In the end, the three of them settled at the kitchen table. The food was good. The tamales were thick and spicy. The tortillas were soft and see-through thin. And the strips of ancho-flavored steak had been grilled to spicy perfection. Until Joanna put the first bite of food in her mouth, she had no idea how hungry she was. For several minutes Butch, Joanna, and George ate in companionable silence.
“Your old friend Fran Daly was in town today,” George said at last when he paused from eating long enough to unwrap the corn husks from his tamale.
Dr. Daly was the assistant medical examiner in neighboring Pima County. In the course of the past few years she and Joanna had been involved in several different joint investigations. After a somewhat rocky start, the two women had come to have a good working relationship.
“What for?” Joanna asked.
“She showed up to be Reba Singleton’s hired gun,” George Winfield replied.
“To do Clayton Rhodes’ autopsy?” Joanna asked. George nodded. “How’d it go?”
“Pretty much the way I said it would,” George replied. “Fran Daly says the same thing I did—Clayton Rhodes died as a result of a cerebral hemorrhage. That should get Reba off your back for good and all. And now that I’ve released the body and Little Norm Higgins from the funeral home has collected it, Reba should be off my back, too.”
“When’s the funeral?” Joanna asked.
“According to Little Norm, they’ve scheduled it for tomorrow at two. Reba says she wants to have it ASAP so she can get back home to California, which is good riddance as far as I’m concerned.” He added, “And while we’re on the subject of autopsies, I know what killed Sandra Ridder—loss of blood combined with peritonitis. If the Volksmarchers had found her in the morning and she’d been treated with massive doses of antibiotics, she might have made it. But as it was . . .” George shrugged.
Joanna glanced at Butch to see how he was handling this graphic dinnertime discussion. Chewing thoughtfully, he seemed unfazed.
“Will you be going to Clayton’s funeral?” he asked Joanna, as if just then becoming aware of a pause in the previous conversation.
She nodded. “Yes, of course I am.”
“And Jenny?”
“I don’t know. I’ll leave that up to her. When we first talked about it, I know she was planning on going. Why?”
“I want to take the folks out sight-seeing tomorrow,” Butch said. “It’s better than having my mother prowling around my house all day, looking through drawers and opening my cupboards. Besides, they’ve never been in southern Arizona. I wanted to show them the sights—the Wonderland of Rocks, Boot Hill, maybe even Kartchner Caverns.”
“Sounds like a big day.”
Butch nodded. “I’m hoping to wear them out. Maybe that way they’ll be ready to go back out to the park at a decent hour in order to get some sleep. But if I have to be back in time to take care of Jenny after school . . .”
“Don’t worry about Jenny, Butch,” Joanna told him. “She’ll probably go to the funeral with me. And, if need be, she can come out to the department after that and stay until it’s time to go home.”
“Good,” Butch said. “That’s one less thing for me to worry about.”
Just then Eleanor stormed into the kitchen. “Just what do you three think you’re doing hiding out in here?”
“Eating,” George replied mildly.
“But the company is outside,” Eleanor huffed. “We’re all supposed to be out there together, so we can get better acquainted.”
“I’m sure Butch knows his parents well enough,” George returned. “But Joanna and I needed a little time to talk business. I didn’t think you’d want your company meal disrupted by discussion about autopsies and such.”
Eleanor’s face fell. “You weren’t really, were you, George?” She turned to Butch. “Is he telling me the truth? Were they really talking about autopsies at the dinner table?”
Butch sighed and shook his head. “I’m sorry to say they were, Eleanor. I swear to God!”
“Well!” she exclaimed. “I never!”
With that, Eleanor Winfield turned and flounced back outside, missing Butch’s grin and George Winfield’s answering wink. “I’ll pay for that later,” he said. “But it was worth it.”
By then, though, Joanna’s conscience was beginning to bother her. “Shouldn’t someone go rescue Eva Lou and Jim Bob?”
“Naw,” George said. “Don’t worry. Those two have been around. They’re perfectly capable of taking care of themselves.”
CHAPTER 17
By seven-thirty the next morning, Joanna was driving Jenny to school. “You’re awfully quiet this morning,” Joanna said. “What’s going on?”
“Did you like them?”
“Who?”
“Did you like Butch’s parents?” Jenny asked.
After years of telling her daughter that honesty was the best policy, Joanna decided a truthful answer was the best option. “Not very much,” she admitted.