“How are you going to do that?”
Joanna shook her head. “I have no idea. If we had some clue about where he was from, it would be a big help. But we don’t. He could be from somewhere in Arizona or from someplace out of state as well. It’s snowbird season again. According to Father Mulligan at Holy Trinity, the arts and crafts fair drew visitors from all over the country.”
“So he could be from almost anywhere,” Daisy said with a thoughtful frown. “That would make it tough.”
Joanna smiled at her obvious concern. “If you come up with any bright ideas, we’re open to any and all suggestions.”
“I’ll think about it,” Daisy said. “But before I do that, I’d better turn in your order or you won’t ever get any lunch.”
Daisy disappeared into the kitchen, and Joanna turned back to Butch, who seemed suddenly subdued. “That does take some getting used to,” he said.
“What’s that?”
“The fact that you’re always on duty,” he said seriously. “The fact that your pager can go off anytime of the day or night and you have to go. You’re like a doctor on call, and it’s the same way for Marianne. She’s always on duty, too. I think the only time she ever lets her hair down is when she’s around you. Look what happened to her and Jeff after Esther died. Grief should be private, but it seems like theirs is everybody else’s business. It’ll be exactly the sane thing when it comes to our wedding, Joanna. You think your mother is bad, but just wait. You’re a public person around here. Everybody in town-no, make that everybody in the whole county-is going to have a vested interest in what happens to you. To us. Are you going to be able to handle it?”
Over time Joanna had gradually grown accustomed to the constant attention. For Butch it was a new phenomenon. “I think so,” she said. “What about you?”
Butch shrugged. “Like I said. It’ll take some getting used to.”
Daisy came back with their drinks. Coffee and water for Joanna and Butch and the milk shake for Junior. “I’ll bet chocolate is your favorite,” she said, as she placed the whipped-cream-topped shake in front of him.
Nodding and beaming, Junior reached for the paper-wrapped straw on the plate beside the shake. In his eagerness, his hands trembled so much that he wasn’t able to free the straw from its wrapper. After watching him struggle for the better part of a minute, Butch reached across the table, unwrapped the straw, and stuck it into the drink.
“There you go, Junior,” Butch said. “Have a ball.”
Halfway through lunch, Junior once again announced the fateful word, “Go.” This time there was no mistaking the message. Butch instantly hustled him off to the rest room. When they returned after successfully completing the mission, Joanna met Butch with a smile.
“You’re right,” she said. “This isn’t the most romantic of engagement lunches, but I have to say, from where I’m sitting, the prospective groom is making a very good impression on the prospective bride.”
“Thanks,” he said.
When it was time to leave, the three of them gathered around the cash register near the front door while Daisy rang up their bill. “You know,” she said, “I was thinking. A couple of years ago for Christmas, our kids gave us one of those big coffee-table books, America the Beautiful, I think it’s called. It’s full of pictures from all over the country. You know, the kind of stuff people recognize-like San Xavier Mission in Tucson or the Space Needle in Seattle. I wonder if we showed it to Junior, would he recognize anything?”
“He might,” Butch said. “It’s a long shot.”
“Well, Moe’s at work up at the post office right now,” Daisy said. “As soon as he gets off, I’ll have him drop the book off here at the restaurant. That way, you can stop by and pick it up whenever you like.” She looked at Junior. “Moe’s my husband,” she explained. “He has a book-a very pretty book-with all kinds of pictures in it. Do you like pictures?”
Junior smiled and nodded. “Like pictures,” he said.
“Good, then. The book will be here waiting for you, and you can look at it however much you like.”
Some other people came in the door, and Butch led Junior out to his car. “He’s just as sweet as he can be, isn’t he,” Daisy commented, looking after them.
“Yes,” Joanna said, thinking of Butch. “He is sweet.”
“What do you suppose happened to his family? And why haven’t they come back for him? Surely they didn’t leave him on purpose, do you think?”
“It looks that way,” Joanna said.
“That’s awful,” Daisy said. “What kind of a low-down snake would do such a thing?”
Joanna thought about the trunk of Elvira Hollenbeck’s Subaru. “Actually,” she said, “I don’t think snakes would. They’re probably more honorable than that.”
Back in her office, Joanna settled down to work. Dick Voland had taken charge of the squad of deputies patrolling Oak Vista Estates. Since he was perfectly capable of handling the situation, there was no need for Joanna’s added presence. Not only that, after spending two days on the road, there was plenty of work for her to catch up on.
She had labored in peace for the better part of an hour and felt that she was starting to make some real progress when the phone rang. “Yes, Kristin. What is it?”
“Someone to see you, Sheriff Brady. She says her name’s Monroe. Jessie Monroe. She wants to talk to you about her sister.”
“Who’s her sister?”
“Alice Rogers,” Kristin answered.
With a swipe of her arm, Joanna cleared the remaining clutter of paperwork from her desk. “Show her in,” she said.
The woman Kristin ushered into her office was a stooped, bird-boned woman who leaned almost bent double on a walker. She was tiny and frail, but the piercing eyes she focused on Joanna were sharp and uncompromising. “Sheriff Brady?” she said, peering out crookedly from under a permanently ducked head.
“I’m Sheriff Brady,” Joanna said. “What can I do for you?” “You’re in charge here?”
“And you’re investigating my sister’s death-Alice Rogers’ death?”
“I’m not doing that personally,” Joanna said. “I have two detectives who are handling the case.”
“I suppose they’ve already spoken to that worthless niece and nephew of mine.”
“Susan Jenkins and Clete Rogers?” Joanna said. “Yes, they’ve both been spoken to, but I doubt they’ve been interviewed in much detail so far. It’s still too early in the investigation for that.”
“But you will be talking to them.”
“My detectives will.”
“Well, then,” Jessie Monroe said. “I want you to give them a piece of my mind.”
Jessie’s walker had what looked like a bicycle basket attached between the two handles. At that point, Jessie reached into the basket, pulled out a clothbound book and dropped it onto Joanna’s desk.
“What’s this?”
“What does it look like?” Jessie demanded. “It’s a book.”
Joanna picked it up and examined the cover. “My Life and Times,” it said. “By Alice Monroe Rogers.”
“Your sister wrote this?” Joanna asked.
Jessie Monroe nodded. “Paid good money to have it printed, too. She wanted people to know about her, about who she really was. I watch all those programs on TV,” Jessie continued. “You know the ones-’Law and Order’ and all those other things they call police dramas. It seems to me, the dead people never get to tell their side of the story. The people in authority only learn what the people who are left want to tell them, which may or may not be the truth. I wanted someone to know what Alice thought instead of hearing what her kids think she thought. There’s a big difference, you know. A big difference.”
“Won’t you please sit down,” Joanna said, motioning Jessie Monroe toward one of the captain’s chairs on the far side of her desk. “Would you care for something to drink? Coffee? A soda?”