Joanna nodded. “I had just turned nineteen the month before we got married. Andy died the day after our tenth wedding anniversary.”
“You were lucky,” he said, collapsing into the chair opposite her-the same worn easy chair that had always been Andy’s favorite. Joanna winced at the idea of Butch Dixon sitting there. It seemed wrong somehow-disloyal to Andy.
“At least you had ten years,” Butch was saying.
At least? Joanna wondered. What did he mean by “at least”?
This was a whole new perspective. She had spent so much time during the last few months missing the years she and Andy hadn’t spent together that it was difficult for her to see those few years in a different light, with her cup half f u l l instead of half empty.
“Some people never have that many,” he finished.
Before Joanna had a chance to reply or to learn what kind of private hurt lay behind those words, the phone rang. She hurried to pick it up. If it turned out to be Eleanor, how would she manage to get her off the phone?
“Hello,” she said, picking up the receiver. “Joanna Brady speaking.”
“We’ve got a problem,” Dick Voland told her. “Hal Morgan’s taken off.”
“Taken off?” Joanna echoed. “What do you mean?”
“Just that. He’s gone. He assaulted Deputy Howell and headed for the hills. From what we can tell, he used a bottle to knock her colder ‘an a wedge, then took off in that Buick of his. I’ve posted an APB. With any kind of luck, he won’t make it out of the county.”
“How’s Debbie?” Joanna asked.
“She’s got a concussion. She’s been transported to the hospital. “
Joanna felt her temperature rise. “If Deputy Howell’s already in the hospital, how long ago did all this happen?”
“Half an hour, I guess,” Dick Voland replied. “Maybe forty-five minutes.”
“Why wasn’t I informed before now?”
“I was still here in the office,” Voland said. “I’ve been handling it. I didn’t see any reason to bother you.”
Another time, Joanna might have chewed him out for leaving her out of the loop. This time, however, she understood exactly why he was right there, Johnny-on-the-spot, the moment the call came in. She could still see Dick Voland stretched out and sleeping on the couch in his office. And she could still see Ruth Voland standing there in her sweats, telling Joanna about Ken, the bowling coach. Poor Dick.
“So tell me again what happened,” Joanna said.
“According to what we’ve been able to piece together, Debbie must have been out behind the motel, grabbing a smoke. Someone-I’m betting Morgan himself-whacked her over the head from behind. The doc’s still picking slivers of broken beer bottle out of her scalp. Anyway, she was left lying unconscious, right beside the dumpster. One of the bus-boys from the coffee shop came out later on to empty the trash. He’s the one who found her and called nine-one-one. By then Morgan was long gone. He left a note, though.”
“A note? What kind of note?”
“A suicide note. Typed it on the screen of a little laptop computer he left in his room.”
“What did it say?” Joanna asked.
“That Bucky Buckwalter deserved to die. Morgan said he had no intention of going to prison for something that was no more of a crime than putting a sick dog out of its misery.”
Joanna felt her stomach contract. In the hospital Hal Morgan had assured Joanna that he hadn’t killed Bucky Buckwalter. She cursed herself for being a naive fool. Obviously Morgan had been lying through his teeth, and she had been stupid enough to believe him.
“I have company right now,” Joanna said. “If everything is handled…”
“Just a minute,” Voland interrupted. “Something’s coming in from Dispatch.”
As she waited, holding the telephone receiver to her eat she was aware that Butch Dixon was watching her-watching and listening. “Problems?” he asked.
She nodded, just as Dick Voland came back on the line. “Deputy Long, from the northern sector, just spotted the Buick at the gas station in Elfrida. There are too many civilians around for him to risk doing anything. I told him to hang back and keep Morgan under surveillance.”
Joanna was torn. She had been out working every nigh this week. It sounded as though Dick Voland had things under control. Still, he had called with the expectation that, one notified, the sheriff would do something about the situation. And most sheriffs-most hands-on sheriffs-would have.The problem was, most of them didn’t have nine-year-old daughters to worry about.
“Dick,” Joanna began. “I can’t leave Jenny here…”
“I’ll watch her for you,” Butch offered. “You go. I’ll stay right here until you get back.”
Covering the mouthpiece, Joanna looked across the room at him. “You don’t mind?” she said.
“Not at all.”
Joanna hesitated, but only for a second. Then she took her hand away from the mouthpiece. “I’m on my way,” she said, If anybody wants me, I’ll be in the Blazer. I’ll be in radio contact just as soon as I’m in the car.”
Slamming down the phone, Joanna turned toward Butch. “I’m sorry,” she said. “You’re sure you don’t mind?”
“Like I said yesterday. When duty calls, you’ve got to go. Jenny and I will be fine. We may even watch a little of My Fair Lady before it’s her bedtime. She told me it’s one of her favorites. I happen to like that one as well.”
“Thanks,” Joanna said. “I’d better go get ready.”
She stopped by the bathroom long enough to let Jenny mow what was happening. Then she hurried into the bedroom and put her body armor back on under her clothing-her body armor, her Glock, and her Colt 2000. When she came back out of the bedroom, she found Butch settled on he couch, with the two dogs curled up comfortably at his feet. He was scratching Tigger’s ears.
“I think he’s adopted me,” he said.
“It does look that way,” she agreed.
“What are all these scabs all over his face?”
“Tigger’s big problem with porcupines is that they can’t outrun him. And once he catches one, he thinks he can win.”
“I know the feeling,” Butch said. “I seem to have the same kind of luck with women.”
Not knowing what to say in response, Joanna started toward the door. “Make yourself at home,” she said.
He nodded. “I’ll wait here and keep the home fires burning,” he said. “You go do whatever it is you have to do. But be careful, and come back home in one piece, you hear?”
Joanna started to make some smart-mouthed reply, but she stopped when a lump rose unaccountably in her throat and her eyes suddenly blurred with tears. How many times had she said almost those exact words to Andy when he had been called out to some crime scene or accident in the middle of the night? The words of warning and caution took on a new meaning when someone else said them to you. When someone else cared enough to say them to you.
Nodding, she murmured a quick “I will.” Then she turned away before Butch Dixon had a chance to glimpse how his words of concern had affected her. By the time she vaulted into the Blazer and started down the road, she was crying like a baby.
And the thing that made those tears so very puzzling was that she didn’t really know why she was crying. She had no idea at all.
By the time Joanna reached High Lonesome Road, she had herself under control enough to stop the tears and switch on the radio. “What’s going on?” she asked.
“The situation is under control, Sheriff Brady,” the calm voice of Tica Romero, one of the dispatch operators, assured her. “We’ve got it handled.”
Pica’s unruffled response was frustratingly low on information. “I’d like to know exactly how it’s being handled,” Joanna responded.
“Deputy Ted Long has the Buick under surveillance. The suspect still hasn’t left the gas station. It looks like he’s headed northbound on Highway 191.”
“What are Deputy Long’s orders?” Joanna asked.