George stood up and rubbed his hands together. “Back home in Minneapolis, this would have been considered balmy weather for late March. People would have been ready to haul out their shorts. But I have to admit, it feels chilly tonight, even to me.”
Joanna stood up. Despite the sheepskin lining in her denim jacket, she, too, felt chilled.
“I’d best be getting back home to your mother,” George added. “She doesn’t like it when I have to be out late at night—even when I’m off on official business and in the company of her very own daughter.”
“Truth be known, Eleanor doesn’t like her daughter being out late, either,” Joanna said with a laugh.
“You want me to stick around while you finish up?”
“No need. I’ll wait until my deputies leave, then I’ll go, too.”
George started down the walkway, then turned back. “How’s Butch holding up?” he asked. “With all the wedding preparations, I mean.”
“Fine,” Joanna answered. “Better than I am.”
“I know things are turning out to be somewhat more complicated than either one of you originally envisioned,” George added, “but I appreciate it. Ellie’s having the time of her life making all the arrangements. She’s in her element and loving every minute of it. By the way, she wanted me to ask when do your new in-laws arrive?”
“On Monday. They’re driving into town in their RV. They wanted to come a few days early so they’ll have a chance to visit with Butch before the wedding. He tried to talk them into coming a little closer to time, but he doesn’t seem to have any better luck with his mother than I do with mine. In other words, his folks will be here for the better part of the week. Since they’ll be staying at that new RV park down by the Elk’s Club, it shouldn’t be too bad.”
“I’ll try to see to it that Ellie and I do our fair share of entertaining,” George said. “Your mother will be in tall cotton and cooking up a storm. I’ll probably gain ten pounds.”
With that, George Winfield waved and continued down the gravel walkway. Joanna watched him go out and shut the gate, then she let herself back into the house. Talking with George had helped. She had worked with the man long enough to have real confidence that his initial assessment of the situation would most likely be on the money. There was little doubt in her mind that the official finding would be that Clayton Rhodes had died of a sudden massive stroke or heart attack or hemorrhage rather than by committing suicide or falling victim to foul play. Now, as Joanna went back through the house to make sure all the doors and windows were locked, she did so with a sense of loss that was no longer contaminated by guilt. It was all right to feel sad that Clayton was gone, but here on Rhodes Ranch where he had lived and worked most of his eighty-five years—here in the modest home he and his wife had loved so much—it was okay to feel thankfulness as well.
Clayton had lived a good life—a long and useful one. He had worked for Joanna not so much because he needed the money, but because he needed to be needed—because he knew that taking care of Joanna’s livestock made her life easier. He had been in full possession of his faculties right up until the moment he died. Instead of lingering helplessly as an empty shell of his former self in some sterile hospital-bed prison, he had been up and about and on his way to work when death overtook him—when it caught him on the fly. Clayton may have had to give up on horseback riding, but as far as Joanna was concerned, he had died with his boots on in the best sense of the phrase.
Before turning off the living room light fixture, Joanna made one last survey of her surroundings. Once again she examined the stiffly posed wedding picture of Molly and Clayton, but this time, as she did so, she realized it was the only picture in the room. There were places on the wall where other pictures had once hung, but all of them had been removed, leaving behind a ghostly testimony of their existence in the form of clear rectangular-shaped pieces of wallpaper pattern in an otherwise sun-faded room. Joanna found herself wishing that the pictures had been left behind long enough for her to see them. Old photos might have told her a little more about the long, productive life of her dead friend, Clayton Rhodes. They might have given her something to remember him by.
As Joanna pulled the front door shut and stuffed the graceful old skeleton key into her pocket, she felt as though she were closing the door not only on a chapter in her life, but on a whole era as well. Once in the Blazer, Joanna followed her deputies back out to High Lonesome Road and as far as the turnoff to her own place. When she drove into the yard, she was startled to find Butch Dixon’s Subaru parked next to the gate. By the time she had parked and locked the Blazer, he was coming out through the back door to meet her.
“What are you doing here?” Joanna asked after kissing him hello.