“No,” Joanna said, with a rueful shake of her head. “I don’t blame her, either.”
The phone rang, and Eva Lou hurried to answer it. The caller was none other than Marianne Macula looking for Joanna. “When there wasn’t any answer out at the house, I figured I’d find you at the Bradys’. How’s the candidate…Excuse me, hoWs the sheriff doing this morning?”
“The sheriff-elect is stiff as a board,” Joanna returned. “Rolling around on sidewalks isn’t good for me. I hurt in places I didn’t know I owned. And I’ve got a shiner where you clipped me under the eye. How are you?”
Marianne laughed, sounding far more chipper than she should have. “Bored stiff. Ready to be out of here. If it comes down to a contest of who’s more hardheaded, it’s a toss-up. You’ve only got a black eye. They thought I had a concussion.”
“Let’s call it even,” Joanna said, laughing into the phone herself, and starting to feel a little better.
Maybe the painkillers were finally starting to do their stuff-the painkillers and, of course, a great breakfast. “What’s on your agenda today?” she asked
“The doctor says I’ll be out by noon. It’s time for me to get out of the campaign-manager business and go back to being just plain Pastor Macula,” Marianne replied. “But I wouldn’t have missed this election for the world. It’s been fun, hasn’t it?”
“I’m not sure ‘fun’ is the word that applies. How’s Linda Kimball doing?”
“Fine. They didn’t even keep her overnight. Just put her arm in a brace and a sling and sent her home,” Marianne answered. “By the way,” she added after a pause, “speaking of the Patterson van, have you heard anything more about Harold?”
“Just that they still haven’t found him. Grandpa Brady left here a little while ago to go work on organizing a search.”
“He’s dead, isn’t he?” Marianne asserted quietly.
Joanna had been too preoccupied with her own concerns to give Harold Patterson’s unexplained disappearance that much thought. Marianne’s blunt pronouncement brought it home.
“Why do you say that?”
“I talked to Ivy just a little while ago. She wasn’t home last night, either. I’m not sure what’s going on, because she mentioned something about moving into an apartment. But she also said she went by the Rocking P early this morning. The city cops were getting ready to ticket Harold’s Scout, so she drove it home and discovered that no one had done the chores. Based on that alone, Burton Kimball talked Judge Moore into granting a continuance.”
“Oh,” Joanna said.
Farmers and ranchers are among the last of the world’s day-trippers. Their lives are like yo-yos with strings that stretch only as far as they can travel between morning and evening chores. If Harold Patterson had now missed both evening and morning chores, that was serious.
“You’re right,” Joanna agreed. “Either he’s dead or he’s badly hurt. He’s a tough old coot. It would take something serious to get that man down”
“Heart attack, maybe?” Marianne suggested
“I saw him yesterday morning,” Joanna said, “at the office. Now that you mention it, he did seem awfully upset.”
“I guess we’ll just have to hope for the best,” Marianne said. “Now, what about you? What are your plans?”
“Milo gave me the day off. I don’t think he wants someone who looks this awful beautifying his office. I’m due to go see Dick Voland a little later. One of the deputies took my statement last night. They’re supposed to have it typed up by this morning so I can sign it.”
“Why one of the deputies instead of one of the city cops?” Marianne asked. “After all, it happened inside the city limits.”
“I think it was so hectic, they just passed out numbers, and whoever drew yours, that was it. Some people got city cops; some ended up with deputies.”
“Speaking of deputies, did you talk to Dick Voland after the final election results came in?” Marianne asked. “You won by such a landslide that he’s probably not a very happy camper this morning.”
“I haven’t seen him since the party. He and Al ducked out as soon as they saw the way the vote was going and that there was no way for Freeman to catch up. Frank Montoya stayed around long enough to concede and shake my hand.”
“I wish I could have seen the look on Dick Voland’s face when he finally figured out you were going to win. Do you think he’ll quit before you take office, or will you have to fire him?”
“Fire him? Why would I do that?”
“Joanna,” Marianne said severely, “haven’t you been listening to all the things that man has been saying about you out on the campaign trail? I have. I’m afraid he’ll try to undermine you every step of the way.”
Joanna had been listening, but most of what Chief Deputy Voland had said in the previous six weeks Joanna had chalked up to campaign rhetoric. Voland had spent years working for the previous administration, much of that as second in command. So far, independent investigators had turned up no connections between Voland and any of the departmental drug-related skulduggery. He had been clean enough for the county board of supervisors to appoint him acting sheriff until a new one could be elected.
Personally, Joanna wouldn’t have given Richard Voland the time of day. Around the department and directly to his face, the chief deputy was referred to by his official title. Behind his back, in - unofficial circles, he was dubbed “Chief Redneck.”
Voland’s “good ole boy” mindset, one that had worked with Walter V. McFadden and would have been compatible with Al Freeman, wasn’t nearly as good a fit with Joanna Brady.
“Dick will be fine,” Joanna answered confidently, glossing over Marianne’s concern as well as her own. “He’s been around the department since my father was there. We’ll wait and see if he’s a problem.”
Joanna and Marianne might have talked longer if one of the nurses hadn’t showed up with a thermometer and a blood-pressure cuff.
Marianne got off the line with only a hint of ill grace. Hospitals were like that.
When Joanna put down the phone, Eva Lou once more refilled their coffee cups. “I get such a kick out of your mother,” Eva Lou said thoughtfully “Eleanor was on the phone here bright and early this morning, excited as a little kid and wondering what kind of outfit I thought you should wear to your swearing-in.”
Joanna laughed. “That’s my mother for you,” she said, but a moment later all trace of laughter was gone.
“Between now and January, there should be plenty of time for us to figure out what I should wear. Not that getting a new outfit will help. Mother had a fit yesterday because she wanted me to look great for the election-night television cameras. But even after she went to all the trouble of sending me to Helen Barco for the full, deluxe treatment, I still managed to show up on the news looking like the tail end of disaster. You’d think she’d finally just give up on me, wouldn’t you?”
Eva Lou Brady shook her head. “No, Joanna, mothers don’t give up,” she said. “Haven’t you figured that out yet? No matter what, we never, ever, quite give up.”
FEELING spoiled by Eva Lou’s breakfast, Joanna drove down the Warren Cutoff and past the huge Lavender Pit tailings dump on her way to the new Cochise County Justice Complex two miles east of town on Highway 80. Built and furnished with the county’s share of confiscated drug moneys, the pink and tan stuccoed buildings nestled in a deft in red iron-tinted hills, while a line of stark limestone gray cliffs marched across the horizon forming a backdrop.
Andy had been working as a deputy when the new complex opened, and the new jail’s ongoing difficulties had been one of the hottest campaign issues. Still, in Joanna’s mind’s eye, the words “sheriff’s office” still meant her father’s cramped and shabby digs in the old Art Dectyle county courthouse uptown.