On the way home she had added, “Now you mustn’t tell your father about this. It’ll be a surprise.”
It had been a surprise, all right, and not a particularly welcome one. But it was one of the few times in Joanna’s life when she remembered her mother going to the mat for her.
Joanna had thought that reading her father’s diaries would be all one-sided, and yet here she was remembering something nice about her mother that she had forgotten completely. She was almost idly skimming through pages when she came across the entry for Friday, February 2, 1979.
Drove Bradley Evans up to the state prison in Florence today and dropped him off. Got eighteen to twenty-five for pleading guilty to killing his wife. I was the one who arrested him the morning after it happened. The problem is, I think the legal system’s got this whole thing dead wrong. Even though he said he did it, I don’t think Bradley Evans killed anybody, and I can’t say why. Call it gut instinct. The judge believed him, and the county attorney believed him. I don’t. Somebody missed something, and I don’t know what it is. As Mama used to say: “Stand alone. Eventually the crowd may fall.” So I’ll just keep on thinking what I’m thinking and wait to see what happens.
Joanna sat for a long time staring at the entry. Stand alone… Those familiar words were ones her father had said to her often, and she had never known they came from her grandmother, a woman who had died long before Joanna was born. And how did those words apply now. Had Bradley Evans willingly spent more than twenty years in prison for a crime he hadn’t committed? Was that possible? And, if so, didn’t that mean that Lisa Evans’s real killer had gone free all this time?
From what anyone had been able to learn, as long as Bradley Evans had stayed put in Douglas, everything had been fine. But once he ventured as far afield as Sierra Vista-once he started stalking Leslie Markham and snapping her picture-things had changed. Before he finished shooting that one camera’s worth of film, Bradley Evans was dead.
After talking to Rory Markham that afternoon, Joanna had come away thinking that the real estate broker was a plausible suspect in the Bradley Evans homicide. Jealous husbands were always a good possibility, and no doubt Rory Markham deserved further investigation. But D. H. Lathrop’s journal entry opened the door to other avenues of investigation as well. He claimed something had been missed in the original investigation. What? And how? And by whom? Had it simply been overlooked or had it been deliberately overlooked? And was it possible for a new set of eyes to spot that missing ingredient all these years later?
Joanna felt energized, but she was realistic enough to know her limits. Tomorrow was another long day. She needed her rest. Closing the book, she returned it to the file cabinet drawer. Then she stood up and switched off the lamp. “Come on, girl,” she said to Lady. “Time to go back to bed.”
She managed to get back into bed without disturbing Butch. After that it took time for her to find a comfortable position and time to turn off her brain, which had suddenly slipped into overdrive.
She was in the bathroom the next morning putting on her makeup when Butch came into the room, bringing her a cup of apricot tea and grinning from ear to ear.
“You’re not going to believe it,” he said.
“Believe what?” Joanna asked.
“They left.”
“Who left? You’re not making any sense.”
“My parents. Overnight, they folded up their awning and took off.”
“For where?”
“Home. For Arkansas. They left a note on the kitchen table. Here it is.”
Taking the note, Joanna read: “Thanks for the hospitality. Obviously we’ve worn out our welcome. Mom.”
“Worn out their welcome? How can she say that? We all bent over backwards.”
“And walked on eggshells,” Butch added. “But that’s the way she is.”
Joanna was incredulous. “After driving all this way they’re going to miss out on the birth of their grandchild because of what happened at lunch, because Junior called her on being rude?”
“I guess,” Butch said. “I suppose that’s what started it, but now that she and Dad aren’t speaking, they could go on like that indefinitely. Believe me, we’re better off with them giving each other the silent treatment as far away from here as possible. I had a bellyful of that nonsense growing up, of passing messages back and forth between them for days and weeks at a time. I sure as hell don’t need it now. Actually, though, this is a real stroke of luck for Dad. Mom’s an inveterate backseat driver. With her not speaking to him, it’ll probably be the most enjoyable crosscountry drive he’s made in years.”
Joanna shook her head. “That doesn’t sound like a nice way to travel or to live,” she observed.
Butch shrugged. “They’re used to it,” he said. “They’ve been doing it for years-for as long as I can remember. Now come on. Breakfast is almost ready. I’m making omelets to celebrate. And with them gone, you don’t have to rush things with the baby anymore. He can arrive whenever he wants.”
“That’s easy for you to say,” Joanna said. “You’re not the one who’s nine and a half months pregnant.” Then she paused. “Wait a minute. Did you say he?”
Butch heaved a sigh, then he nodded. “Yes, I did,” he said.
“Was that just a figure of speech, or…”
“Mom opened the envelope,” he said. “The one on the refrigerator with the ultrasound results in it. I didn’t know what she’d done until she asked me what we’re going to name him. I wasn’t going to tell you, but I let it slip. Sorry.”
Joanna could barely contain herself. “Your mother actually opened the envelope-the envelope we’ve left sealed all this time? You let her do that?”
“Joey,” Butch said, “I didn’t let her do anything. I told you she’s a snoop. I should have realized she couldn’t leave well enough alone. I should have locked the envelope away in the office along with everything else. I just didn’t think about it. And when I found out what she’d done, I climbed all over her about it. I’m sure that’s the real reason they left. I doubt Junior Dowdle’s comment had a thing to do with it.”
Just then Jenny and the three dogs bounded into the master bedroom behind them. “Hey,” she said, flopping onto their unmade bed. “I was out feeding Kiddo and I just noticed. The motor home is gone. What happened? Where’d they go?”
“They went home,” Butch said.
“Home?” Jenny asked. “But I thought they were going to stay until the baby got here. Why would they leave now? I mean, it can’t be that much longer.”
“It’s a long story,” Butch said.
He looked so disheartened that Joanna couldn’t help feeling sorry for him. Whatever Margaret Dixon had done, it wasn’t her son’s fault.
“It doesn’t matter why they left,” Joanna said quickly. “The whole point is, they did. Now let’s have some breakfast. We need to figure out a name for this little brother of yours.”
“Little brother?” Jenny repeated wonderingly. “You mean we know it’s going to be a boy?”
“Yes,” Joanna said. “Thanks to Margaret Dixon, we do now.”
Chapter 13
Joanna left the house after breakfast feeling very pregnant but incredibly lighthearted. It was wonderful to have their lives back again. By now the in-laws from hell should be past the New Mexico border and well into Texas. As she walked out to the garage, Butch was happily hauling his laptop out of its in-office exile and back onto the kitchen table, where he preferred to work.
And, without much fuss and a minimum of discussion, the three of them had settled on an acceptable boy’s name: Dennis Lee Dixon. No Frederick Junior. No lurking grandfathers’ names. No traditional family names. Just a solid boy’s name with a good ring to it. No doubt Eleanor wouldn’t approve, and neither would Margaret, probably for entirely different reasons, but that didn’t matter. It was the name Joanna and Butch and Jenny had chosen together, and that’s what counted.