Reba Singleton raised one pencil-thin eyebrow. “Really,” she said. “And you can rely on my smelling a conflict of interest when somebody sticks one under my nose.” With that, she swung away from Joanna. “Washburn?”
Slowly the limo driver got to his feet and dusted the sand from his pants and sleeves. “Yes, ma’am,” he said.
“You do have a cell phone, don’t you?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“And do you have a signal?”
“I don’t know,” he said, reaching for his pocket. “I can check.”
“Why don’t you do that,” Reba told him. “And then, call Triple A and have someone come pull us out of this godforsaken place.”
Joanna made one more effort to soothe the roiling waters. “Look,” she said, “I have a four-wheel-drive Blazer as well as a winch and come-along up at the house. I’m sure we could pull you out.”
Reba swung back around. “Like hell!” she spat. “I’d rot in hell before I’d have you pull me out.”
That was enough for Joanna. “Suit yourself,” she said. “Come on, Butch. Let’s go on around them and leave them be.”
Butch came back, dusting off his pant legs as well. “Are you sure that’s a good idea?” he asked.
By then Joanna was already back at the Subaru and opening the door. “I don’t see that we have any choice,” she told him. “From the sound of things, they’re not much interested in our help.”
“Who’s that woman?” Jenny asked when Joanna was back in her seat. “She looks mad.”
“She’s Clayton Rhodes’ daughter,” Joanna said. “And she is mad.”
“How come she’s mad?” Jenny asked. “Because her father’s dead? I wasn’t mad when Daddy died. I was sad.”
“Most people are,” Joanna said.
Butch climbed in behind the wheel. Without a word, he started the engine. He maintained his tight-lipped silence until he had used the agile Subaru’s all-wheel drive to detour around the stricken limo. Only when he was back on the road to Joanna’s house did he finally speak. “That woman’s something else,” he declared.
Joanna nodded. She was remembering the message Lisa Howard had passed along to her from the sergeant in Los Gatos. Now, having met Reba Joy Singleton, Joanna had a far better idea of what Sergeant Carlin had meant when he said, “Good luck.” He had meant that Reba Singleton was going to be a problem. Just how bad that problem would turn out to be was anybody’s guess.
CHAPTER 5
As usual, Sadie and Tigger came racing down the road to greet the car and follow it into the yard. While Jenny took the two gamboling dogs and darted inside to change into jeans and riding boots, Joanna and Butch busied themselves with unloading the car. “What’s her name again?” Butch said, nodding in the direction of the stalled Lincoln.
“Reba Singleton,” Joanna replied.
“And she really is Clayton Rhodes’ only daughter?”
“That’s my understanding.”
Butch shook his head. “It’s hard to accept someone like her being related to him. Clayton always struck me as being the salt of the earth. Reba, on the other hand, acts like a first-class bitch. What do you suppose she meant with that comment about you and George Winfield having a conflict of interest?”
Away from Reba’s bristling anger, Joanna was attempting to practice letting go. She shrugged in response to Butch’s question. “Who cares what Reba Singleton says?” she returned. “After a sudden and unexpected death, survivors sometimes go nuts for a while and make all kinds of crazy accusations. They try to blame anybody and everybody for whatever it is that’s happened in order to keep from having to blame themselves.
“I don’t think Reba and her father were especially close. In fact, I seem to remember some big family hassle about the time Molly Rhodes died. Molly was Reba’s mother. I don’t recall any of the quarrel’s gory details right offhand, but whatever it was was serious enough that I don’t think she and Clayton ever patched things up. Which means that right this minute Reba Singleton is walking around in a world of hurt. She’s packing a full load of guilt and regret, and she’s looking for someplace to dump it.”
“Preferably on you.”
Joanna smiled. “That’s all right,” she said. “I’m tough enough to take it.”
Jenny came out of the house wearing her jeans, boots, and hat, and carrying the cordless phone. “It’s for you,” she said, handing the receiver to her mother.
“Who is it?” Joanna asked.
“Who else?” Jenny returned sourly. “Work.”
While Jenny collected her new bridle and then went into the barn to retrieve Kiddo, Joanna turned her full attention to the phone. “Sheriff Brady here,” she said.
“Hi, Joanna,” Chief Deputy Frank Montoya said. “Sorry to bother you on your day off, but it’s a probable homicide. And we have a standing order that you’re to be contacted—”
“Did you say ‘probable’?” Joanna said, interrupting him.
“Yes. The victim was shot and is currently being airlifted to Tucson. According to Lance Pakin, the first officer on the scene, she’s in real bad shape and isn’t likely to make it.”