“So you’re married, are you?” Amos Parker asked, easing himself into a chair that was off to the side from where the others had been sitting. “I should have thought a woman who would take on a man’s job and become sheriff wouldn’t have much use for men. I’d expect her to be one of those fire-breathing, cigar-smoking feminists who insists on wearing the pants in her family.”
“She’s wearing a dress, Daddy,” Caroline put in.
The fact that Caroline Parker felt constrained to defend Joanna’s manner of dress to this unpleasantly rude man was disturbing. Even so, whatever Sheriff Joanna Brady was or wasn’t wearing had nothing to do with the business at hand.
“The only part of my wardrobe that should matter to you, Mr. Parker, is the sheriff’s badge pinned to my jacket. Is Mr. Haskell still here?”
Amos Parker crossed his arms. “I have nothing to say,” he said.
“Oh, Daddy,” Caroline interceded. “Don’t be ridiculous. The man’s wife has been murdered. He needs to be told.”
Parker shook his shaggy head. “You know the rules,” he said. “Ron Haskell broke his contract. He’s in isolation until I say he’s ready to come out.”
“And I think you’re wrong.” Caroline blurted out the words and then looked stricken—as though she wished she could take them back.
Amos Parker turned his sightless eyes toward his daughter’s voice. “Caroline, are you questioning my authority?”
There was a moment of stark silence. As the brooding quiet lengthened, Joanna fully expected Caroline to cave. She didn’t.
“In this instance, yes,” Caroline said softly. “I believe you’re wrong.”
Another long silence followed. Finally, Amos Parker was the one who blinked. “Very well,” he conceded. “We’ll probably lose him now anyway. You could just as well bring him down.”
“From where?” Joanna asked.
“The isolation cabin is about a mile away,” Caroline said. “I’ll go get him and bring him here.”
Interviewing Ron Haskell in a room where Amos Parker sat enthroned as an interested observer seemed like a bad idea. Joanna glanced at Frank Montoya, who nodded in unspoken agreement.
“Why don’t we go with you?” Joanna suggested.
Caroline looked to her father for direction, but he sat with his arms folded saying nothing. “All right,” Caroline said, plucking her hat off a table near the door. “Come on then. Someone will have to ride in the back.”
“I will,” Frank volunteered.
Once they had piled into the Jeep, Caroline started it and drove through a haphazard collection of several buildings all of whose blinds were still closed. No one stirred, inside or out. Beyond the buildings, Caroline turned onto a rocky track that wound up and over an adjoining hillside.
“How did Ron Haskell break his contract?” Joanna asked.
“He was seen making an unauthorized phone call,” Caroline replied. “Clients aren’t allowed to contact their families until their treatment has progressed far enough for them to he able to handle it.”
“When was this phone call?” Joanna prodded.
“Thursday morning,” Caroline answered. “One of the kitchen help had gone to the store to pick up something. She saw him there and reported it to my father. Since Ron hadn’t asked for a pass, that meant two breaches of contract rather than one: leaving without permission and making an unauthorized phone call.”
The Jeep topped a steep rise. Halfway down the slope a tiny cabin sat tucked in among the scrub oak. “That’s it?” Joanna asked. Caroline Parker nodded. “And how long has he
