“Did she say where this money was supposed to come from?”
Edith shook her head. “No. At least not to me she didn’t.”
“So even though she told you she had the situation covered,”
T22
EXIT WOUNDS
Joanna said, “you came on out to her house with your checkbook at the ready anyway.
How come?”
“Because when Carol said she didn’t need the money anymore, I didn’t necessarily believe her,” Edith replied. “You see, she wasn’t a person who was always one hundred percent truthful. She was more than happy to tell lies when it suited her or when she was trying to save face. Carol may not have had much else going for her, but I’ll tell you this much-she did have her pride. When it comes to that, Carol was a Mossman through and through.”
So is pride what killed her? Joanna wondered. Being poor and proud can sometimes be a lethal combination.
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The interview with Edith Mossman went on for sometime after that, but Joanna had a difficult time concentrating. Her early-morning English muffins had long since worn off. Her stomach was growling so loudly that she worried Edith might hear it.
The questions droned on and on. Did Carol have any enemies? No. Boyfriend? If Carol had a boyfriend, Edith knew nothing about it. How long had she worked in her present position? About six months. Had Carol had any, difficulties at work, either with supervisors, fellow employees, or customers? Not that she had mentioned to Edith.
Taken individually, the answers to all of Jaime’s questions seemed inconsequential.
Together, they formed a picture of who Carol Mossman was and who her associates had been. The hope was that one or another of those slender threads would help lead investigators to the killer. When Edith finally complained of fatigue, Jaime immediately offered to break for lunch.
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“You mean there’s more?” Edith demanded. “What else can you possibly want to know?”
“We need to know everything,” Jaime told her. “Everything you can tell us.”
“It’ll have to wait, then,” Edith said. “I’ll go over to Stella’s house and take a little nap. I’m no spring chicken, you know. If I don’t get my rest, I’m the next best thing to worthless. Maybe, after that, I’ll feel up to talking some more. Right now I’m completely worn out.”
Me, too, Joanna thought.
“Sure thing,” Jaime said. “Later this afternoon will be fine.”
Twenty minutes later, Joanna slid into a booth at Daisy’s, across the table from where Marianne Maculyea was already sitting.
“How are you doing?” Marianne asked.
“Fine until I smelled the food,” Joanna said.
“Queasy?”
“You could say that.”
“Try the chicken noodle soup,” Marianne suggested. “When I was pregnant, chicken noodle was one of the few things that didn’t bounce back up the moment I swallowed it.”
“I take it you’ve forgiven me for not telling you first thing?” Joanna asked.
Marianne grinned at her. “Let’s just say I’m over it,” she said. “I’m thrilled to know jeffy is going to have someone to play with.”
“You may be over it, but I’m not,” Joanna said. “I’m still pissed at Marliss.”
Even as she said it, Joanna knew she was putting Marianne in a difficult situation, since Marliss Shackleford was also a member of the Reverend Maculyea’s flock at Tombstone Canyon United Methodist Church.
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“Don’t be,” Marianne advised. “Marliss was just doing her job. Or what she sees as doing her job.”
Daisy Maxwell, owner of Daisy’s Cafe, approached the booth with pad and pencil in hand, ready to take their order.
“Good afternoon, Sheriff Brady,” she said with a smile. “And congratulations. What’ll it be, now that you’re eating for two?”
Word is definitely out, Joanna thought.
“My friend here recommends the chicken noodle soup,” Joanna replied. “I guess I’m having that.”
“And you?” she asked Marianne.
Once again, Marianne favored Joanna with an impish grin. “Well,” she said, “since I’m not the one who’s expecting, I’ll have a hamburger. With fries!”
Forty-five minutes later, Joanna was back in her office when Ernie Carpenter knocked on the doorjamb. “Back from Tucson already?” she asked.
He nodded, came into the room, and eased his portly frame into one of the chairs.
“If the jail’s still under lockdown,” he said, “I think you can tell Tom Hadlock to ease up.”
“How come?” Joanna asked. “What’s the verdict?”
“Fran Daly’s preliminary conclusion is that Richard Osmond died of undiagnosed pancreatic cancer.”
Joanna closed her eyes and whispered a small prayer of thanksgiving that George Winfield had wisely suggested bringing in an unbiased third-party medical examiner. The same information coming from Joanna’s own stepfather would have been far easier to view with skepticism.
“Undiagnosed?” she asked. “You mean Richard Osmond was that sick and no one had any idea?”
Ernie nodded. ‘According to Doc Daly, that’s the way pancreatic cancer works sometimes.
It’s like a time bomb that goes
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off with zero advance warning. Even if doctors find it, Fran says there’s not that much that can be done about it.”
“What I want to know is whether or not we had any warning,” Joanna declared, emphasizing the first person plural pronoun. “Whether the Cochise County Sheriff’s Department had any warning.”
“What do you mean?”
‘According to Frank, Richard Osmond has a child with a girlfriend whose father is a litigious kind of guy. Before Frank even finished doing the next-of-kin notification, Gabriel Gomez was already threatening us with a wrongful-death lawsuit. I want to know for sure that we’re covered on this, Ernie. I want you to check the jail records and find out if Osmond ever asked to go to the infirmary on a sick call or asked to see a doctor. I also want you to check with the two guys in his cell; what are their names again?”
Ernie hauled out a pad of paper and checked his notes. “Brad Calhoun and John Braxton,”
he supplied.
“I want you to see if Osmond ever complained to either one of them about not feeling well. I want those interviews conducted immediately, properly witnessed and recorded.
Understand?”
“Got it, boss,” Ernie replied. “What’s Jaime up to right now?”
“As far as I know, he’s waiting for Edith Mossman to wake up from her nap so he can finish doing her second interview. Maybe you can squeeze in talks with Braxton and Calhoun before that happens.”
Ernie nodded. “We’ll get right on it,” he said.
As Ernie rose to do her bidding, it occurred to Joanna that she owed this man, some twenty-five years her senior, the courtesy of personally informing him about what was going on.
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“By the way, Ernie,” she said, “I’ll probably have Frank put out an official bulletin, but there’s something I need to tell you.”
“About the baby, you mean?” he asked.
Joanna nodded.
“Not to worry. Rose read me the article from the paper this morning. I should have mentioned it earlier. I guess congratulations are in order.”
Marliss strikes again, Joanna thought.
“Thank you,” she said.
Ernie frowned. “You’re not planning on quitting, are you?”
“No. Definitely not.”
A slow smile crossed Ernie Carpenter’s broad face. “Good,” he said. “Glad to hear it. I’m just getting used to working with you. It’d be a shame to lose you now.”
As soon as Ernie left her office, Joanna picked up her phone. “Frank,” she said, “I think we should send out a special department-wide bulletin as soon as possible.