Exit Wounds - J. A. Jance [53]
Ernie nodded. “ASAP,” he said.
“And what about Edith Mossman? Did you find out anything more in talking to her this afternoon?”
“Not really,” Jaime Carbajal answered. “We’re making arrangements to interview the two sisters who live in the States—Stella, here in Bisbee, and Andrea, the one who lives in Tucson. Andrea is supposedly coming down to see Edith over the weekend. I’ll try to interview her while she’s here. Since Stella lives in Bisbee, I can talk to her sometime next week if I don’t catch up with her sooner than that.”
“What about the sister who lives in Mexico?” Joanna asked.
“Kelly,” Jaime answered. “I asked Edith about whether or not she had let Kelly know what had happened. She said no, because as far as she knows, there’s no phone service out to where they live. I spoke to an officer named Enrique Santos in the Ciudad Obregón Police Department. He knows about The Brethren—that’s what they call themselves. Santos agreed to send someone out there in person to notify Kelly and her father of Carol’s death and to ask them to call me either here in the office or on my cell phone.”
“Good enough,” Joanna said. “Does that do it then?”
There were nods all around. “All right then. See you tomorrow.”
The Double Cs headed for the door. Jaime turned back from the doorway. “About the baby, boss. If it’s a boy, you’re going to name it after me, right?”
Joanna glanced at Frank. “I guess that means the bulletin went out?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Right, Jaime,” Joanna replied with a grin. “We’ll call him Carby, short for Carbajal.” She could hear Ernie and Jaime laughing as they made their way down the hall. Joanna turned back to Frank. “Remember, you’re on call tomorrow, too. I’m going to be all over God’s creation.”
“Don’t wear yourself out,” Frank cautioned.
Joanna shook her head. “I’m pregnant, Frank. That doesn’t turn me into some kind of invalid.”
“But you’re not Wonder Woman, either,” he told her.
Back at her desk, Joanna’s calendar lay open to July 4. Oh, yeah? she thought, glancing down through the jumbled notations of appointments to be kept. Prove it.
It was not yet dusk and still very hot when she drove up to the house on the expanded High Lonesome Ranch. Tigger came to greet the Crown Victoria. Lucky shot out of the garage the moment she opened that automatic door. Lady hung back until she was sure Joanna was alone, then she came crawling toward the car, groveling on the ground.
“Somebody really did mistreat you, didn’t they, girl,” Joanna said soothingly.
The dog’s tail wagged tentatively. Joanna had to coax her to come back into the cool interior of the rammed-earth house. She took off her weapons and put them away, then she stopped in the laundry room long enough to fill dog dishes. Butch had decreed that feeding the dogs in the garage would help cut down on the mess, so that’s what she did.
Once the three dogs had finished mowing through their food, Joanna let them outside. Then she pushed the button that closed the automatic garage door. Back in the laundry room, she closed and locked the door to the garage as well. As she did so, she couldn’t help thinking about Carol Mossman. She, too, had closed and locked the doors to her home, thinking those barriers would somehow keep her safe and protect her dogs as well. But nothing could have been further from the truth. She had locked death inside her tumble-down mobile home rather than keeping it out.
Thoughtfully Joanna extracted the small notebook and stubby pencil she kept in her pocket. “Why were dogs inside?” she wrote.
Still pondering the question, she walked through the house. In the bedroom she changed into a T-shirt and shorts. Back in the kitchen, she poured herself a glass of lemonade from the fridge.
With Butch and Jenny both gone and with the dogs outside, the house was unnaturally quiet. Taking her glass with her, Joanna went into the family room and settled on the couch to watch the evening news. Peter Jennings had no more than opened his mouth when Joanna fell sound asleep. She was awakened much later by a chorus