Shoot, Don't Shoot (27 page)

Joanna emerged from the bathroom wearing only her underwear and found Jenny totally engrossed in watching
Beauty and the Beast.
Taking advantage of the video diversion, Joanna dressed quickly and carefully, concealing from Jenny the Kevlar vest she put on under her best white blouse and the shoulder-holstered Colt 2000 she strapped on under her new boiled-wool blazer.

Downstairs, the lobby outside the elevator was crowded with a combination of hotel guests and holiday diners. Efforts to market the Hohokam’s Thanksgiving dinner had evidently been wildly successful. Formal seatings in the Gila Dining Room started as early as one o’clock in the afternoon.

Coming through the lobby, Joanna had planned on stopping by the dining room to let someone know Brady party with reservations at five would be reduced from eight diners to seven. After glancing at the crowded dining room door and at the harried hostess trying to seat parties, Joanna decided against it.

Instead, threading her way through the crush of people, she headed for the lobby cocktail bar. On the way, she walked past the gas-log fireplace where she had sat for such a long time the previous evening. Was that only yesterday? she wondered. It seemed much longer ago than that.

“Joanna,” a man’s voice called. “Over here.”

Without the subtle distortions of the telephone, Bob Brundage’s voice stopped her cold. The timbre was so familiar, she hardly dared turn her head to look. At the far end of the massive fireplace, a man in a military uniform rose from one of a pair of wing chairs and gestured for her to join him. Unable to move, Joanna stood as if frozen in middle of the room.

D. H. “Big Hank” Lathrop himself could have been standing there. Her father was standing there. And yet he wasn’t. He couldn’t be. Big Hank been dead for years. Besides, this man was younger than Joanna’s father had been when he died. But the resemblance was eerie. It was as though the ghost of her father had stepped out of one of those old black-and-white photos and turned into a living, breathing human being.

When Joanna didn’t move forward, the man did, coming toward her with his hand outstretched and with a broad smile on his tanned face.

“Bob Brundage,” he said, introducing himself. He took Joanna by the elbow and guided her back toward the two empty chairs. “Colonel Brundage, actually. I told you it wasn’t Amway.”

“Who are you?” she asked, finally finding her voice.

“I’m the surprise,” he said. “Eleanor had her heart set on introducing us at dinner, but it seemed to me that might be too much of a shock for you. Judging by your reaction, I believe I’m right about that. What would you like to drink?”

Joanna watched him in utter fascination. When Bob Brundage’s mouth moved, it was Joanna’s father’s mouth. He had the same narrow lips that turned up at the corners, the same odd space between his two front teeth.

“I don’t care,” she answered. “I’ll have whatever you’re having.”

Bob Brundage signaled the cocktail waitress. “Two Glenfiddich on the rocks,” he said. “So your folks never told you about me, did they?”

“No. I knew there were a series of miscarriages before they ever had me, but ...”

Bob Brundage laughed again. The laughter, too, was hauntingly familiar. “I’ve been called a lot of things in my time, but never a miscarriage,” he said. “Your mother—my birth mother, as we say in the world of adoptees—was only fifteen when she got pregnant with me.

“According to Eleanor—you don’t mind if I call her that, do you?”

Joanna shook her head.

“According to Eleanor,” Bob continued, “Hank had just come back from the Korean War and got stationed at Fort Huachuca when they first reopened it. They met on a picnic on the San Pedro River. Eleanor wandered away from the church picnic and met up with a group of soldiers. She told me it was love at first sight. Of course, those were pre-birth control days. Her folks shipped her out of town when she turned up pregnant, forced her to give me up for adoption. But she told me that she and Hank secretly stayed in touch by letter the whole time she was gone, and that they took up again soon as she came back to town. By then he was out of the army and working in the mines. After Eleanor graduated from high school, her folks finally consented to their getting married.

“It’s a very romantic story, don’t you think?”

The waitress brought the drinks. Romantic? Joanna thought, No, the story didn’t sound the least bit romantic to her. It sounded absolutely hypocritical. Do as I say, not as I do. Do as I say, not as I’ve done.

Bob Brundage’s torrent of words washed over her, but she couldn’t quite come to grips with them. Her parents—her mother and her father—had another child, a baby born out of wedlock? Was that possible? For almost thirty years, Joanna had thought of herself as an only child. Now it turns out she wasn’t.

“Those were the days of closed adoptions,” Bob Brundage continued. “My adoptive parents were wonderful people, but they’re both gone now. My father died of a stroke ten years ago, and my mother passed away just this last spring. And once I knew it wouldn’t hurt them—once they could no longer feel betrayed by my actions—I decided to start looking into my roots.

“I’ve actually known Eleanor’s and your names and where you live for several months now. Congratulations on your election, by the way. I saw a blurb about that in
USA Today.
I always check the Arizona listings, just for the hell of it, and one day, there you were. Then, when I found out a month ago that I would be coming to Fort Huachuca to do an inspection this month, it just seemed like the right thing to do. You’re not upset, are you?’

“Upset?” Joanna echoed, plastering an insincere smile on her face. “Why on earth would I be upset?”

But she was upset. Bob kept on talking, but Joanna stopped listening to him. Her ears and heart were tuned to the past, where she was rehashing Eleanor’s hysterical outbursts and the ugly things she had said once she had discovered Joanna was with Jenny. How could Joanna do such a stupid thing? Eleanor had raged. How could she do that to her own mother? How could she?

For over ten years, Joanna Brady had tolerated her mother’s barbed comments, her constant sniping. Eleanor had run down Andy Brady and their shotgun wedding at every opportunity. She had claimed Andy was never good enough for Joanna, that he had ruined her life, stolen her potential. And all the while ...

After all those years of criticism—both stated and implied—a decade’s worth of suppressed anger rose to the surface of Joanna Brady’s heart.

“Why exactly did you come here?” Joanna asked.

“I already told you,” Bob Brundage answered. “I wanted to find my roots. I wanted to find out if my interest in the army was genetically linked.”

After that small quip, he stopped for a moment and examined Joanna’s face. “You
are
upset,” he said. “I was afraid of that, but Eleanor said she you’d be fine.”

“How long have you known”—Joanna couldn’t bring herself to say the word
Mother
right then—”Eleanor?” she added lamely.

“I called her for the first time three and a half weeks ago. I didn’t know what her reaction would be—”

“And she doesn’t know mine,” Joanna interrupted. “In fact, she probably understands you better than she does me.”

Bob held up a calming hand. “I’m sorry. I can see this all very disturbing to you. I certainly didn’t want that to happen. If you’d like, I’ll just go back to D.C. and disappear.... “

Joanna shook her head emphatically. “Oh, no you don’t. Don’t you dare do that. She’d hold me responsible for it the rest of my life. If you leave now, she’ll never forgive me. It would mean she’d been cheated out of her son twice. I don’t want that responsibility. Not on your life.”

Up to that point, Joanna had taken only a single sip of her Scotch. Now she downed the rest of the drink in one long unladylike swallow, letting the icy liquor slide down her throat.

She took a deep breath. “I guess I sound like a real spoilsport, don’t I. A brat. I’m angry with Eleanor.... “

“Why are you angry with her? It wasn’t her fault.... “

“Why am I angry? Because I’ve been betrayed, that’s why. Eleanor Mathews Lathrop always set herself up on a pedestal as some kind of Madam Perfect. And according to her, I never once measured up. When all the while ...”

Joanna paused. “That’s not fair of me, of course, to just blame my mother. She wasn’t the only one who lied to me. After all, it takes two to tango,” she added bitterly. “Obviously, Big Hank Lathrop was in on it from the beginning, too. The whole time I was growing up, I damn near broke my neck a dozen times trying to be the son my father claimed he’d never had. Well, guess what? It turns out he did have that son after all, one he somehow neglected to tell me anything about. In fact, now that I think about it, I probably have you to thank for him turning me into a hopeless tomboy and the fact that I’m sheriff right now....”

“Joanna, I—”

“Mom, there you are,” Jenny exclaimed, skidding to a stop on the polished stone floor behind them.

“Jenny, what are you doing down here?”

“I came looking for you. Detective Strong just called. She said for you to call her back right away. She said it’s urgent!”

Jenny came around the arm of Joanna’s chair. Seeing Bob Brundage, she ducked back out of sight.

The interruption had allowed Joanna to get a partial grip on her roiling emotions. She took a deep breath. “Jenny,” she said, forcing her voice to be Want you to meet Mr. Brundage here. Colonel Brundage. He’s your uncle. He’ll be joining us for dinner tonight.”

With a purposeful shove from her mother, Jenny stepped out from behind the chair and held out her hand. “I’m glad to meet you,” she said politely. Then she turned back to Joanna, frowning. “But you always told me I didn’t have arty aunts or uncles.”

“That’s because I didn’t think you did.”

Joanna stood up. “You’ll have to excuse us, Colonel Brundage. Thanks for the drink. I hope you’ll forgive my outburst. As you can see, this has been something of a shock.”

Bob Brundage nodded sympathetically. “Better here with just the two of us than at dinner in a whole crowd, wouldn’t you say?”

“I suppose so,” Joanna allowed grudgingly. It was the best she could do. She turned to her daughter. “Come on, Jenny. Let’s go.” As they headed back toward the elevator, Joanna asked, “Did Detective Strong say what was wrong?”

“No. But she made me write down her number. Here it is.” Jenny handed over a piece of paper with a phone number scribbled on it. Instead of bothering with going all the way back upstairs, Joanna stopped by a pay phone in the elevator lobby and dialed.

“Thanks for getting back to me so fast,” Carol Strong said. “I’m almost dressed and ready to leave. Meet me at the APOA campus as soon you can, would you?”

“Why? What’s wrong?”

“I think we’ve found Dave Thompson.”

“
You
think?”

“
Yes
.
You know him. I need someone to identify him.”

“Where is he?”

“In a red Ford Fiesta registered to someone named Kimberly George. One of the patrol officers looked through the window of one of the APOA outbuildings. It turned out to be a garage with a red car inside it. He broke in as soon as he realized there was someone sitting slumped over in the front seat. The ignition was on, but the engine wasn’t running. It was out of gas.”

“He’s dead, then?”

“Yes.”

Joanna closed her eyes, feeling an odd combination of both sadness and relief. “I’ll meet you there,” she said. “I’ll be on my way as soon as I drop Jenny off with one grandmother or the other.”

CHAPTER TWENTY

Carol Strong had obviously cleared the way. When Joanna arrived at the APOA campus, there was no question about whether or not she was to be allowed through the barriers and given access to the crime scene. A young patrol officer named Reiner walked up to the Blazer as she was shutting off the ignition.

“This way, Sheriff Brady,” he said. “Detective Strong is expecting you.”

Officer Reiner led Joanna into a two-car garage, where, even though the roll-up doors were wide open, the smell of auto exhaust still lingered in the air. As she approached the car, Joanna recognized another smell as well—the ugly odor of death. In a matter of weeks, Joanna had learned the unpleasant truth—that investigating death scenes was anything but antiseptic.

She bent over and peered inside the car. A slack-jawed Dave Thompson slumped over the steering wheel. Wrinkling her nose in distaste, Joanna straightened back up. “It’s him,” she said.

“I thought so,” Carol said. “We’re trying to find the car’s registered owner. No luck so far.”

“Have you checked with the hospital?” Joanna asked.

“What hospital?”

“St. Joseph’s. My guess is she’s in the waiting room keeping Lorelie Jessup company.”

“You know her?”

“Not exactly. I’ve never met her, but I was told Kimberly George is Leann Jessup’s former lover.”

“Lover?” Carol Strong repeated sharply. “Are you telling me Leann Jessup is a lesbian?” Janna nodded.

“I didn’t know that.”

“Neither did I,” Joanna admitted. “Not until this afternoon.”

“How did you find out?”

Joanna shrugged. “After we left your office, Jenny and I went down to the hospital to check on Leann. We talked to her mother and to her brother. What a jerk!”

“Well, that certainly explains a lot,” Carol Strong mused, almost to herself.

“Explains what?” Joanna asked.

“What happened here. Was there some hanky panky going on between them?”

“Between Dave and Leann? No. I’m certain nothing like that was going on.”

“Look,” Carol said, shaking her head. “You can’t be sure, not unless you were with her twenty-four hours of every day. Let’s say, for argument’s sake, that they were fooling around a little. One way or another Thompson learns about Leann’s sexual preference, and he freaks. He flips out completely and decides to kill her. After all, it’s the second time this has happened to him. And then, when it falls apart and she gets away, he comes to his senses, realizes that he’s about to be caught, and doesn’t want to face the consequences. So he bolsters his courage with a little more booze and does himself him. You did see the empty vodka bottle on the bedside him, didn’t you?”