“I take it you haven’t read my autopsy report?”
“I’ve been a little pressed for time,” Joanna returned. “What child?”
“Carol Mossman bore at least one child,” George said. “It was delivered by C-section.
She also had a complete hysterectomy. From the scarring, I’d say both the C-section and hysterectomy were done at the same time by a surgeon who wasn’t exactly the head of his class.”
“It was bad?”
“Let’s just say it was unskilled,” George said. ‘And as bad as the hysterectomy was, it’s likely that the child didn’t survive, but we should clarify the situation just to be on the safe side. If you want me to, I can call Edith Mossman and ask her.”
“No,” Joanna said. “She’s been through enough. I’ll ask Eddie Mossman about it myself in the morning.”
She put down the phone. Butch had muted the television set. Andy Rooney’s mouth was moving, but no words could be heard.
“A looming funeral battle?” Butch asked.
Joanna nodded.
Butch shook his head. “I hate it when that happens. Funeral fights are the worst.
My grandparents both wanted to be buried in Sun City. Gramps hated Chicago. He told me once that the last thing he wanted was to spend eternity buried under drifts of Chicago snow and ice. He asked me, over and over, to make sure that didn’t happen, and I promised him I would.
“He and Grandma died within weeks of each other. The minute Gramps was gone, my mother and aunts and uncles came riding into town on their broomsticks. They had Grandma’s casket dug up and then they shipped both Grandma and Grandpa back home to bury them.
It’s years later, Joey, and I’m
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still pissed about it. That’s one of the reasons I haven’t gone back home to visit.
I’d as soon punch my aunts’ and uncles’ lights out as look at them.”
“I never knew any of that,” Joanna said quietly.
“No,” Butch agreed. “I don’t suppose you did. I’m still ashamed of myself for letting him down-for not putting up more of a fight. But I was only the grandson. No one was interested in listening to me.”
Joanna reached over and put a comforting hand on Butch’s leg. “I’m sure you did the best you could,” she said quietly.
“Right,” he said bitterly. “Sure I did, but it wasn’t good enough.”
With 60 Minutes over, Joanna went into the den, turned on her computer, and wrote up a report on everything she had learned during her trip to Lordsburg. When she finished, she emailed it to Frank Montoya at the office. That way, even if she didn’t go in right away in the morning, the report would be there.
“Reports come first,” D. . Lathrop used to say. “If you’re not doing the paper, you’re not doing the job.”
Twenty-four hours late, Dad, she said to herself. But the paper’s there.
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Good as her word, Joanna was at the Cochise County Medical Examiner’s office by eight forty-five the next morning. Busy on the phone, Nell Long, the ME’s receptionist, waved Joanna toward George Winfield’s open office door.
‘Any sign of Mr. Mossman?” Joanna asked, peering around the doorjamb into her stepfather’s office.
“Not so far,” George replied. “But I have an idea he’ll be here shortly. Have a chair.
How are you feeling?”
“I’m still a puking mess every morning,” Joanna returned. “I’m hoping that’ll settle down in a few weeks. At least that’s how it worked when I was pregnant with Jenny.”
“I never had a chance to say anything about the other night-with Ellie, I mean,”
George Winfield said. “I thought she was way out of line, and I told her so. In other words, if it’s any consolation, Joanna, I think she’s as provoked with me right now as she is with you.”
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“The old misery-loves-company routine,” Joanna said with a hollow laugh. It was easier to make light of Eleanor Lathrop Winfield’s rantings and ravings when she was well out of earshot.
“Something like that,” George agreed.
“Well, don’t worry about it. I’ve known Mother a lot longer than you have, George.
She’ll get over it eventually.” Joanna made the statement with more conviction than she felt. There were some things Eleanor Lathrop never got over.
