corrected. “That’s a picture of me.”
“You’re kidding! I love it.”
“Marliss Shackleford doesn’t care for it much,” Joanna murmured.
“Who’s Marliss Shackleford?”
“The lady who received the other copy of this picture, only hers is much bigger. Eleven by fourteen. I gave it to her to use in a display at the Sheriff’s Department. It’s going up in a glass case along with pictures of all the other sheriffs of Cochise County. If you ever get a chance to see it, you’ll recognize me right away. I’m the only one wearing a Brownie uniform.”
“I’ll bet it’s the cutest picture in the bunch,” Butch said.
“Maybe you’re prejudiced,” Joanna observed with a smile. “My mother doesn’t think it’s the least bit cute. She says the other pictures are serious, and mine should be, too.”
“Speaking of your mother,” Butch said. “How did your brother’s visit go? You sounded worried about it when I talked to you on the phone.”
“It was fine. He and his wife came in from Washington, D.C. It’s the first time I’ve ever met my sister-in-law.”
“What are they, newlyweds?” Butch asked.
“Not exactly,” Joanna answered. “It’s a long story.”
Other customers came in and occupied the bartender’s attention. Joanna sat there, looking at her surroundings, realizing with a start that she felt safe and comfortable sitting there under Butch Dixon’s watchful eye. No doubt Serena Grijalva had felt safe there as well. But Larry Dysart would have been dangerous no matter where someone met him.
Butch dropped off Joanna’s Roundhouse Special and then stood there watching as she started to eat it. She caught the quick, questioning glance at her ring finger as she raised the sandwich to her lips.
Her rings were still there. Both of them. Andy had been gone since September, but Joanna wasn’t yet ready to take off the rings and put them away.
“It’s still too soon,” she said.
Butch nodded. “I know,” he answered quietly. “But you can’t blame a guy for checking, can you?”
“No.”
She put down her sandwich and held her hand in the air, examining the rings. The diamond engagement ring—Andy’s last gift to her—sparkled back at her, even in the dim, interior gloom of the Roundhouse Bar and Grill.
“If you and Andy had ever met, I think you would have liked each other,” she said at last.
“Why’s that?” Butch Dixon asked.
“You’re a nice guy,” Joanna said. “So was Andy.”
Shaking his head and frowning, Butch began polishing the top of the bar. “People are always telling me there’s no demand for nice guys.”
“You’d be surprised about that,” Joanna Brady said. “You just might be surprised.”
