the bag. Once she’d dug it out, she had to walk all the way back to the Blazer and turn on the reading light before she could make out the numbers she had scribbled down next to Karen Oldsby’s name. She read them into the phone.
“That’s not my number,” Karen announced brusquely when she heard it. “You reversed two of the numbers.”
“I’m so sorry about this,” Joanna said. “Things have been 45
really hectic. I must have been suffering from momentary dyslexia and written them down wrong, but I have my calendar right here with me. If we could go ahead and reset-“
“I’ll let you know,” Karen Oldsby interrupted. “My week is pretty hectic, too. If it looks like I’ll have time to schedule another interview, Sheriff Brady, I’ll be in touch. But since we’ve already missed this week’s deadline, I don’t know when we’ll be able to squeeze you in.”
With that, Karen Oldsby hung up. Brimming with indignation, Joanna stuffed her calendar back into her purse. Then she walked far enough away to be out of Edith Mossman’s earshot before she redialed her home number.
“Oldsby just hung up on me,” Joanna told Butch when he answered. “I evidently wrote her number down wrong, so when I called and left my message, she didn’t get it. I tried to apologize, but the woman acted like I committed a federal offense.”
“Don’t worry about it, Joey,” he said. “She’ll get over it eventually, but tell me.
Who’s dead?”
“A woman named Carol Mossman. Her place is out here by the river, just off the Charleston Road. George is inside. The victim’s grandmother and I are waiting for him to bring the body out so she can make the formal ID. After that, I’ll need to drop her off at her assisted-living facility in Sierra Vista on my way home.”
“Can’t someone else drop her off?” Butch asked. “Think about it, Joey. It’s late.
You’ve already put in a full day at the office. When are you going to give yourself a break?”
“When Edith let her cab go, I told her I’d see to it that she got home,” Joanna told him. “And I will. It won’t take that long.”
“Suit yourself,” Butch said. “I’ll see you when you get here.” Then he, too, hung up.
46
Exasperated by what felt distinctly like two separate dressing-downs, Joanna turned her phone’s ringer on “silent” and stuck it in her pocket. If anyone else called, she didn’t want to talk to them. They could damn well talk to her machine.
After all, Carol Mossman had been murdered. Finding her killer was far more important than chatting on a cell phone.
47
While Joanna had been juggling phone calls, Deputy Raymond had removed a gurney from the back of George Winfield’s van. Now, unfolded, it sat outside the front door of the mobile home waiting to be taken inside and loaded.
“They’ll be bringing the victim out soon and taking her over to the ME’s van,” Joanna told Edith Mossman. “Do you think you could walk that far, or should I have them bring her over here?”
“I may have to use a walker, but I’m not helpless,” Edith said. “I’m perfectly capable of walking from here to there.”
As Joanna and Edith started their slow progress toward George Winfield’s minivan, Deputy Raymond pushed the gurney into the house. By the time Joanna had guided Edith to the back of the van, Matt Raymond and Debra Howell had rolled the gurney back out through the front door and eased it down the wooden steps. They headed for the van with the medical
48
examiner close on their heels. Once the gurney came to a stop, George Winfield stepped forward and held out his hand to Edith.
“I’m Dr. George Winfield,” he said. “I don’t believe we’ve been introduced.”
“My name’s Edith,” she answered. “Edith Mossman. Carol’s my granddaughter.”
“If you don’t want to do this here …” he began. “No. There’s no sense in putting it off,” Edith replied. “I need to know for sure, and so do you.”
“Deputy Raymond,” George said, “would you please bring one of the trouble lights out here?”
Nodding, Matt Raymond hurried into the trailer. Back beside the gurney, he held the light aloft while George unzipped the body bag, immediately letting loose the foul stench of rapidly decomposing human flesh.
Joanna knew what to expect. She looked warily at Edith Mossman, worried that the awful odor, combined with seeing her granddaughter’s dead face, might cause the woman to faint again, but she didn’t. Leaning on her walker, Edith studied the face for a moment. Then she nodded.
“It’s her,” she said. “It’s Carol.” With that, she turned to Joanna. “If that’s all you need, Sheriff Brady, I’d like to go home now. There are people I’ll need to call.”
After helping Edith Mossman into the Blazer, Joanna hurried back to the mobile home.
Not wanting to have to go through the booties routine, she called Detective Carpenter over to the door and gave him a rundown of the information she had gleaned from talking to Edith.
“Did deputy Raymond tell you he found several pieces of .45-caliber brass in the backyard?”
“No,” Joanna said. “He didn’t tell me, but I’m glad to hear it.”
