Dead to Rights

SEVENTEEN

When Jenny and Joanna reached the Pizza Palace, Butch Dixon’s Goldwing was already parked outside the door. They found the man himself inside, seated at an oilcloth-covered picnic table. He was leaning against the wall, still reading the same book. While Jenny headed straight for the video-game arcade, Joanna slipped onto the bench across from him.

“Must be a good book,” Joanna said.

Closing it, Butch looked over at her and grinned he said. “This is the fourth or fifth time I’ve read it. It’s like reading the Bible. Depending on where you are and what’s going on in your life, you get something different out of it with each reading.”

He glanced around the room. “Where’s Jenny?”

“Waylaid by the video games,” Joanna answered with an exasperated shrug of her shoulders. “I gave her a dollar and told her when that’s gone there’ll be no more.”

“If she’s any good, she could he gone a long time,” Butch said.

“Believe me,” Joanna returned, “she^’s not that good.”

“You look tired,” Butch said, examining her face. “Rough day, I suppose, with the funeral and all.”

Joanna was still so stricken by her confrontation with Ruth Voland that Bucky Buckwalter’s funeral seemed days, not hours, away. “It’s been a rough week,” she said.

Jenny proved to be far better with the video games than her mother had expected. By the time she finally showed up at the table, Butch had already ordered a pitcher of root beer, a large pepperoni pizza with extra cheese, and green salads all around. Left on their own, the two grown-ups had launched off into conversation.

“Well,” Joanna said, “what’s the verdict on Bisbee so far?”

“It’s nice,” he said. “And small. And everybody seems to know you.”

“That’s how small towns are supposed to work. Everybody knows everybody else.”

“No,” Butch said. “People know you specifically. Several different people have asked me what I’m doing in Bisbee. When I tell them I’m here visiting a friend and that the friend is you, they all have something to say about you.”

“Good, bad, or indifferent?” Joanna asked.

“Mostly good,” Butch replied. “The people I’ve talked to seem to be very proud of you. Small-town girl makes good and all that.”

Joanna gave him a rueful grin. “Don’t believe everything you hear. And remember, I didn’t exactly volunteer for this job. I was drafted.”

“So were most of the guys whose names ended tip on the Vietnam War Memorial in Washington, D.C.,” Butch Dixon answered seriously. “But just because they were drafted doesn’t keep them from being heroes or martyrs, depending on your point of view.”

A moment or two passed. “Does that bother you?” he asked. “The fact that everybody knows you?”

“I guess I’m getting used to it.”

Sensing that the conversation was making her uncomfortable, Butch changed the subject. “It’s gorgeous country,” he said. “The contrasting reds and grays. The blue sky. The whole place is just incredible.”

Relieved of her four quarters, Jenny arrived at the table, sampled her drink, smiled at Butch and said, “What kind of pizza?”

“Jenny,” Joanna admonished. “Mind your manners. First you should say hello.”

“Hello,” Jenny chirped in Butch’s direction. “And what kind of pizza?”

“Hello yourself,” Butch returned. “And the pizza of the day is pepperoni with extra cheese.”

“Did you know that’s my favorite?” Jenny asked.

Butch nodded. “A little bird told me.”

“It did not,” Jenny responded, settling onto the bench be-side her mother. “She told you.”

Butch grinned. “You got me,” he said. “Now tell me all about this ranch of yours. Where is it again?”

“The High Lonesome is about ten miles the other side of town. Fifteen miles or so from where we are now.”

“And the two of you live out there all by yourselves?” he asked. “Isn’t it lonely?”

Jenny shook her head. “It’s not lonely,” she said. “We’ve got the dogs. And pretty soon we’re going to have a horse, too. Mom’s going to buy me one for my birthday.”

Joanna glowered at her daughter. “I wouldn’t he so certain about that horse, Jenny,” she said. Then, to Butch, she added, “It does seem a little lonely at times. And there are days when I get so sick of the long commute that I wonder if it’s worth it.”

“What do you mean, a long commute?” Butch asked.

Joanna shrugged. “Well,” she replied, “it’s ten minutes to the end of the road and then another seven or so after that to the office.”

Butch Dixon’s response was a genuine hoot of laughter. “Back in Chicago, where I grew up, twenty minutes was how long it took my father to get to the train station in Downers Grove. Then there was another hour on the train. That’s a long commute. He did it every weekday for twenty-five years.”

“You’re from Chicago?” Jenny asked. Butch nodded.

“So how did you get to Arizona?”

“My grandparents-my mother’s parents-were among the original buyers in Sun City,” Butch said. “I was in sixth grade-just a few years older than you-when my grandfather got sick. My parents pulled me out of school in January so we could come see him before he died. I’ll never forget it. It was bitterly cold in Chicago. The streets were lined with thousands of cars that were frozen to the ground and covered by mounds of snow-plowed ice, while people in Sun City were walking around in shirtsleeves, playing golf, and barbecuing on their outdoor patios. I thought I was in heaven. I decided right then that Arizona was the place for me. I told my mother at the time, but I don’t think she believed me. It took a few years, but I finally made it.”

Their salads arrived then, followed by a steaming pizza. Talk was lighthearted and fun. Joanna enjoyed watching the way Butch teased and charmed Jenny. The chill seemed to bask in the attention of this funny but attentive man who not only asked her questions but seemed genuinely interested in her answers. By the time the spumoni ice cream disappeared, Jenny and Butch Dixon had become friends.

“Can’t Mr. Dixon come out to the house so we can show it to him?” Jenny asked.

“Maybe he isn’t interested…” Joanna objected.

“But I want him to meet the dogs,” Jenny continued. “You like dogs, don’t you, Mr. Dixon?” she asked, checking Butch’s face as he answered.

“I love dogs,” he said.

“Still,” Joanna said, “it depends on whether or not he wants to.^”

“Sure,” Butch said. “I’d love to meet Tigger and Sadie, but what do you think?” he added with a sidelong look in Joanna’s direction.

“I don’t mind,” she said.

They caravanned out to the ranch, with Jenny riding back-ward most of the way to make sure Butch didn’t get lost in the process. Tigger and Sadie both went properly berserk at the sight of the motorcycle, but they were also fairly well behaved once Jenny had introduced them to Butch. When Jenny took the dogs and went inside, Butch and Joanna stood for a moment on the night-chilled back porch staring up at the velvet-black, star-studded sky.

“It’s breathtaking,” he said quietly. “Beautiful and peaceful both. When you live in the city, it’s hard to believe there’s anyplace on earth that’s still this empty.”

“It’s not that empty,” Joanna returned. “My nearest neighbor is just a little over a mile away.”

“Only a mile? That close?” Butch laughed. “Listen,” he added. “The next time you start wondering about whether or not your commute is worth it, call me. I’ll be glad to tell you it is.”

Laughing too, Joanna opened the backdoor. “It’s cold out here. Come on in,” she said. “We do have a front door, but most people come into the house this way-through the laundry room.”

Thanks to Angie Kellogg’s cleaning efforts the previous morning and due in no small part to the fact that hardly