“Shouldn’t someone go around and try to come up behind her?” Frank asked.
“You mean, so if shooting breaks out, we can wing one of our own in the process?” Joanna asked. “I don’t think so.”
“You’re right,” Frank agreed. “Not a good idea.” Then, after a pause, he said, “By the way, Dick said to tell you now she’s switched to that song from The Wizard of Oz—‘Somewhere Over the Rainbow,’ Dick thinks it’s called.”
“Fortunately, neither one of you will ever end up on ‘Name That Tune.’ “ Joanna told them. “I’m sure Reba Singleton remembers them from when she was a little kid. From a time when the world wasn’t such a scary, uncertain place. My guess is she’s wishing she could go back there.”
“Don’t we all,” Ernie Carpenter breathed. The road was rising sharply, and the detective was having to huff and puff in order to keep up. “I still don’t think talking is going to do any good. I vote we lob a canister of tear gas under the tree and catch her when she gets off the swing.”
“And what happens if she falls out of the swing and breaks her neck in the process?” Joanna asked. “We’re doing this my way and talking first.”
“Okay,” Frank Montoya said. “You’re the boss.”
By the time they reached the gate to the yard, they could hear the singing. Dick Voland came to the gate to meet them. “Climb over the fence,” he advised in a whisper. “I tried opening the gate. It squeaks like a son of a bitch.”
Joanna hiked up her skirt and scrambled over the fence. Dick Voland was there to break her fall as she landed. “Are you wearing a vest?”
He shook his head.
“Armed?”
“Yes.”
“All right,” Joanna said. “Frank, you’re with me. Dick, you and Ernie stay on the front porch and out of sight unless this thing goes in the toilet. Understood?”
“You can’t—“ Dick Voland began.
“I can and I will,” Joanna declared. “Front porch or nothing. Front porch or go down the road. Which?”
“Front porch,” Voland agreed glumly.
As Joanna and Frank made their way around the side yard, walking past thorny rosebushes and clumps of sharp-edged pampas grass, Reba Singleton tuned up with another song—a Teresa Brewer–like rendition of “I Saw Mommy Kissing Santa Claus.” The singing was plaintive. Sad. With a sudden jolt of insight, Joanna realized why Jenny’s room hadn’t been touched. Jenny was a child, and in her torment, so was Reba Joy Singleton.
“Reba?” Joanna called softly, once she and Frank were in position.
The singing stopped. The swinging did not. There was a steady creak from a rope rubbing on a tree bough. That didn’t change.
“Who is it?”
“You know who it is,” Joanna said softly.
“How do you like being left with nothing?” Reba demanded. “How does it feel?”
“I’m sorry about your husband,” Joanna said. “What he did must have hurt you very badly.”
“How do you know about that?” Reba asked sharply. “Who told you?”
“Dick Voland,” Joanna said. “You’re the one who told him.”
“Oh, that’s right,” she said. “I guess I did. And it did hurt. Dennis has a girlfriend, you know. Some guppy bimbo half his age that he picked out of the shallow end of the gene pool. He says he has to marry her because she’s pregnant. Do you believe it? He’s probably been planning this for months. I wouldn’t be surprised if he hasn’t moved most of his money offshore. That’s why I wanted this place. I’m not completely stupid. I saw it coming even if I didn’t want to admit it in public. I wanted this place so I’d have somewhere to run to if it came to that.”
“Did your father know what was going on between you and your husband?”
“Are you kidding? We hadn’t spoken in years. But now that I’ve been here, I remember how much I hate it. Everything but this swing. When I was little, I used to pretend that whenever I was in this swing I could see over the mountains. The whole time I was swinging, I told myself that someday I’d get out of here. And you know what? I did. I got away whole, and I’ll be damned if I’ll come crawling back. You can have this awful, godforsaken house. I don’t want it.”
She paused. “I’m sorry about what I did to your house. It was like I was crazy. Maybe I am crazy. But I’ll get Dennis to pay for it. After all, it is his fault.”
“Do you have an attorney?” Joanna asked.
“No. If you’re going to arrest me, I suppose I’ll need one.”
“I mean a divorce attorney,” Joanna said.
The steady squeak of the rope began to slow. “I do have one of those,” Reba Singleton said thoughtfully. “Joyce Roberts is her name. I’ve used her several times through the years. She’s really quite good.”
“Have you been in touch with her about your current situation, about what’s going on with Dennis?”