Even Marianne had been constrained to comment, telling Joanna at one of their weekday luncheons, “Cornerstone is longer on judgment and hellfire and brimstone than it is on forgiveness and the milk of human kindness.” Joanna hoped, for Kristin’s sake, that the same didn’t hold true for the young woman’s parents.
Joanna turned to her deputy. “What about you, Terry?” she asked.
He shrugged. “The last time I went to church I think I was about seven years old.”
“So you’re telling me that you’d both like to have a church wedding but neither one of you has a specific church in mind. Is that right?”
Terry Gregovich nodded. “That’s about it,” he said.
Joanna pulled a piece of paper loose from one of several half-used tablets of Post-its and jotted down a telephone number. “This is Reverend Marianne Maculyea’s number up at Canyon United Methodist Church,” she said. “Marianne’s a good friend of mine, and she has a cool head on her shoulders. I’m sure she can help talk you through some of the decisions you both need to be making right now, the bottom line of which is-baby or no baby-do you really love one another enough to get married? Since Marianne doesn’t know either one of you, she should be a truly impartial observer. Then, who knows, if you do decide on a church wedding, maybe Canyon would be a good place to do it.”
Joanna passed the note across her desk. Kristin took it as if grabbing hold of a lifeline.
“Does that mean you’re not going to fire us?” Terry asked.
Joanna shook her head. “It sounds to me as if the two of you were dealing with a life-or-death situation yesterday. Under the circumstances, I wouldn’t call that a firing offense. A lot of people seem to think that police officers are cops first and people later. I happen to believe it’s the other way around. On the other hand, you’re not getting a walk. From now on, I expect your behavior to be above reproach. That goes for both of you. I know love is grand, but it isn’t supposed to infringe on work. No hanging around the office mooning at one another when you’re supposed to be out in the field, Deputy Gregovich. Do I make myself clear?”
“Absolutely. You can count on me, Sheriff Brady,” the deputy replied.
“And if you want to take time off together,” Joanna continued, “it has to be arranged in advance through proper channels. No more of this instant comp time or ”I feel a headache coming on, so I think I’ll go home.“ Understood, Kristin?”
The young woman nodded eagerly.
“Okay, then,” Joanna said, “it’s probably time we all went to work. Terry and Spike need to get over to Texas Canyon to help the Search and Rescue guys look for Lucinda Ridder. And I’m sure Kristin and I have a bale of incoming mail to handle. Right, Kristin?”
“Right.”
Kristin and Terry stood up together. So did Spike. “There’s one more thing I need to tell you,” Joanna said. “If anyone were to track down the records, you’d be able to see that, taking Andy’s and my wedding date into consideration, Jenny was born a lot sooner than she should have been. And since she weighed in at seven and a half pounds, we would have been hard-pressed to convince anyone that she was premature.”
Kristin Marsten caught her breath. “Sheriff Brady, you mean the same thing happened to you?”
“It happens to a lot of people, Kristin, and I’m here to tell you it’s not the end of the world. Talk to your parents about it. They just might surprise you.”
Nodding and holding hands, Kristin and Terry left Joanna’s office, closing the door behind them. Moments later there was a discreet knock.
“Come in,” Joanna called.
Frank Montoya poked his head around the door. “Time for the morning briefing?” he asked, waving a fistful of manila folders.
“Past time,” Joanna said. “Let’s get cracking.”
“I guess you didn’t have a chance to have that little chat with Deputy Gregovich and Kristin,” Frank suggested tentatively.
“But I did talk to them,” Joanna replied. “The two of them left my office just a few seconds ago.”
“Well,” Frank said. “It doesn’t appear that your talk did much good. You’d better give it another shot. When I came into the outer office just now, I caught them in the middle of a great big smooch. They broke it off, but they didn’t even have brains enough to look guilty about it.”
“Kristin Marsten and Deputy Gregovich aren’t guilty, Frank. They’re pregnant. They spent yesterday afternoon finding out for sure that it was more than just a late period and deciding whether or not to have an abortion. I think we can say Kristin was legitimately sick even if she wasn’t home when you went by to check. They were in Tucson seeing a doctor from Planned Parenthood.”
“Whoa! I’d guess that means you’re not going to fire them.”
“And I’d guess you’re right. I told them no more monkey business at work or during business hours, but we can probably overlook an engagement-launching smooch. Now let’s get down to business. What happened overnight?”
For the next forty-five minutes, Joanna and Frank went over the chief deputy’s usual collection of mundane stuff-incident reports, jail menus, scheduling and vacation approvals. None of it was critical, but it all had to be brought to Joanna’s attention.
“And here’s the information you wanted me to find,” Frank Montoya said when they had finally worked their way down to the last folder in his stack.
“What’s that?” Joanna asked.
“Faxes of the newspaper clippings on the Thomas Ridder shooting. I also found out why he got thrown out of the army. He decked a superior officer.”
“So at least he didn’t discriminate,” Joanna said.
Frank frowned. “What do you mean by that?”
“Most of the men who beat up their wives don’t have balls enough to pick on someone their own size who might hit back.”
“Maybe you’re the one who’s discriminating, Joanna,” Frank said. “Remember, the army discharged Thomas Ridder over whatever happened. Sandra Ridder’s solution put the guy away in a pine box-permanently. I’m not saying he didn’t deserve it, but I am saying there may have been other possible solutions that Sandra Ridder never considered. And the judge who sent her up must have thought so, too, or he wouldn’t have given her eight to ten.”
“Point taken,” Joanna said with a sigh. “Anything else?”
“Ernesto poked his head in my office a little while ago and told me to tell you the water is from Tucson. He said you’d know what he meant, but I don’t.”
“The water in the jugs with no fingerprints,” Joanna supplied. “And if the water came from Tucson, the jugs probably did, too. Which means that whoever put them there wasn’t a UDA from Mexico walking south into the US of A to find field-hand work.”
“I see what you mean,” Frank said. “Most of the UDAs are walking north, not south. So what else is going on that I don’t know about?”
“Dr. Daly came down from Tucson yesterday and did Clayton Rhodes’ second autopsy.”
“And?”
“And nothing. She came up with the same results Doc Winfield did-cerebral hemorrhage.”
“That’s a relief then,” Frank said. “At least we won’t have to have the FBI snooping around here and sticking their noses into everybody’s business. I wasn’t looking forward to that.”
“Neither was I,” Joanna agreed.
“And we’ll also have Reba Singleton off our backs.”
“Right.”
Frank was up and on his way to the door when Joanna thought to ask him about Ernie Carpenter and Jaime Carbajal.
“They took off for Tucson first thing this morning,” Frank told her. “They had an appointment with Melanie Goodson. They were also going to take the slug that killed Sandra Ridder up to the Department of Public Safety satellite crime lab in Tucson. Why, do you have something for them?”