Joanna knew exactly what it was about-Junior. She felt a stab of regret that she hadn’t played the game better. “Remember Frank’s idea about having Marliss help find Junior’s family by writing a human-interest piece about him?” she asked.
“Right,” Voland growled. “Another one of Frank’s cock-eyed ideas. But why is she coming to see me about it? Shouldn’t she be talking to you?”
“We tried that,” Joanna said. “I threw her out of my office.”
“That’s probably not the best way to treat one of our local newsies.”
“I’m sure that’s true,” Joanna agreed. “So do me a favor, Dick. Talk to her. Try to smoothe things over.”
“I’ll see what I can do,” Voland replied. “But I’m not making any promises.”
Knowing Dick was about to be interviewed-make that grilled-by Marliss Shackleford, Joanna wasn’t at all eager to let him go. “By the way,” she asked, “did Mark Childers ever show up?”
“As a matter of fact, he didn’t,” Voland replied. “That’s what happens with high-rollers, though. They can afford to take lunches that last all afternoon, and nobody gives a damn.”
“If you do see him,” Joanna said, “let him know that we’re not going to tolerate his encouraging a range war. Pass along the message that his workers had better show up unarmed from now on.”
“I’ll spread the word,” Voland said. “First chance I get.”
Cringing at the thought of what Marliss would have to say to Dick Voland, Joanna put down the phone just as Kristin came into the office. “Jenny called,” she said.
That was the first Joanna noticed that she had used the private line for her calls to Dick and to Frank Montoya. That left Jenny no option but to call in through the switchboard. “I’ll call her right back,” Joanna said.
But she didn’t. Not right away. Instead, she sat staring at the phone and wondering how and when she was going to get around to telling Jenny what was going on with Butch. Obviously she couldn’t delay too long. If she did, Eleanor would steal a march on her and tell Jenny herself.
When Joanna finally did pick up the phone, she didn’t find it at all surprising that Jenny answered the phone at Butch Dixon’s house. “What are you up to?” Joanna asked.
“Me and Junior are playing video games.”
“Junior and I.” Joanna had tried to cut down on the reflexive grammatical corrections, but it was useless. It was one of those inevitable traits that had been passed down the DNA chain on her mother’s side.
“Well, we are,” Jenny said. “He’s pretty good. Not as good as me… I am. How are you?”
“Busy, but things are beginning to get better,” Joanna said. “How would you like to go out to the Pizza Palace for dinner tonight?”
“Do you think Junior likes pizza?” Jenny asked.
“I wasn’t asking Junior,” Joanna told her. “I was asking you.”
“You mean, just us? Not even Butch?”
“Not even.”
“How come? Am I in trouble or something?”
Joanna shook her head in exasperation. “Why would you be in trouble? And what’s the matter with just the two of us going out for pizza?”
“I guess that’ll be okay,” Jenny’s acquiescence was less than enthusiastic. “When?”
Joanna looked at her watch. “In about an hour,” she said. “I’ll come by to pick you up.”
Kristin came in again, this time bearing a stack of documents that had come through the inter-departmental mail. Topmost on the stack were the transcribed minutes from the previous day’s board of supervisors meeting. Curious about what exactly had been said concerning Oak Vista Estates, Joanna scanned through several pages. Reading the actual quotes, Joanna could see that Dick Voland had given her a pretty accurate report about what had gone on. If anything, Voland had underplayed Mark Childers’ vehement criticism over how the sheriff’s department had handled the first set of demonstrators the previous Friday afternoon. Joanna hated to think what he would say at the next meeting, when the property damage to his equipment had all been properly tallied. Idly Joanna wondered if there wasn’t some out-of-town event-a law-enforcement seminar somewhere-that would cause her to miss the next meeting, the one where her department would inevitably be stuck on the hot seat.
After Mark Childers gave up the podium, several of his critics had stepped forward to voice their dismay and outrage over the fact that, with very little advance warning and with only negligible public notice, Mark Childers’ company was being allowed to tear up one of the last untouched tracts of Cochise County grassland. Childers’ critics were far more vociferous and adamant than the developer had been. As the tenor of their comments became more and more negative, so did the mood of the board. But rather than turning their wrath on Childers, the board members instead focused their ire on poor Lewis Flores. He was the one who had signed off on the Environmental Impact Statement. His was the signature on Mark Childers’ building permits.
Joanna knew Lewis Flores. He had been in Andy’s class in Bisbee High School. His wife, Carmen Rojas, was a year younger than Joanna. After graduating from Arizona State University, Lewis had worked in county government in both Pima and Pinal counties before he and Carmen had come home to Bisbee. He had accepted the job as head of the Planning and Zoning Department while Carmen taught first grade at Greenway School. The two of them had taken up residence in Carmen’s parents’ old home on O.K. Street up in Old Bisbee.
Reading through the comments made in the meeting, including an especially vituperative one from none other than Karen Brainard, was upsetting. In his discussion of the meeting, Dick Voland hadn’t gone into much detail about the verbal confrontation between the board and Lewis. Joanna suspected that Dick didn’t have nearly the eye and ear for political intrigue that Frank Montoya did. It was entirely possible that Dick had no idea that there was a romantic relationship between the developer and the lady supervisor. Thanks to Frank, Joanna did know, and the outrageousness and unfairness of Karen’s attack on Flores made Joanna see red. She picked up the phone book and paged through until she found the Flores’ home number.
Carmen answered almost immediately. “Hello.”
“Hi, Carmen,” Joanna said. “It’s Joanna Brady. May I speak to Lewis?”
“He’s not home from work yet,” Carmen said. “Have you tried his office?”
For a second or two, Joanna had no idea what to say. She remembered Kristin’s message from earlier in the day. Linda, the secretary in Planning and Zoning, had said that Mr. Flores was out sick. Sick but not at home. That was worrisome. Joanna wondered if she should tell Carmen that she had already tried reaching Lewis at the office. In the end she decided not to. Considering what had gone on the day before, Lewis Flores probably needed some space. He’d come home when he was good and ready.
“I haven’t but I will,” Joanna said. “If I miss him or if you hear from him before I reach him, have him give me a call. Here’s my cell-phone number. I’ll be leaving the office right around five. I won’t be home until later, but I’ll have my phone on and with me.”
“This sounds urgent,” Carmen said. “Is anything wrong?”
Joanna scrambled for something to say that would sound reasonable and not too alarming. “It’s about that mess out at Oak Vista. Nothing serious, but I wanted to have the benefit of some input from Lewis-from someone who saw how this whole deal came together. You know, historical perspective, cover-your-butt kind of stuff.”
Carmen laughed. “Lewis is good at that. I’ll have him give you a call.”
Joanna hung up. She finished sorting through her papers and straightened her desk until it looked half civilized. Then she packed her briefcase-including her copy of Alice Rogers’ autobiography-and walked out the door promptly at five o’clock.
She drove into town and stopped at Butch’s house. While Jenny finished gathering up her things, Butch came outside and motioned for her to roll down the window. “What’s up?” he asked. “Jenny was a little upset that Junior and I weren’t invited to dinner.”
“I need to talk to her,” Joanna said. “Alone.”
“Are you going to tell her?”
“If I don’t, you-know-who will, and Mother will put her own particular spin on the story when she does. I’d like to give Jenny my side of the story-our side-minus Eleanor’s editorializing. In the meantime, how’s Junior doing?”
“We’re fine. Jenny’s really great with him. She did her homework as soon as she came home, and the two of them have been playing video games ever since. If anything, I think Junior’s a little overstimulated. I thought later on this evening, after dinner, we’d go for a ride and stop by the cafe to pick up Daisy’s book.”
Jenny darted out of the house, followed by Junior. “Me go, too,” he said, following Jenny around to the
