“Almost,” Joanna answered. “And not a moment too soon. I’m supposed to leave the house at three. You and Marianne are still coming out to the ranch for Grandma Brady’s farewell dinner, aren’t you? She’s acting as though I’m off on a worldwide tour.”
Jeff shook his head. “Wouldn’t miss one of Eva Lou’s dinners for the world. What time are we due?”
“Between one-thirty and two.”
Finished with Marliss, Marianne stepped back to greet Joanna with a heartfelt hug. “We’re all going to miss you,” she said. “But everything’s going to be fine here at home. Don’t worry.”
Not surprisingly, Marianne’s intuitive comment went straight to the heart of Joanna’s problem. “Thank you,” she gulped, blinking back tears.
Marianne smiled. “See you downstairs,” she said.
Joanna glanced at her watch as she headed for the stairway. There wasn’t much time. She hurried into the social hall, scanning the tables for a glimpse of Jennifer. Initially seeing no sign of her daughter, Joanna made a single swift pass through the refreshment line and picked up a cup of coffee. With cup in hand, she finally spotted Jenny and one of her friends. The two girls were already seat at a table and scarfing down cake.
Not wanting to crab at her daughter in public, Joanna deliberately moved in the opposite direction. Too late she realized she was walking directly into the arms of Marliss Shackleford.
Joanna Brady had never liked Marliss Shackleford and for more than one reason. The woman had a real propensity for minding other people’s business. She thrived on gossip, and she had managed to find a way to turn that hobby into a job. Once a week Marliss held forth in a written gossip column called “Bisbee Buzzings” that appeared in the local paper, The Bisbee Bee.
To a private citizen, columnist Marliss Shackleford could be a bothersome annoyance. Now that Joanna was in the public eye, however, annoyance had escalated into something else. From the moment Joanna Brady began making her bid for the office of sheriff, Marliss had chosen to regard everything related to Joanna and Jennifer Brady as possibly newsworthy material for her weekly column.
At first, Joanna hadn’t tumbled to her changed circumstances. Then one day, she was shocked to see her own words quoted verbatim in Marliss Shackleford’s column—words taken from a conversation with a third party in what Joanna had mistakenly assumed to be the relative privacy of an after-church coffee hour. Only in retrospect did she recall the reporter hovering in the background in the social hall during the conversation. Since then, Joanna had gone out of her way to avoid Marliss Shackleford.
Veering to one side, Joanna dodged the Marliss pitfall only to stumble into another one that proved almost equally troubling.
“Why, Joanna Brady!” Esther Brockner exclaimed, clasping the younger woman by the hand. “How are you and that poor little girl of yours doing these days?”
Two weeks after Andy’s death, Esther Brockner had been the first elderly widow who had felt free to advise Joanna that since she was so young and attractive, she wouldn’t have any trouble at all marrying again. That well-intentioned but tactless comment had left Joanna fuming. She had forced herself to bite back the angry retort that she didn’t want any other husband. Now, after being told much the same thing by several other thoughtless acquaintances, Joanna’s hide had toughened considerably.
Facing Esther now over a cup of coffee, Joanna had little difficulty maintaining her composure. “We’re doing fine, Esther,” she returned civilly. “How about you?”
“Every day gets a little better, doesn’t it?” Esther continued.
Not exactly, Joanna thought. It was more like one step forward and two back, but she nodded in reply. Nodding a lie didn’t seem quite as bad as telling one outright.
“Why, Sheriff Brady,” Marliss said, using her cup and saucer to wedge her way into the two-way conversation. “I guess you’re off to school in Phoenix this week.”
“Peoria,” Joanna corrected. “The Arizona Poll Officers Academy is based in Peoria, outside Phoenix.”
Marliss waved her hand in disgust. “What’s the difference? Peoria. Glendale. Tempe. Mesa. If you ask me, those places are all alike. From the outlet stores in Casa Grande on, there’s way too much traffic. I hear it’s almost as bad as L.A. All those people!” She clicked her tongue in disapproval. “It’s not like a small town. In a place like that, nobody cares if you live or die. In fact, I’ve heard it isn’t safe for a woman alone to drive around Phoenix. I wouldn’t go there if you paid me.”
Joanna felt a sudden urge to smile because she was, in fact, being paid to go to the Phoenix area. Not only that, some of Marliss Shackleford’s hard-earned tax dollars were partially footing the bill.
“I’m sure most people in metropolitan Phoenix are just fine,” Joanna said.
Marliss drew herself up to her full five foot three. “I understand the course work at that school is pretty tough,” she said. “Aren’t you worried about that?”
“Why should I be?”
Marliss shrugged, in a vain attempt to look innocent. “If you didn’t pass for some reason, it might be a bad reflection on your ability to do the job, wouldn’t it?”
“I expect to pass all right,” Joanna replied.
“Speaking of doing the job, I need a picture of you.”
“What for,” Joanna asked, “the paper?”
“No. For the display in the Sheriff’s Department lobby. I’m on the Women’s Club facilities committee, and I’m supposed to get a glossy eleven-by-fourteen of you to put up along with those of all the previous sheriffs. I don’t need it this minute, but I will need it soon. I’ll have to have it framed lime for an official presentation at our annual luncheon in January.”
Looking around the room for Jenny, Joanna nodded. “I’ll take care of it as soon as I can.”
From across the room she succeeded in catching Jenny’s eye. Joanna motioned toward the door. In response, Jenny pointed toward her empty plate, then folded her hands prayerfully under her chin.
The gestured message came through loud and clear. Jenny wanted a second piece of Mrs. Sawyer’s cake.
Shaking her head, Joanna walked up to her daughter. “No,” she said firmly. “Come on. We’ve got to go.”
Scowling, Jenny got up to follow, but as they started toward the stairway, Cynthia Sawyer abandoned her spot behind the refreshment table and came hurrying after them. She was carrying a paper plate laden with several pieces of her rich, dark-brown pecan praline cake.
“I know this is Jenny’s favorite,” Cynthia said, smiling and carefully placing the loaded plate Jenny’s outstretched hand. “She mentioned that you folks were having a little going-away party this afternoon. We have more than enough for the people who are here. I thought you might want a piece or two for dessert.”
Joanna knew she’d been suckered. There was no way to turn down Mrs. Sawyer’s generous offer without making a public fool of herself.
“Why, thank you, Cynthia,” Joanna said. “That’s very thoughtful.”
Clutching the plate, Jenny scampered triumphantly up the stairway to safety while her moth stalked after her.
“Jennifer Ann Brady, you’re a brat,” Joanna muttered when she knew they were both safely out of Cynthia’s hearing.
“But, Mom,” Jenny protested. “I didn’t ask for it. Mrs. Sawyer offered. And not just because it’s my favorite. She asked me if you liked it, too. I said you did. You do, don’t you?”