Devil's Claw (7 page)

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.

“I called to tell you good night,” Butch replied. “When Jenny answered and told me what was going on, I decided to come over and wait up for you. How’s Clayton?”

“He’s dead,” Joanna said hollowly. “George thinks he suffered some kind of catastrophic physical incident—a heart attack or a stroke maybe. It looks as though Clayton was on his way here this morning when it happened.”

Butch reached out and put a comforting arm around Joanna’s shoulder. “I’m so sorry,” he said.

Joanna leaned against him. “Me, too,” she returned.

“Does he have any family?”

“A daughter, Reba Singleton. She lives in California.”

“Have you been in touch with her?”

“We tried. I left word for her to call here if she wants additional information. There haven’t been any calls, have there?”

“Only from your mother,” Butch said. “I checked caller ID to screen the call. When I saw it was Eleanor, I decided not answering was my best bet. After all, what Eleanor doesn’t know won’t hurt her.”

Joanna grinned up at him. “You’re learning,” she said.

They went into the house. “I may be learning with your mother,” Butch replied, leaning against the dryer while Joanna removed her jacket and hung it on the peg. “But I almost blew it with Jenny,” he added.

“You did?” Joanna asked. “How so?”

“By coming over to wait up for you. She was so bent out of shape when I showed up that for a while I didn’t think she was going to unlock the door and let me in. She thought you had sicced me on her—sent me out as an emergency baby-sitter. I finally managed to convince her otherwise.”

“How?”

“By telling her that baby-sitting was the last thing on my mind. That I had come out here primarily because I had designs on her mother’s body.”

Joanna was shocked. “You didn’t tell her that!”

Now it was Butch’s turn to grin. “I did,” he said. “Scout’s honor. Got me right out of the dog house. Turned us into co-conspirators.”

“Butch,” Joanna objected. “Jenny’s only eleven!”

“Almost twelve and going on thirty,” he replied. “Believe me, that kid knows all about the birds and bees.”

“She shouldn’t,” Joanna huffed.

“Maybe not, but she does. Now come on. You wouldn’t want to make a liar out of me, would you? Besides, you feel like a chunk of ice. I know just the thing to warm you up.”

Joanna started to argue, but then she didn’t. She
was
cold. And, as far as Jenny’s knowing or not knowing what was going on between Butch and Joanna, the damage was done.

“Come on, then,” she said. “Will you still be this horny after we’re married?”

“Absolutely,” Butch Dixon said, once again assuming his now lecherous grin. “I promise.”

CHAPTER 4

“It’s about time you guys woke up,” Jenny declared airily as she set the tray on the bedside table nearest her mother. “We’re supposed to be going to Tucson this morning, remember? And don’t worry. I won’t tell Grandma.”

With that, Jenny turned and flounced from the room. Behind Joanna, on the other side of the bed, Butch Dixon groaned and rolled over. He was no more dressed than Joanna was.

“Oops,” he said. “Bad move. I meant to be up and out by now. We must have overslept.”

“Overslept doesn’t quite cover it,” Joanna told him crossly. “I believe the correct term is caught with our pants down.”

“Not just down,” he said. “Mine aren’t even within grabbing distance. Sorry about that.” He swung his legs over the side of the bed and sat up. “I’ll get dressed right away.”

“Forget it,” Joanna said. “You already spilled the beans last night, and since Jenny brought us coffee, we could just as well drink it before we crawl out of bed.”

She pulled a pillow up behind him. Once Butch leaned back against the headboard and drew the sheet back across his bare chest, she handed him his cup of coffee.

“Somehow it seemed like a better idea last night than it does now that the sun’s up,” he told her ruefully. “What do you suggest we do now?”

Joanna was glad to hear that Butch sounded almost as embarrassed as she was. “Brazen it out, I guess,” she answered. “We sure as hell can’t put the toothpaste back in the tube.”

At that, Butch leaned over and planted a kiss on her bare shoulder. “By the way,” he said. “Did anyone ever tell you that you keep pretty ungodly hours—for a girl?”

The use of the word “girl” was standard fare in Butch’s unending lexicon of teasing. Most of the time Joanna ignored it, but for some reason on this occasion it hit her wrong and put her on the defensive.

“Wait a minute, pal. We’re not even married yet and already you’re complaining about my job?”

“Don’t get your nose out of joint,” Butch assured her. “All I’m saying is don’t expect me to wait up for you every night. Obviously I need more beauty sleep than you do.”

“Oh,” Joanna said, but she was still a little grumpy about it.

There was a knock on the bedroom door. “More coffee?” Jenny asked, pushing it open a crack.

“Hadn’t we better get up and take care of the animals?” Butch asked.

That’s when Joanna remembered that Jenny didn’t yet know about Clayton Rhodes. No one had told her.

“No, thanks,” Joanna told Jenny. “We’ll be out in a minute. We’ll have more in a little while.”

When Jenny retreated from the door, Butch pulled on his shirt and pants and then hotfooted it into the bathroom. Joanna retrieved both her nightgown and bathrobe from the closet and then went in search of Jenny. She found her daughter curled up on the couch in the living room reading a book. Tigger, snoring like a locomotive, lay with his head in Jenny’s lap, while Sadie sprawled on the floor at Jenny’s feet.

Joanna could tell from the faded blue cover that the book was one of her old Nancy Drew mysteries. “What are you reading?” she asked, easing herself down on the couch in a way that didn’t disturb either one of the sleeping dogs.

“The Secret of the Old Clock,”
Jenny said. “When I get my driver’s license, can I have a roadster? Nancy’s sounds neat.”

Joanna shook her head. “You were born sixty or seventy years too late for a roadster,” she said. “You’ll probably have to make do with my old Eagle—if it’s still running.”

“But that’s a station wagon,” Jenny protested. “I want a convertible—a red convertible.”

Joanna sighed. “Don’t we all. Seriously, though, Jenny, there’s something I need to tell you.”

“Mr. Rhodes is dead, isn’t he?” Jenny said at once.

Joanna simply nodded. “How did you know?” she asked.

Jenny shrugged. “I sort of figured it out. I mean, I followed the clues, just like Nancy Drew.”

“What clues are those?”

“Well, you went over to see him and didn’t come back for a long time. And then this morning. When I get up to watch Saturday-morning cartoons, Mr. Rhodes is usually already here, but today he wasn’t. I went outside and looked for his tire tracks, but there weren’t any. So I went ahead and fed the animals myself.”

“All of them?” Joanna asked.

“You didn’t think I’d let them go hungry, do you?” Jenny asked indignantly.

Joanna laughed. “No,” she agreed. “Of course not.”

“And after I fed them I made coffee for you.”

Joanna was stunned. It wasn’t that Jenny didn’t know how to feed the animals or how much to give them. On Clayton Rhodes’ days off, Joanna and Jenny usually did the chores together. Still, she was struck by the fact that Jenny had done the chores all by herself and also on her own initiative. Butch was right, Joanna realized then. Jenny was growing up—in more ways than one.

“So what happened to him?” Jenny asked. “To Mr. Rhodes.”

“He probably had a heart attack or else maybe a stroke,” Joanna replied. “At least that’s what Grandpa George thinks.”

“Grandpa George will have to do an autopsy, won’t he—to find out for sure?”

Jenny had lived all her life in a law enforcement household where the pieces of homicide investigations were regular components in ordinary, everyday conversations. “Yes, he will,” Joanna replied.

Jenny rolled her enormous blue eyes. “Well,” she observed, “Mr. Rhodes wouldn’t like that.”

“What do you mean?” Joanna asked.

“Grandpa George is nice and all that, but he’s still a doctor,” Jenny said. “Mr. Rhodes told me once, after he hurt his leg last year, that he never wanted to go see a doctor again. But I guess if he’s already dead, it won’t matter.”

Joanna was a little taken aback by Jenny’s unemotional, almost clinical response to news of Clayton Rhodes’ death. After all, the man had been an important part of their daily lives. As Jenny’s mother, Joanna would have preferred some show of sadness and even a few tears.

“Clayton Rhodes was a nice man,” Joanna said. “I’m sorry he’s dead. Aren’t you?”

Jenny shook her head. “I’m not,” she declared. “Mr. Rhodes told me once that he was old and ready to go anytime the good Lord was ready to take him. He said he missed his wife and could hardly wait to see her again.”

Joanna felt as if she had been left standing in the dust. “Just when did you and he have this long conversation?” she asked.

Jenny shrugged. “I don’t know,” she said. “It was one time when we were out in the barn and he was cleaning Kiddo’s stall. He told me he wished he had a granddaughter just like me. He said he had grandsons, but that he didn’t like them much. He said they were spoiled rotten. I told him I liked him, too. And I did. But now he’s in heaven with Molly and his little boy—”

“Molly and Clayton had a son?” Joanna asked. “I didn’t know that. When?”

“Oh, a long time ago,” Jenny answered. “During the war. At least I think that’s what he said. That the little boy was born and died while he was away at war and he never even got to see him.”

Joanna was nothing short of amazed to discover that Jenny had known so much about Clayton Rhodes’ life. Somehow Jenny had managed to glean details that Joanna herself had never suspected while the old man was still alive.

“When is the funeral?” Jenny asked. “Will we have to go?” The child’s blue eyes darkened as she asked the second question.

“I don’t know when it’ll be,” Joanna answered. “As of right now, I don’t even know for sure if his daughter has been notified. But whenever it is, we should probably go, don’t you think?”

Jenny nodded. “I guess,” she said after a moment’s hesitation. “I don’t like funerals, but that’s what friends are for, isn’t it?”

Joanna reached over and gave her daughter a hug. “That’s right,” she said. “That is what friends are for.”

Just then Butch emerged from the bathroom. “It’s all yours,” he said to Joanna. Then he paused, glancing first in Jenny’s direction and then in Joanna’s. “This looks like a pretty serious discussion. Should I make myself scarce?”