“Frank, please go tell whoever’s taking those pictures to stop,” Joanna said wearily. “If we do end up prosecuting this case, the evidence the crime techs have now—fingerprints, photos, and whatever else—will have to do. I want everyone to clear out of here. Now.”
Ahead of the Bronco, illuminated in the headlights, Marliss Shackleford came hotfooting it toward them. Suddenly Joanna was struck by her own vulnerability. It was one thing to be tackled by the press in her role as sheriff. That was an assumed risk—part of the game. It was something else entirely to be targeted because you were the innocent and unwilling victim of someone else’s act of violence.
“That goes double for her,” Joanna added, nodding in the approaching reporter’s direction as Frank exited the vehicle. “I want Marliss Shackleford out of here before now, if that’s possible.”
Frank laughed. “I’ll see what I can do. Does that mean you’re not granting interviews?” he added, slipping smoothly from chief deputy into his other departmental function—that of Media Relations officer.
“Right,” Joanna said. “My only comment is no comment, and I’m not setting foot outside this vehicle or rolling down the window until you get rid of her.”
Joanna watched while Frank and Marliss engaged in a long, heated debate. With the windows closed, it was impossible to hear exactly what was being said, but from Marliss’ wild gesticulations it was pretty clear what was going on. Finally, with a departing wordless glare in Joanna’s direction, Marliss stalked away.
Seconds after Frank walked off as well, Butch showed up and opened the car door. Joanna tumbled out of the Bronco and into his arms. She had been tough and strong long enough. Now all she wanted was to be held and comforted and told everything would be all right. Butch Dixon was happy to oblige.
“Come on,” he said. “I’m taking you home.”
“To your house?”
“Where else? I certainly can’t leave you here.”
“Shouldn’t I go inside and get a nightgown for tonight and something to change into tomorrow morning?”
“Sweetie pie,” he said. “The whole time you’ve been gone, I’ve been inside your house and looking over the damage. What you’re wearing is what you’ve got.”
“There’s nothing left?”
“Nothing salvageable. But there is some good news.”
“What’s that?”
“I talked to Dr. Ross a few minutes ago. She says she thinks both dogs are going to pull through. Come on.”
Joanna looked up at Butch through suddenly tear-dimmed eyes. That was just about the time a photographer from The Bisbee Bee caught the two of them in mid-embrace. Joanna started to object, but Butch took her hand.
“Forget it,” he said. “They got what they came for. Let them have it.”
“Wait,” she said. “What about Kristin? I’m sure she was planning on spending the night tonight as well.”
Butch nodded. “Fortunately for Kristin, all her stuff was in Jenny’s room, which means it’s fine. She’ll be spending the night at Terry’s. I don’t think she minded very much,” he added with a smile.
An hour later, with a peanut-butter-and-jelly sandwich and single stiff Scotch under her belt, Joanna lay next to Butch in the queen-sized bed of his Saginaw-neighborhood home. “Remember, we weren’t going to have any more sleep-overs before the wedding,” she said wistfully.
“This isn’t a sleep-over,” Butch returned. “You’re a refugee.”
“With all this going on, maybe we should postpone the wedding,” Joanna hinted.
“No.”
“The honeymoon, then. What if we took it later?”
“No. If anything, we need the honeymoon more than ever.”
“But, Butch. How are we going to get the mess cleaned up? It’s so much—”
“Don’t you mean how am I going to clean up the mess? Well, you don’t have to. As the guy on that “Red Green Show” says, we’re all in this together. I’ve talked to a whole lot of people tonight. When Frank Montoya came back and shut down the crime-scene investigation, people were ready to go to work cleaning up right then.
“I sent everyone home tonight, but they’ll be back first thing in the morning. Jeff and Marianne will be there. Angie Kellogg and her boyfriend, that parrot guy. Jim Bob and Eva Lou. My folks. Your brother and his wife, to say nothing of your mother and who knows who else. And the fact that all those people will be doing salvage and cleanup means you don’t have to. You go to the department and do what you have to do in order for us to be out of town next week. Besides, it’s not going to be that bad. Except for the bathroom and kitchen the repairs are mostly cosmetic. Once we clean things up and dry the place out, it will be livable again. But maybe we don’t want to do that.”