eye. Without taking messages off the machine, she scrolled through the listed numbers. Marianne Maculyea had called several times, as had Joanna’s mother, Eleanor. There were also several calls from penny’s friend Cassie Parks. The contractor who was working with Butch on plans for the new house had called once, as had Arturo Ortiz, Yolanda Canedo’s father. Two of the calls were designated caller 11)–blocked. The only remaining listed name and number were totally unknown to Joanna—a Richard Bernard. He had called on Saturday morning at ten-fifteen.
Wondering if Richard Bernard had left a message, Joanna skimmed through the spiral-ringed message log that was kept next to the phone. In Eva’s neat handwriting was a note saying that Marianne Maculyea had called to remind Joanna that she and Butch were scheduled to be greeters at church the following Sunday morning. There was a written message for Butch to call Quentin Branch, the contractor on their new house. A separate note told Jenny to call Cassie, but there was nothing at all from a Richard Bernard.
Shrugging, Joanna picked up the phone. The broken beeping of the dial tone told her there were messages waiting in the voice-mail system—another one from Cassie to Jenny and one from Eleanor Lathrop Winfield. Again there was nothing at all from Richard Bernard. By then it was too late for Jenny to return Cassie’s call, and Joanna wasn’t particularly eager to call Eleanor back. Like Jenny, Joanna remained convinced that Grandma Lathrop’s actions had contributed to Dora Matthews’s death. Talking to Eleanor was something Joanna was willing to postpone indefinitely.
Putting down the phone, Joanna was halfway to the door when the telephone rang. Joanna checked caller ID before answering. When she saw her mother’s number listed, Joanna almost didn’t pick up the receiver, but then she thought better of it.
To her relief, she heard George Winfield’s voice on the phone rather than her mother’s. “So you are home!” he said.
“Yes,” Joanna told him.
“How’s Jenny?” George asked.
“She’s taking Dora’s death pretty hard,” Joanna said.
“So’s Ellie,” George said. “She’s under the impression that it’s all her fault Dora Matthews is dead—that if she hadn’t interfered by calling Child Protective Services, Dora would still be alive.”
This was news. For as long as Joanna could remember, Eleanor Lathrop had made a career of dishing out blame without ever accepting any of it herself. It was one thing for Joanna and Jenny to think Eleanor had overstepped the bounds as far as Dora Matthews was concerned. It was unheard of for Eleanor herself to say so.
“I tried telling her that wasn’t true,” George continued, “but it was like talking to a wall. She wasn’t having any of it. In tact, she took a sleeping pill a little while ago and went to bed. Her going to bed this early is worrisome. I don’t think I’ve ever seen her so upset. That’s why I’m calling, Joanna. At least it’s one of the reasons. I’m hoping you’ll find time tomorrow to talk to Ellie. Maybe you’ll be able to make her see reason.”
Joanna expected George Winfield to sign off. Instead, he launched into another topic. “I know it’s late, and this information will be at your office tomorrow morning in my official autopsy report. But I thought, because of Jenny’s involvement, you’d want to know some of this now. Dora Matthews was pregnant when she died, Joanna. And all those broken bones you saw, were broken postmortem.”
“You’re saying she was dead before she was hit by the car?”
“That’s right. I’m calling the actual cause of death asphyxiation by means of suffocation.”
“And she was pregnant?”
“At least three months along,” George replied.
‘‘But she was only thirteen years old, for God’s sake,” Joanna objected. “Still a child! How could such a thing happen?”
George sighed. “The usual way, I’m sure,” he said. “And that’s what’s happening these days—children having children. Only, in this case, neither child lived.”
“Will we be able to tell who the father is?”
