Marianne reached into her pocket and pulled out a letter.
“What is it?” Joanna asked.
“Read it.”
Joanna looked down at the envelope. The return address said “E. Maculyea, P.O. Box 8751, Safford, Arizona.” “Your mother?” Joanna asked.
Marianne nodded wordlessly. From the time Marianne Maculyea had left the Catholic Church in order to become a Methodist minister, she had been at war with her parents, Timothy and Evangeline. There had been a partial thaw in hostilities at the time Jeff and Marianne had lost Ruth’s twin, Esther. Marianne’s father had come to both the hospital and funeral. Her mother had not. For years, being at war with their respective mothers had been one of the glues that had held Joanna and Marianne’s friendship together.
“Read it,” Marianne said.
Joanna unfolded the letter and read:
Dear Marianne,
This letter will introduce you to Julie Erickson. She is a nanny who lives in Tucson. Your father and I know two different families for whom she has worked in the past ten years. Please interview her and get to know her. If you decide she would fit in with yours and Jeff’s needs, please let us know. After the baby is born, your father and I will pay Julie’s wages for a six-month period. That should give you enough time to get back on your feet.
Love,
Mom
Joanna looked up from the letter. “Did you like her?” she asked.
“The nanny?” Marianne returned. “She was wonderful. Perfect. In fact, she was still there when Ruth woke up. The two of them hit it off right away, and you know how standoffish Ruth can be with strangers sometimes. It’s a miracle, Joanna. An answer to a prayer.”
“Yes,” Joanna agreed, giving her friend a hug. “It’s an answer to more than one.”
CHAPTER 29
At nine o’clock Friday morning, Frank was in Joanna’s office for the morning briefing. “As soon as we’re done with this, I’m leaving,” she told him. “I worked all day yesterday. I’m not working today.”
“Right,” he said. “You stumble into a hornet’s nest that’s going to create jurisdictional wrangling from here to next Tuesday, and you bail out on me.”
“I can’t help that.” Joanna grinned. She was feeling good that morning. On top of the world. “If you ever decide to get married,” she added, “remind me that I owe you that extra half day off. Now, what’s the deal? How are Ken Galloway and Catherine Yates doing, for starters?”
“Catherine Yates is still under observation at Copper Queen Hospital. Deputy Galloway is out and fine. We’re lucky they were found when they were. If you hadn’t put down the spike strips and if your phony Agent Reed had managed to make it off departmental grounds, they might well have suffocated before someone found them and hauled them out of his trunk. I think he planned to use them as bargaining chips if need be, but you outfoxed him there, Joanna. Jaime and Ernie nailed Ed Masters before he had a chance to get away.”
“Who the hell is Ed Masters anyway?” Joanna asked.
“Melanie Goodson’s silent real estate partner for one, but before he retired from the army, Major General Edward P. Masters was director of military intelligence at Fort Huachuca.”
“Bingo,” Joanna said softly.
“You’d better believe it. The FBI is working behind the scenes to re-create Sandra Ridder’s work record. I’m pretty sure they’re going to find that she worked for Masters or for someone connected to Masters. He may even be the guy Tom Ridder punched out in the bar, but nobody knows that for sure because we’re being systematically pushed out of the loop. The Feds don’t want us rocking any boats until they can find out if there are still any active participants out on post. But there have been hints that Sandra Ridder had done something off the wall in her NAT-C days, something that left her open to blackmail when she tried to leave her past behind. There’s also some indication that she thought it would be easier on Lucy if she went to prison for manslaughter rather than being sent up on charges of being a spy.”
“So she did cop a plea in order to protect her daughter?”
“That’s how it looks. In addition to that, Special Investigator Warren Borden, the guy who really made the witness-protection deal with Sandra Ridder, is due in town from D.C. this afternoon. I’ve been directed by his boss—Madame Attorney General herself—to turn the encrypted diskette over to him. He tells me that yes, the monies due to Sandra Ridder for delivery of said diskette will be paid directly into her estate.”
“Maybe Lucy Ridder will be able to get a second chance at taking ballet lessons after all,” Joanna mused. “Where is she, by the way?”