“How’s it going, George?” Joanna said, swallowing her disappointment.
She felt more than a little guilty about talking to him. Despite his having left two separate messages on Saturday, all of Sunday had passed without Joanna actually speaking to the medical examiner. She had attempted to call him-once each at home and at the office-but when he hadn’t answered after several rings, she hadn’t left messages and she hadn’t attempted to reach him again, either. She might have tried harder, if she had known exactly what to say.
Sheriff Joanna Brady cringed at the idea that the mere existence of a relationship between the two of them had caused the medical examiner’s professional integrity to be called into question. It made her feel responsible and more than a little embarrassed. She was also cautious. Eleanor Lathrop hadn’t mentioned a word about the situation to Joanna during their ride out to the High Lonesome after the Sunday-afternoon wedding shower. Joanna had taken her mother’s lack of comment to mean that Eleanor Lathrop Winfield was still in the dark about Reba Singleton’s allegations. And, since George hadn’t had nerve enough to broach such a touchy subject with his wife, Joanna thought it wise to follow suit. Still, given the seriousness of the situation, she hardly expected George to be joking around about it.
“Does Mother know what Reba Singleton is up to?” Joanna asked.
“Not exactly,” George admitted. “At least not yet. I didn’t want to discuss it with her and get her all wound up until you and I had a chance to talk. However, I just left Madame Singleton in the courthouse lobby in what can best be described as a state of high dudgeon. The way the grapevine works around here, it’s probably only a matter of hours before Ellie hears about it and the you-know-what hits the fan. What’s this about the FBI’s being expected to ride to Reba’s rescue at any moment?”
“As far as I know,” Joanna told him, “all that’s happened so far is that she’s hired Dick Voland to investigate. His task assignment is to dig up enough evidence of wrongdoing to bring in the Feds.”
“Dick Voland?” George Winfield asked. “Your ex-chief deputy?”
“That’s the one.”
“What is he now, a PI?”
“Right again. He was here at the department just a few minutes ago picking up fingerprints records on me. You see, since I’m the one who found the body, my prints are on Clayton’s ignition key.”
“Why, that ungrateful son of a bitch!”
“George,” Joanna interjected. “Dick Voland is only doing the job he was hired to do. And give the man some credit. He did me the common courtesy of stopping by yesterday afternoon to clue me in about what was going on. Giving me that advance warning wasn’t something he had to do. In fact, if Reba Singleton knew about it, I’m sure she’d be pissed as hell. Which reminds me, what was she doing in court?”
“Seeking a court order to require me to have another autopsy done by an outside medical examiner-with the county paying the tab, of course. She lost. Superior Court Judge Cameron Moore told her to take a hike. Then, once the hearing was over, she demanded that I release her father’s body immediately, along with my results and tissue samples so she can hot-foot it up to Tucson for a second-opinion autopsy which she’ll pay for.”
“What did you tell her?”
“ ”No dice, lady. You can’t have it both ways.“ If she wants a second opinion, fine. She’s more than welcome to one. But I’m not sending my results out of town. And I’m not releasing tissue samples, either. That means Clayton Rhodes’ body stays in my morgue until Ms. Singleton’s second-opinion autopsy is complete. She wanted to know what she’s supposed to do about a funeral. I told her that depends on how soon she can find some circuit-riding ME to come down here to Bisbee to do it. If Reba Singleton wants accountability, I’ll show her accountability. In spades.”
George Winfield wasn’t joking now. He was hot. Joanna recognized that his earlier attempts at humor had been entirely for her benefit-to make her feel better. Clearly he was as disturbed by Reba’s unfounded allegations as she was. And, far more than his earlier joking, knowing that
“I’m sorry I got you into all this, George,” she murmured.
“You?” he demanded. “How did you get me into anything? Did you have any idea you were a beneficiary under Clayton Rhodes’ will?”
“No.”
“The man died of a cerebral hemorrhage, Joanna. You didn’t cause that either. You could have turned that ignition key on and off a hundred times, and it wouldn’t have made a speck of difference. There isn’t an ME on the planet who isn’t going to rule on Clayton’s death the same way I did.”
“It’s still a hassle.”
“So’s having Dick Voland show up at your office asking for copies of your prints,” George countered. “How are
“I’m okay,” she replied without enthusiasm. “We’re trying to get a handle on that case that turned up over by Pearce.”
“Sandra Ridder?”
“That’s the one.”
“I had planned to start the autopsy on her first thing this morning, but I ended up having to go to court instead. Thank God Judge Moore doesn’t believe in wasting a man’s time. But now both Detective Carbajal and Detective Carpenter have been called out of town. I won’t be able to start the autopsy until one or the other of them gets back.”
“That’s fine,” Joanna assured him. “As far as I can see, there’s no big hurry. There’ll be time enough for that later.”
After she finished talking to George Winfield, Joanna hung up the phone. Then she sat staring at the face of it for several long seconds-wondering if it would ring again and willing Butch to be the first to call. When no call came through, she picked up the next piece of mail in her stack of correspondence-an invitation to attend the annual Arizona Sheriffs’ Conference the last week in May.
She started to fill out the form. Would she attend? Yes. Would anyone be accompanying her? Yes. What kind of accommodations did she require-single or double? Smoking or nonsmoking? Two double beds, queen, or king? Frustrated, she tossed down her pen and reached for the phone, but when she picked it up to dial Butch’s number, there was no dial tone.
“Hello?” she demanded into the silent receiver. “Hello? Hello?”
“Does this mean great minds think along the same lines?” Butch Dixon asked.
“My phone didn’t even ring.”
“That’s right,” he said. “I dialed and you answered before the ringer had a chance. Who were you calling?”
Joanna hesitated. “You,” she admitted finally.
“So can we both say we’re sorry at the same time and get this over with?” he asked. “And will you have a late breakfast or an early lunch with me? And could we do it right now, since my parents just called from El Paso? I’d like to have one last quiet meal for just the two of us before all hell breaks loose.”
Relief washed over her. “Yes, yes, and yes,” Joanna answered with a laugh. “I’d like that, too.”
“Good. How soon can you get away?”
Joanna looked at the stack of correspondence on her desk. She needed to make as much headway on it as she could before the current day’s batch arrived. “Let’s make it eleven at Daisy’s,” she said. “That’ll give me time to finish up what I’m doing. Which reminds me. The reason I was calling you was to ask if you’d like to attend the annual sheriffs’ conference with me.”
“You mean you weren’t calling to apologize?”
“I was calling for both reasons,” Joanna said.
Butch laughed. “In that case, when’s the conference?”
“The week before Memorial Day. We finish up on Friday. It’s up at Page. We could probably stay gone over that three-day weekend, too.”
“Just you and me?” he asked.
“As long as we can find someone to take care of Jenny and the animals.”
“Sounds good. Only what’ll I do all day while you’re in meetings?”
Joanna shrugged and glanced back at the form. When that told her nothing, she browsed through the brochure. “It says here that wives-”
