“Probably.”
“Good. The tougher he is, the better.”
“How’s Reba?” Joanna asked.
“Contrite about what she did to you, but mad as hell at Dennis,” Joyce returned. “And that’s good. I believe she’s going to be a whole lot tougher on Dennis than he thought she was going to be, and getting all the prescription drugs she was taking out of her system is going to help. I can hardly wait to tear that bastard apart in court. Do you want me to call this Burton Kimball, or are you going to do it?”
“I will, to begin with,” Joanna said. “But give me your number. I’ll have him give you a call.”
Half an hour later, as Joanna was getting ready to leave the office, she popped her head out the door. “Okay,” she said to Kristin. “I’m out of here. Is everything under control?”
“We found the perfect dress,” Kristin said, bubbling with happiness. “I just talked to my grandmother, and she’s going to go buy it today. She told me that just because my dad is her son doesn’t mean he isn’t a creep.”
“Have you and Terry set a date?”
“We wanted to check with you first. What about the week after you get back?”
Joanna smiled at her. “I’m sure that’ll be fine,” she said. “But talk to Chief Deputy Montoya right away and get it worked into the rotation schedule.”
“We will,” Kristin said. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome,” Joanna said.
Eleanor had called to say Joanna’s dress had been delivered to the Winfields’ house on Campbell Avenue. On the way to pick it up, Joanna drove past the Copper Queen Hospital and spotted Father Mulligan walking in the rose garden out front. Parking in the lot, she walked up to him.
“What are you doing here?” she asked.
“Lucy wanted to come see her grandmother. While we wait for visiting hours, Lucy and Big Red are fooling around out back. Want me to go get them?”
“I will,” Joanna said.
Behind the hospital, in a clearing below the retaining wall that held the hospital’s helicopter pad, Joanna found Lucy Ridder standing and staring up at the sky. High overhead, Big Red floated above her in long, effortless circles.
“Aren’t you worried that a helicopter might need to land?” Joanna asked.
“No,” Lucy replied without looking away from the hawk. “He’ll come if I call him. We’ll get out of the way.”
Lucy stopped watching the bird and turned to face Joanna. On her neck were not one but two tiny devil’s-claw amulets, both of them dangling on one silver chain. Lucy must have followed Joanna’s gaze.
“Grandma Yates gave me the other one,” Lucy said. “She told me she thought my mother would have wanted me to have it. She says I should have them made into earrings. What do you think?”
“I think your grandmother’s right,” Joanna told her.
“About the earrings?” Lucy asked.
“About your mother wanting you to have this.”
“And was she really a bad person?”
Joanna considered her answer. “No,” she said, softly. “I don’t think she was bad. I think she made mistakes, but I also think she loved you very much.”
Just then a terrible screech rent the air. Looking up, Joanna saw Big Red plummeting out of the sky, diving beak first straight for her head. Thinking she was under attack, Joanna covered her face with both arms and dodged to one side. When she opened her eyes, the bird had settled, nonchalantly, on Lucy Ridder’s narrow shoulder. As Joanna watched, he nuzzled up to her and buried his head in her hair. All the experts would have told her such a relationship was impossible, and yet Joanna was seeing it with her own eyes. And something made her think that the old Apache chief, Eskiminzin, wouldn’t have been the least bit surprised.
“And I think your great-grandmother was right as well,” Joanna added after a moment as she dropped her arms and attempted to regain a little of her dignity. “It’s all part of the pattern.”
“What do you mean?” Lucy asked.
“I mean,” Joanna told her, “that your mother was an interesting person, and so are you.”
EPILOGUE
The wedding was beautiful, although Joanna didn’t realize it at the time. Only later, later, when she saw the pictures, would she finally notice how much fun everyone seemed to be having. Her dress was beautiful, and the flowers were gorgeous. The bride was radiant, so was the groom, so was the flower girl, and so was the mother of the bride. If anybody cried, Joanna didn’t see it.
She and Butch left the reception at Palominas while the party was still in full swing and drove as far as Tucson to spend the night. Early Sunday morning found them standing in a check-in line at Tucson International Airport. “So,” the clerk said with a smile as she examined the passports Butch had presented for identification purposes along with their tickets. “Is Paris your final destination today?”
Butch nodded. “Have you ever been to Paris before?” the clerk continued.
“I have, but my wife hasn’t,” he replied.
Meanwhile Joanna had been struck speechless. Up to that very moment, Butch Dixon had refused to divulge where they were going.
“Paris?” she blurted. “That’s where we’re going-Paris, France?”
Butch shrugged. “It’s April, isn’t it? Paris is supposed to be lovely this time of year. At least, that’s what I’ve been told. And it should be a pretty nice place for you to buy those new clothes. You sure as hell need them.”
J.A. Jance on the Origin of Joanna Brady
After writing my first thriller, Hour of the Hunter, when it was time to go back to J.P. Beaumont I found that writing was fun again. That was when my editor suggested that I might consider starting a second series so I’d be able to alternate between sets of characters.
I had written ten books through a middle-aged male detective’s point of view. It seemed to me that it would be fun to write about a woman for a change. Because Beau was a Seattle homicide detective, most of the books took place in and around Seattle. Up to that time, I had spent the bulk of my life living in Arizona. And it seemed like it would be fun to use some of the desert stuff that was percolating in the back of my head.
In many of the books I’d read that featured female sleuths, I had found that the characters seemed to live isolated, solitary lives with maybe a cat and a single dying ficus for company. Most of the women I knew lived complicated lives that involved husbands and children, in-laws and friends. They juggled family responsibilities and jobs along with church and community service. I set out to make my character, Joanna Brady (Yes, yes, I know. Another J. B. name) into someone whose life would reflect that complicated act of juggling.
As a writer, I try not to be too buoyed by good reviews or too devastated by bad ones, but there was one review that came in on the Joanna Brady books that is still engraved on my heart. It came for Mostly Murder: “Every woman in America is obviously not a sheriff, but Joanna Brady is every woman.”
Thank you, Mostly Murder.
About the Author
J.A. Jance is the author of the J.P. Beaumont series, the Joanna Brady series, and two standalone thrillers. Born in South Dakota and brought up in Bisbee, Arizona, Jance lives with her husband in Seattle, Washington.
