Terry nodded, biting her lip in agreement, although she said nothing more, and neither did Joanna. A few empty-sounding platitudes came to mind-”This too will pass,” for instance, and “Time heals all wounds.” The problem was, those were the very same supposedly comforting words that had been passed along to Joanna in the emotional devastation following Andy’s death. They hadn’t helped her much, and she cringed at the idea of inflicting them on someone else.
Glancing at the time, Joanna was ready to start for the door when Bucky Buckwalter’s voice burst in on them from another room, from somewhere beyond the swinging door.
“Is that son of a bitch still out there, or did he finally leave?”
Terry flushed with embarrassment. “Bucky,” she cautioned. “Sheriff Brady’s…”
If Bucky heard Terry’s warning tone, he disregarded it completely. “Just tell me whether or not he’s gone.”
“He’s still here,” Terry answered, “but-”
“That media-courting asshole!” Amos Buckwalter snorted. “Maybe I should take the hose out and water down the parking lot…” He charged through the swinging door, stopping abruptly when he finally realized that his wife wasn’t alone in the outer office.
He turned on Terry. “Why didn’t you tell me someone was here?” he fumed. “The least you could have done was let me know.”
Over the years, Bucky Buckwalter had established the reputation of having a great bedside manner where animals were concerned. His people-handling skills, however, were something less than wonderful.
Meantime, Bucky stopped in mid-tirade. Leaving off the harangue, he turned to Joanna with an instantly manufactured smile that oozed public charm. Joanna’s mother-in-law, Eva Lou Brady, would have called it turning on his company manners. The telling difference between Bucky Buckwalter’s public persona and his private one wasn’t lost on Joanna.
“Why, Sheriff Brady,” he said smoothly. “I had no idea you were still here. Hal Morgan isn’t filing some kind of complaint against me, is he?”
Joanna shook her head. “Not that I know of,” she said. “I’m here because Tigger has another faceful of porcupine quills.”
The vet frowned and looked at Terry. “Another?” he asked. “Have we removed quills from him before? I don’t remember doing it.”
“It happened while…” Terry paused, as if struggling to find the right thing to say. “… while you were away,” she finished lamely. “Twice. Dr. Wade took care of it both times.”
“Oh, I see,” the vet said, nodding and rushing on in a way that was calculated to smooth out any awkwardness. “Well, I’m sure we’ll be able to handle it just fine. Maybe we can juggle the schedule enough to work Tigger in sometime this morning.
“I’d appreciate it if you could,” Joanna told him. “And I’m sure Tigger would be more than happy to second that motion. I’ll be back to pick him up right after work. Right now, though, I have to run or I’ll be late for the board of supervisors meeting.
Joanna made it as far as the door before she paused and looked back. Tferry and Bucky Buckwalter were standing on either side of the counter. There was an almost palpable tension between them. Joanna sensed that they were holding off the beginning or, more likely, the continuation, of a serious family argument. No doubt, hostilities would resume the moment Joanna stepped outside. In the meantime, Bucky-with almost casual nonchalance-picked up the pile of folders and began thumbing through them.
“Dr. Buckwalter?” Joanna said.
He glanced up at her. “Yes. What is it?”
“Don’t worry about Mr. Morgan,” Joanna said, looking Dr. Amos Buckwalter straight in the eye. “He’s doing what he feels he has to do-what he has a constitutional right to do. If you just leave him alone, I doubt he’ll cause you any trouble.”
The practiced but phony smile dimmed. “You’re saying I have to let him stand out there and harass my customers without doing anything about it?” Bucky returned irritably.
Instead of being irate that Hal Morgan was outside the clinic gates of Buckwalter Animal Clinic protesting Bonnie’s death, Bucky might have shown a little contrition, acted as though he were sorry, even if he was only going through the motions. As far as Joanna was concerned, spending two months in jail, paying a hefty fine into the coffers of the Maricopa County Superior Court, and going through a drug-and-alcohol treatment didn’t seem like much of a punishment for the taking of a human life.
Joanna had known Bucky Buckwalter for years, not only as the family vet but also as an insurance client at the Davis Insurance Agency, where she had worked for years, both as office manager and as saleswoman, prior to her election to the office of sheriff. Bucky had always struck her as an egotistical, overbearing blowhard. As an employee of the Davis Insurance Agency, Joanna Brady had endured his tantrums because it was in the company’s best interests for her to do so. Now, though, she was out of the insurance business. Glossing over Bucky’s bad behavior was no longer necessary. Amos Buckwalter was accustomed to pushing people around. Sheriff Brady decided it was high time someone pushed back.
“That’s right,” she replied firmly. “You’re to do nothing at all. Leave Hal Morgan alone. And just to be on the safe side, don’t water down your parking lot as long as he’s out there, either. Some of that icy spray just might make it over the fence into the public right-of-way. That would be unfortunate. Don’t forget, Dr. Buckwalter, harassment is a two-way street.”
Before Bucky could respond and before Joanna could complete her exit, the clinic’s front door slammed open. A disheveled woman darted inside. Joanna recognized her as Irene Collins, a retired schoolteacher who lived up Tomb-stone Canyon in Old Bisbee. One arm cradled a huge calico cat. The other hand clutched one of Hal Morgan’s M.A.D.D. brochures.
“Oh, Dr. Buckwalter!” Irene exclaimed. “I’m so glad you’re here. Murphy Brown has some kind of bone stuck in her throat. I’ve been trying for almost an hour to get it out with a pair of tweezers, but I can’t do it myself. She just won’t hold still long enough so I can grab it.”
“Come on,” Bucky said at once, holding open the door to one of the examining rooms. “Bring Murphy right on in here. I’ll see what I can do for her.”
Irene Collins dropped both her purse and the brochure on the counter as she hurried toward the examining room. Terry Buckwalter left the purse where it was, but with a glance in her husband’s direction, she snatched up the brochure and tossed it into the trash. She wasn’t quite fast enough at removing the offending piece of paper. Bucky had already seen it. They all had.
Irene and the ailing Murphy Brown disappeared into the examining room. Shaking his head, the vet stalked after them. Joanna turned back to the door.
“I’m sorry about all this,” Terry Buckwalter called after her. “It’s so embarrassing.”
Terry was clearly stuck in a no-win situation. Maybe Bucky Buckwalter didn’t feel any regret over the death of Hal Morgan’s wife, but Joanna was convinced that his wife did. “Don’t worry about it, Terry,” Joanna said. “It’s no big deal. Besides, you’ve got nothing to apologize for. It’s Bucky’s problem.”
Terry Buckwalter’s eyes filled with tears. “That’s where you’re wrong,” she mumbled. “It’s a problem for both of us.”
Joanna left the clinic then. As she drove through the gate, she gave Hal Morgan a passing wave, but she didn’t stop to talk. Instead, she headed straight for the county administration building on Melody Lane, where the board of supervisors meeting was already in session. Frank Montoya, Chief Deputy for Administration, had saved a seat next to him in the far back row.
“How’s it going?” she whispered.
“It’s a good thing you got here when you did,” he said. “You’re up next. From the treasurer’s report of another downturn in expected tax revenues, it isn’t going to be any kind of picnic.”
And it wasn’t, either. Joanna spent the better part of the next three hours in the hot seat being grilled about exactly how she intended to reduce her departmental budget by the required seven and a half percent across-the- board cuts that were being demanded of all of Cochise County ’s department heads. When twelve o’clock rolled around, she was relieved to head for Daisy’s Cafe in Bakerville for a quiet lunch with the Reverend Marianne Maculyea, her pastor and also her best friend.
