice that bristled with indignation. “I never!”
It took time for the women to drain out of the dining room, especially since most of them wanted to pause for word or two with the guest of honor and to admire the photo. To Joanna’s relief, Terry and her male friend were still seated at the bar when Joanna’s last well-wisher headed for the parking lot. As Joanna walked toward them, she realized that close up, the change in Terry Buckwalter was even more remarkable.
“Terry?” Joanna asked tentatively, easing herself up on an empty stool on Terry Buckwalter’s far side.
“Joanna!” Terry exclaimed, swinging around to face her. “What are you doing here?”
Joanna held up the framed picture. “I was here for the women’s club Luncheon,” she answered. “I saw you come in and thought I’d stop by to see how you’re doing.”
Terry didn’t look particularly thrilled. Her tone of voice implied that Joanna’s interest in her well-being wasn’t much appreciated. “I’m doing fine,” she said. “I just want to be left alone.”
The man seated with Terry hurried off his barstool and came around to meet Joanna, one hand extended. Looking at him from behind, Joanna had assumed from the plentiful mop of reddish hair on his head that he was someone in his thirties or forties. Now that he stood in front of her, though, she realized he was far older than that. He was strikingly handsome-tan and fit, with aquiline good looks and an infectious grin that was both boyish and friendly. Still, he had to be pushing sixty if he was a day.
“Come on now, Terry,” the man urged. “Don’t be so standoffish. Who’s your friend? Why don’t you introduce us?”
“This is Peter,” Terry said without enthusiasm. “Peter Wilkes, my golf pro. And this is Joanna Brady.”
“Joanna Brady.” Frowning, the man repeated the name, then he snapped his fingers as if a light had been switched on in his head. “As in Sheriff Joanna Brady?”
Joanna nodded. “One and the same.”
“I remember now. Esther and Myron-Myron is my partner-mentioned something about a special luncheon today. If I’m not mistaken, you were the guest of honor. I hope everything measured up to your expectations.”
As soon as she heard Peter Wilkes’s name, Joanna recognized it as the other half of the pair of men who were responsible for the Rob Roy in the first place. The problem was, Joanna had understood that the two men were a gay couple rather than simply partners. If that was the case, what was going on between Peter Wilkes and Terry Buckwalter?
Peter politely backed away. “If you two will excuse me, I have another lesson coming up in just a few minutes. You shot a great game today, Terry. That back nine was terrific. Keep up the good work.”
“Thanks,” Terry said with a smile. “It was pretty good, wasn’t it?”
Peter Wilkes nodded. “It was a lot better than pretty good.”
“You’ll check for me then on the other?” Terry asked.
Peter looked down at his watch. “I don’t know if I’ll be able to reach him today. But yes, I will check. You can count on it. As soon as I know anything, I’ll let you know.”
Peter Wilkes hurried off in the direction that led out to the pro shop. Joanna waited for a moment, wondering what exactly Wilkes was checking on. Then the bartender appeared. “What can I get for you?” he asked, addressing Joanna.
Joanna shook her head. “Nothing for me,” she said. “I just finished lunch.”
Terry Buckwalter, however, pushed her empty glass across the bar. “I’ll take another,” she said.
The bartender disappeared, returning a moment later with a tall drink that looked like nothing more serious than a glass of iced tea. Without a word, Terry tore open two packets of artificial sweetener and stirred them into the glass. Only then, as she stirred the dark brown liquid, did Joanna noticed the other thing that was different about Terry Buckwalter-her wedding ring was missing. There was a pale circle on the tanned skin of her finger that showed plainly enough that a ring had once been there. Now it wasn’t.
Glancing at her own left hand, Joanna caught sight of the two rings she still wore. One was the plain gold band she had worn from her wedding day on. The other was the diamond solitaire engagement ring, an anniversary present from Andy that she hadn’t actually received until after he was already in the hospital, dying. She had gone from the middle of September to almost the end of January without finding the strength to remove either one of them. Terry Buckwalter had removed hers within the first twenty-four hours.
“So what do you want?” Terry asked, as her eyes met Joanna’s in the reflection of the mirrored bar. Distractedly, she ran the ringless hand through her hair. When she took her hand away, the precision-cut hair fell flawlessly back into place. For a change, Helen Barco had outdone herself.
“I just wanted to talk to you,” Joanna said.
“To talk or to lecture?” Terry Buckwalter demanded. “You disapprove, don’t you-of my new haircut, of my playing golf, of everything about me.”
“Terry, I certainly didn’t mean-”
“Didn’t you?” Terry Buckwalter interjected, her whole body radiating hostility. “That’s why you didn’t leave when all those other women did. You wanted to have a private word with me. You wanted the opportunity to give me the benefit of all your vast experience as a recent widow. You wanted to let me know what’s appropriate and what isn’t. Well, Sheriff Brady, here’s some news from the front. I’m not nearly as good as you are at playing that role. The part suits you to a T. On me, it sucks.”
As Terry’s voice rose, heads turned in their direction as other people in the bar-mostly male foursomes-glanced their way.
“Please, Terry,” Joanna began. “You don’t understand. All I “
“Yes, I do understand,” ‘Terry returned. “I understand perfectly. So you and Andy had a fairy-tale marriage. Lucky for you. Bucky and I didn’t. I made the best of a bad bargain, and maybe so did he. But all that’s over now. Your Andy’s dead, Joanna. Here you are getting to play sheriff and to do things maybe you’ve always wanted to do. It’s time for m. to do the same thing-time for me to do what I want for o change. Do you understand?”
“Yes,” Joanna murmured, hoping to calm the woman down. If nothing else, to get her to lower her voice. “Yes, I’m sure I do.”
“No, you don’t,” Terry Buckwalter returned coldly. “I don’t think you do at all.”
With that, she slammed a five-dollar bill down on the counter. “Keep the change, Nate,” she called to the bartender then she stood up and stalked out the room.
Left behind with the men in the room still staring at her Joanna wondered what she had done wrong and why he] asking to talk to Terry had unleashed such a powerful reaction. Half a minute later, a speeding white T-Bird flashed by the glassed-in front entryway on its way out of the parking lot.
EIGHT
Feeling frustrated, Joanna left the Rob Roy for the fifteen-mile drive back to Bisbee. Along the way, she mulled over what had happened with Terry. Joanna had been curious about whoever was with Terry on the day after Bucky Buckwalter’s death, but that hadn’t been her primary concern. More than anything, she had wanted to speak to Terry, widow-to-widow, long enough to mention the inadvisability of making any momentous financial decisions in too much of a hurry.
That heartfelt warning had gone unsaid in the face of Terry’s seemingly unprovoked anger. What was going on? Prior to Joanna’s arrival in the bar, she had observed Terry Buckwalter and Peter Wilkes from a distance for the better part of half an hour. During that time the two of them had been chatting away as though neither of them had a care in the world.
Maybe that was it in a nutshell. Maybe, with Bucky Buckwalter dead, that was absolutely true. If Peter Wilkes
