“I’m sure you would have,” Joanna agreed. “But you’re saying she lived here rent-free?”
“That’s right.” Edith was indignant. “You don’t think I’d charge rent to my own flesh and blood, do you? What kind of a person do you think I am, Sheriff Brady? I wouldn’t do any such thing!”
“This is your place then?”
“Yes. It’s mine until I die. Then it goes to the Nature Conservancy. When Grady and I—Grady was my husband, you see. We first bought acreage and the trailer back in the mid-seventies. When we lived in it, that trailer was neat as a pin. Clean, too.
Carol’s not big on cleaning. I think she worries way more about the dog runs and crates than she does the house itself. The last I saw of the inside, the place was a pigsty. That’s when I decided I wasn’t coming back. At least I stopped going inside.
Couldn’t stand to see it that way. Made me want to haul out a mop and a dust rag and go to work.”
“But you did come by today,” Joanna said.
“Well, of course. Carol asked me to because she needed help.”
“What with?”
“With her dogs, what else?” Edith asked with a resigned shrug. “She never said a word about her electricity bill, but she wasn’t too proud to ask for help with the dogs. She said she needed to get them all vaccinated and licensed. The problem is, I wanted to wait until after the first of the month-until after my Social Security check was in the bank. If I had known she was really desperate, I could have done something sooner, but it
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would have meant cashing in one of the CDs. I didn’t want to do that if I didn’t have to. Grady wouldn’t have approved, you see. He was always warning me about that.
‘Now, Edie,’ he’d say, ‘you watch your money. Whatever you do, you don’t want to outlive your money.’ And he’s right about that. I’ve seen what happens when people do-outlive their money, that is. It’s hell. For everybody.”
“So Carol asked you for help with the Animal Control situation?”
Edith Mossman nodded. “She said she wouldn’t be able to get them all licensed and still keep her head above water. Must have been close to two weeks ago now when she dropped by my place to talk to me about it. I can see now, I should have come quicker.
It makes me sick to think that just by dipping into one of my CDs I could have prevented all this. I’m sure it’s all my fault.”
For the first time, the old woman struggled to find words. Tears sprang to her eyes.
It was as though, for the first time, the awfulness of the situation was finally sinking in.
“Believe me,” Joanna assured her, “it’s not your fault.”
Edith’s lower lip trembled. “Is it a suicide?” she asked softly.
Joanna shook her head. ‘As I understand it,” she said, “one or more shots were fired through the back door while your granddaughter was standing in front of it. All the dogs, with the exception of Lucky here, were locked inside with her.”
“When did it happen?” Edith asked.
“We don’t know,” Joanna replied. “At least not at this time. That’s one of the things the medical examiner “will be working on—establishing time of death.”
“She didn’t go to work today,” Edith volunteered. “I know that much. I was planning to go by the gas station and take her my check. Since I have to hire a cab to go anywhere, seeing her at
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work in town would have been a lot easier than coming all the way out here. But when I called to talk to her, her boss said she had taken today off for an appointment of some kind.” Edith Mossman paused. “Remind me to call him. I need to let him know what’s happened.”
Joanna knew that any useful information she could gather now would offer a needed assist for her detectives later on. “If you’ll give me Carol’s work number and the name of her supervisor,” Joanna said, “someone from my department will be glad to take care of that for you.”
“Thank you,” Edith said. “Thanks so much. That’ll be one less thing for me to worry about anyway.”
“Would you be considered her next of kin, then?” Joanna asked, after jotting down the information. “Is there anyone else who should be notified—parents, perhaps?
Brothers or sisters?”
“Carol’s mother is dead,” Edith said curtly.
“And her father?” Joanna prodded.
“I can’t tell you for sure if my son is dead or alive,” Edith Mossman said. “If Edward is still alive, I have no idea where to find the son of a bitch. And I’ll tell you this. If he is dead, I’d be first in line to piss on his grave.”
The utter fury in Edith Mossman’s voice when she spoke of her son took Joanna’s breath away. She considered asking more about him but changed her mind, contenting herself, instead, to making a note of Edith’s reaction in her notebook.
“What about siblings?” Joanna asked.
“Three sisters,” Edith answered. “You maybe know Stella Adams. She and her family live in Bisbee. Down in Warren, actually, at the far end of Arizona Street. Andrea lives in Tucson. She’s not married. She works at the U of A as a secretary in the Chemistry Department. Kelly is still in Mexico, down in 42
Obregon. I doubt you’ll be able to get in touch with her there. I’m not even sure if she has a phone, and she most likely won’t be coming home for the funeral.”
“In other words, she and Carol weren’t close.”
The rheumy eyes Edith Mossman turned on Joanna were filled with a terrible sadness.
“Yes,” she said. “I guess you can say Carol and Kelly aren’t the least bit close.
Besides, Carol preferred dogs to people.”
Just then Joanna caught sight of a group of people emerging from the trailer. “If you’ll excuse me a moment, Edith, I’ll go see how we’re doing.”
Scooping up the puppy and stowing him back inside her shirt, Joanna hurried over to the small wooden porch that had been built outside the mobile home’s front door.
The sun had long since disappeared behind the Huachuca Mountains. It wasn’t quite nighttime yet, but it would be soon. In the deepening twilight, the entire investigative team stood on the porch, swilling down bottled water. From the looks of the sweat-drenched crew, Joanna was grateful she’d been standing outside, in the relative cool of evening, interviewing Edith Mossman. Clearly, the tough duty was happening inside.
“How’s it going?” she asked.
“Hotter’n hell in there,” Ernie Carpenter muttered, echoing Dave Hollicker’s earlier sentiments. He nodded in the direction of Joanna’s Blazer. “Who’s the old lady?”
he added.
“Edith Mossman,” Joanna told him. “Carol Mossman’s grandmother.”
“Good work,” George Winfield said, inserting himself into the previously two-way conversation. “At least I won’t have to knock myself out trying to locate the next of kin. But what’s she doing here? Who called her?”
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“Nobody,” Joanna answered. “She came to see Carol without knowing anything was “wrong.
I tried to get her to go home. She says she’s waiting for you to finish up so she can do the identification.”
George frowned. “It’s really bad in there, Joanna,” he said, while Dave Hollicker nodded in somber agreement. “No way the grandmother should see the inside of that house. Can’t you talk her out of it?”
“Like I said,” Joanna told him, “I’ve tried, but I haven’t made any progress so far.”
The medical examiner glanced toward the darkening sky. “We’ll probably finish up in another fifteen or twenty minutes,” he said at last. “I still think it’s a bad idea to do this here, but we’ll put the victim in a body bag and bring her out on a gurney so Granny can take a look.”
Joanna’s cell phone rang just then. Seeing her home number in the screen, Joanna excused herself and walked a few feet away before she answered.
“Where the hell are you?” Butch Dixon demanded. “I’ve been scared to death.”