“That’s entirely up to Ernie Carpenter,” Joanna answered. “He’s the one handling the investigation. He’ll be the one making that call.”
“How soon can I check with him?”
“Maybe later this afternoon.”
Burton turned back to Ivy. “Would you like me to call Norm then and see if he can come out here for a consultation? Maybe later on this evening say, around eight o’clock.”
“No,” Ivy Patterson said decisively, answering her cousin but with her eyes focused on Marianne Macula’s face. “Not tonight. I’m busy tonight. Yuri and I are getting married. At seven o’clock.”
Kimball’s jaw dropped. “You’re doing what?”
“Getting married. In the Canyon Methodist parsonage, at seven o’clock.”
Burton looked at Marianne Macula. “Surely, this is some kind of joke,” he asked helplessly.
Marianne shook her head. “It’s no joke. I spent all morning trying to talk her out of it, but she changed her mind back to going ahead with it just a few minutes ago.”
“But with your father not even…”
“Don’t tell me one more word about my father,” Ivy Patterson warned. “I don’t want to hear any more. You already told me enough, the other day.”
“Ivy, I’ve already told you how sorry I am about that. I was drunk and way out of line. Shooting off my mouth like that was a terrible breach of ethics. I never should have mentioned a word about it.”
“But the point is, you did. I figured if Dad was going to give away half of what I’d worked for, then I wasn’t going to wait around any longer. Yuri and I started making plans right then. That very day. On such short notice, we haven’t found anyone to come look after the stock, so we’re going to spend the night in Tombstone. The motel will probably have a banner over the door-Welcome Old Maids of America. Besides, you don’t need me to talk to Norm Higgins. You can do it yourself, or Holly can.”
“But, Ivy,” Burton argued. “Getting married like this isn’t right. It’s not… seemly. Think what people will say.”
“I don’t give a damn what they say. They can say whatever they like.”
“But your father just died. People around here, especially those who knew Uncle Harold, aren’t going to like it. It shows a terrible lack of respect, of propriety.”
“You expect me to respect the man?” Ivy raged. “After everything he did? Forget it. I did respect him for forty years, and you can see how far that got me. When he decided to throw me to the wolves in favor of dividing this place up between Holly and me, he didn’t hesitate, not for a minute. Maybe he didn’t change his will, but only because he ran out of time. He didn’t give a damn about all the years I worked here. I poured my whole life into this place. If Holly’s portion and mine are exactly the same, then what I did for him and with him all those years didn’t mean a thing.”
“Ivy, you’re being too hard on the man.”
“Hard? No I’m not. Not only did he turn on me, he destroyed Mother, Burton. Maybe you don’t see it the same way I do. I was here every day taking care of her. He even made me help him do it to her, damnit. That’s something I’ll never forgive. Never.”
She paused long enough to take a ragged breath, and then a strange look passed over Ivy’s face, look of terrible comprehension. “That’s it, isn’t it?”
“What now?” Burton asked wearily, as though he were too exasperated to care anymore.
“Don’t you see? That must be why he swore she was lying and why she insisted that we stay away from the glory hole.”
“What are you talking about, Ivy?”
“The other body. The skeleton. I know now who killed that other person.
“Who?” Joanna asked.
“My father, of course,” Ivy Patterson said matter-of-factly. “Don’t you see? Why else would he have covered it up all these years?”
Why else? Joanna thought with her own heart constricting in her breast. Why else indeed?
Ivy cut off all further discussion by getting up, taking Yuri’s hand to pull him off the couch, and leading him out the door. The other three people were left in the living room, trapped in their own stunned silence.
“I don’t understand what’s going on with that woman,” Burton grumbled as the front door closed behind Yuri and Ivy. “Who the hell is that guy? Where’s he from?”
“Yuri Malakov,” Marianne answered. “He’s from someplace in Russia, of course. Or from someplace in what used to be Russia. You mean you don’t know him?”
“I’ve never laid eyes on the man, and yet Ivy says they’re engaged? They’re getting married? What kind of craziness is this?”
“From the way Ivy brought it up to me this morning, she sounded as though it was all decided long ago. I would have thought for sure you’d know all about it.”
“Well I don’t. Not a word,” Burton said. He shook his head. “What did he say his name is? Malakov? What kind of name is that and what’s he doing in this country? How’d he get here? And how did he meet up with Ivy?”
“He’s an immigrant,” Marianne explained. “And a very nice man. It’s part of our national church mission to help newcomers to this country. Jeff and I actually helped him find sponsors. Hale and Natasha Robertson, from just up the road.”
“You and your husband helped bring him here?” Burton asked reproachfully.
Marianne nodded. “Jeff’s actually more involved with that part of our outreach program than I am. You’ve met Natasha Robertson, haven’t you?”
Burton nodded. “Years ago. I remember when Hale brought her home as a G.I. bride right after World War II. They moved into a place a few miles down the road.”
“Hale’s in a wheelchair now,” Marianne continued. “He was in a car accident years ago. He’s turned himself into an accountant, keeping books for various ranchers. For a long time, Natasha looked after their place all by herself, but she’s getting up in years now, too. It finally got to be more than she could handle. Jeff was the one who came up with the idea of putting them together with Yuri. And it’s a perfect match. Natasha speaks Russian and needed somebody to help her with chores. Yuri needed a job and a place to stay, and he didn’t speak much English. It seemed like a match made in heaven.”
“You still haven’t told me how he and Ivy got together,” Burton Kimball objected. “And just what kind of man is he? You can sit there and blithely tell me what a nice man he is, but for all you know he may be taking Ivy for all she’s worth.”
“It’s nothing like that,” Marianne assured him, “Yuri Malakov is totally on the up-and-up. Ivy started out tutoring him in English. The two of them just hit it off. Right from the start. Actually,” she added, “I like seeing them together. I think it’s sweet.”
“I hope you’re happy then,” Burton said sarcastically. “I suppose holding the wedding tonight was your idea?”
“Absolutely not. Having the wedding now is a terrible idea. I already told you I tried my best to talk Ivy out of it, but, as you can see, her mind’s made up.”
“And what was that I saw peeking out from under Lothario’s shirt?”
“His shirt?” Marianne asked. “What are you talking about?”
“The top button of his shirt was open. I saw something that looked a whole lot like a tattoo.”
Marianne looked puzzled. “I wouldn’t have any idea about that.”
“I would,” Joanna said. “It was a tattoo. Why?”
“Joanna,” Marianne said, “how did you…?”
“I’ve read about Russians with tattoos,” Burton Kimball went on. “In The Wall Street Journal.”
“What about them?” Joanna asked.
“It was in an article about Russian prisons. It talked about how Russian prisoners cover them selves with tattoos as a way of showing defiance of authority. Any kind of authority. It’s a variation on a theme of The Red Badge of Courage.”
With rising excitement, Burton Kimball sat up straighter and continued. “What if this man is an ex-con? Or maybe he’s an escaped criminal or a member of the Russian mafia. I’ve read about them, too. They’re all over here in the States these days. They’re into everything from drugs, to money laundering, to arms smuggling. What if Ivy’s being dragged into something like that?”