Tombstone Courage (29 page)

When the phone rang between calls, Linda was taken aback to find Holly Patterson on the line. In fact, once she realized who it was, Linda's first instinct was to hang up. After all, hadn't Holly Patterson already caused enough trouble for everyone concerned? But Linda's overall courtesy and good nature won out. Instead of hanging up, she listened.

When the call was over, she stood with her hand on the receiver for only a moment or two while she made up her mind. A sincere request for help was something Linda Kimball was almost physically incapable of ignoring.

Without giving herself a chance to change her mind or back out, she combed her hair, put on lipstick and a jacket, and headed for
Casa Vieja
. She presented herself at the front door at precisely half-past two and smiled pleasantly at the uniformed Mexican woman who opened the door.

“Why, Isobel Gonzales. I haven't seen you since your mother passed away in the hospital three years ago. I had no idea you worked here.”

Isobel nodded. “For almost a year now. Jaime and me both. It's a good job.”

“I'm looking for Holly Patterson. Is she here?”

Another woman appeared over Isobel Gonzales' shoulder. “Who is it, Isobel?”

“Mrs. Kimball,” Isobel answered. “To see Miss Patterson.”

“I'm Holly's therapist, Amy Baxter,” the other woman said, moving fully into Linda's view and easing Isobel aside. “Is there something I can do for you?”

“I came to see Holly.”

“I'm afraid Holly isn't up to seeing anyone just now. She hasn't been feeling well, with what happened to her father and all. I've prescribed total bed rest.”

“But she called me,” Linda Kimball protested. “She called earlier this afternoon and asked me to stop by.”

A look of seeming dismay flickered briefly across Amy Baxter's countenance and then disappeared, replaced by a determined shake of her head. “That can't be,” Amy said.

“But it is,” Linda returned civilly. “I came as soon as I could.”

“I'm afraid you don't understand, Mrs. Kimball. The woman is seriously ill. It simply isn't possible for her to see you or anybody else.”

Linda Kimball was an experienced mother whose finely honed instincts warned her whenever one or both of her children was even tempted to tell a lie. Although the reason for it eluded her, she nonetheless sensed the lie behind Amy Baxter's bland words and felt the blind panic Linda's unexpected appearance at the door of
Casa Vieja
had engendered in the other woman's supposedly composed expression.

What's going on? Linda wondered.

“I'll be dead by then.” That's what Holly Patterson had said on the phone—not threateningly, as if dying were something within her own power. She wasn't crying out with the plaintive voice of someone contemplating suicide and hoping for a last-minute rescue. No, she spoke with the fatalistic, matter-of-fact despair of someone caught in the middle of a railroad trestle with an oncoming train speeding toward her.

This was Bisbee, a small and supposedly safe community, a town where general wisdom assumed that murders weren't supposed to happen. But murders do happen here, Linda thought grimly, more often than she liked to believe possible.

Astute enough to realize that forcing her way into the house would do nothing to help the situation, Linda backed off at once. She donned her best hospital-volunteer mask—the one she used to comfort the grieving relatives and friends she often found huddled outside sickrooms in the polished corridors of Copper Queen Hospital.

“Just let Holly know I stopped by to see her, would you?” Linda said with a sincerely concerned smile. “I'll be glad to drop by later on this evening if she's feeling up to it by then.”

“I'll do that,” Amy Baxter said.

With her knees knocking under her, Linda Kimball marched back to the car. She was frightened. Without knowing quite what it was, she realized she had uncovered something important. Whom should she tell about all this? she wondered. She had to tell someone.

As soon as she was outside the swinging electronic gates of
Casa Vieja
, instead of going home, she turned right and headed straight for the sheriff's office out on Highway 80.

T
HE
MJ meeting was dull as watching grass grow. Max Foster, a vice detective from the Pima County Sheriff's Department, was the ranking officer for the Cochise County Multi-Jurisdictional Unit. Foster might have been a fine detective, but he was an incredibly poor public speaker. The meeting droned on and on. Even though the information was vitally important, Joanna wasn't the only one fighting to stay awake. She was relieved when Kristin poked her head in the door and crooked a finger at her.

Probably the Kansas Settlement boys acting up again, Joanna thought, as she gathered her notepad and followed Kristin out the door.

“What is it?” she asked, as soon as they were in the corridor.

“Linda Kimball to see you,” Kristin said. “Again.”

Linda was waiting and pacing the confines of the reception area. “I'm doing it again.” She smiled apologetically. “You're probably getting pretty tired of me by now.”

“Come on in,” Joanna said, gesturing Linda into
her corner office. “What seems to be the problem?”

Linda barely waited for the door to finish closing behind them. “I've just come from
Casa Vieja
,” she said, “and I have a funny feeling something isn't right over there. Something's the matter with my husband's cousin Holly.”

Joanna suppressed a smile. “Considering what all's gone on this past week,” she replied, “the idea that something's the matter with Holly Patterson is hardly news.”

But by the time an anxious Linda Kimball finished recounting her story, even Joanna had to agree that what was happening at
Casa Vieja
sounded disturbing.

“Someone should look into this, all right,” Joanna agreed. “If for no other reason but to ask a few questions.”

“Maybe it's nothing,” Linda said. “Burton always says I'm forever jumping to conclusions, but the whole thing gave me a very bad feeling, an edgy feeling. What my mother used to call the willies.”

“Don't worry,” Joanna said. “I'll have someone check it out.”

When Linda left her office, Joanna went looking for both Richard Voland and Ernie Carpenter. Voland was in Willcox talking to the two deputies involved in the Kansas Settlement problem. Carpenter had gone to Sierra Vista to make arrangements for shipping evidence off to the state crime lab for processing.

So much for delegating tasks to her second-and
third-in-command, Joanna thought. She briefly considered sending one of the deputies by to check on Holly Patterson, but she thought better of it. A deputy would need to have some idea what to look for, what questions to ask. Unfortunately, Joanna had no idea what directions to give to anyone else. In the end, she decided, like the Little Red Hen, to do it herself.

Picking up the intercom, Joanna buzzed Kristin. “I'll be out for a while,” she said. “If you hear from either Dick Voland or Ernie Carpenter, tell them I went to
Casa Vieja
to see Holly Patterson. Leave a message for both of them to get in touch with me as soon as they get back to town.”

It pleased her to be able to go in and out of her office by way of her own private entrance. Climbing into the county-owned Blazer, she felt as though she was beginning to have a handle on the scope of the job, both the pitfalls and the responsibilities. There was plenty of hard work ahead and lots to learn, but she was a quick study. In her third full day on the job, Joanna Brady was actually beginning to feel like a sheriff.

She turned into the gates at
Casa Vieja
, buzzed for admittance, and then parked outside. This time she went directly to the front entryway and rang the bell. Amy Baxter herself came to the door. “Why, Sheriff Brady,” she said, “I don't believe we were expecting you.”

“Actually, I came to see Holly Patterson,” Joanna responded.

“Holly is resting right now,” Amy said, smiling
and cordial, but firm. “She really isn't in any condition to entertain visitors.”

“I'd still like to see her. I understand she seems to think herself in some kind of danger.”

“Holly in danger? Here? That's absurd! She's up in her room, safe as can be.”

“Let me see her then, just to set my mind at ease.”

Amy sighed and looked exasperated. “Well, I don't suppose it can hurt anything, but I'm afraid Rex will insist on being in attendance. Wait here.”

“That's fine,” Joanna said.

Moments later, she was led up to the second floor and back to Holly Patterson's room, where a man who introduced himself as Rex Rogers was waiting in the hallway. He led her inside.

Once more the heavy curtains were pulled almost shut, and once again the room was shrouded in drapery gloom. Dressed in a sweat suit and bedroom slippers, Holly sat rocking back and forth in her old-fashioned rocking chair. Her hands rested limp and open in her lap. Her face was lax and expressionless.

“Holly,” Rex Rogers said, gently shaking her shoulder. “There's someone here to see you.”

As if she were waking from a drug-induced stupor, Holly Patterson's eyes fluttered open. “What?” she asked vaguely.

“Someone to see you,” Rogers repeated. “The sheriff. I believe she wants to ask you some questions.”

“How are you?” Joanna asked. “I heard you were under the weather.”

“I'm fine,” Holly answered unconvincingly.

“What happened to your hands?”

Holly looked down at the hands that lay in her lap. Joanna had noticed the heel of the palm on both hands was badly skinned, as though she had taken a bad fall and had used her hands to cushion herself. The damage was new enough that the abrasions were still leaking fluid, but Holly looked down at the injuries with surprised dismay.

“I don't know,” she said tentatively. “They hurt, but I don't know what happened to them.”

“She fell down,” Rex supplied brusquely. “Holly's always falling down like that. She's easily distracted.”

“Where did she fall?”

“Outside,” Rex answered again. “Off one of the terraces.”

“Isn't she capable of answering questions on her own?” Joanna asked. “Where did you fall, Holly? How did it happen?”

Rex Rogers grimaced with annoyance while Holly Patterson looked at Joanna with strangely vacant eyes. “I don't know,” she said, without ever stopping rocking. “I don't remember.”

“But it happened just a little while ago,” Joanna insisted. “Look. Your hands are still bleeding.”

“I don't know,” Holly repeated hopelessly. “I just don't know.”

Joanna turned back to Rex Rogers. “What kinds of medication is this woman on?” she asked.

“How should I know?” Rex Rogers answered sharply. “I'm her lawyer, not her doctor.”

“What seems to be the problem?” Amy Baxter asked from the doorway of the room.

“Holly has hurt herself,” Joanna answered. “Recently enough that the palm of her hands are still seeping serum, but she can't remember how it happened. Is she on medication of some kind, or has she maybe suffered an injury, a concussion perhaps?”

“I tried to tell you downstairs that she wasn't in any condition to receive visitors. You were the one who insisted”—the phone rang out in the hall, interrupting her statement—“on seeing her.”

“I believe she should be examined by a physician,” Joanna said.

“That's ridiculous. I'm telling you she's fine.”

Isobel Gonzales appeared behind Amy Baxter in the corridor. “The phone's for you, Mr. Rogers,” she said. “Burton Kimball.”

Amy nodded to Rex. “You take care of that; I'll handle this.”

Rex Rogers dodged out of the room, leaving the three women there together. For some time, the only sound was the creaking of Holly's rocker on the polished hardwood floor.

“Is she being held here against her will?” Joanna asked suddenly.

“Against her will? Of course not! What kind of preposterous idea is that?”

Joanna bent her head close to Holly's. “Look at your hands,” she said kindly. “You've hurt yourself. Don't you think you ought to see a doctor about them?”

She held Holly's limp hands up in the air. In
the dim light, Holly examined them as though they were strange appendages having nothing at all to do with her own body.

“How did I hurt my hands, Amy?” Holly asked in a strangely disembodied voice. “Do you know?”

“You fell, Holly,” Amy answered firmly. “You fell down outside, just a little while ago.”

“Why can't I remember then?” Holly asked, still studying her hands. “It's weird not to be able to remember.”

“Maybe you hit your head when you fell, and that's why you can't remember,” Joanna suggested. “The hospital is only a few blocks away. It wouldn't be any trouble at all for me to take you there and have a doctor take a look at you.”

“Oh, go if you want to,” Amy said with sudden irritation. “I won't stand in your way.”

“No,” Holly said, doubtfully at first but then with stronger conviction. “I think I'm okay. It's okay. I'll just stay here.”

Amy Baxter smiled at Joanna in triumph. “See there?” she said.

Joanna reached in the pocket of her blazer and located a business card, one of her old ones from the Davis Insurance Agency. On the back of it, she scrawled her home phone number as well as the word “sheriff.”

“Feel free to call me anytime,” she said.

Holly Patterson took the card but dropped it into her lap without even glancing at it.

“Is that all, Sheriff Brady?” Amy Baxter prompted.

Joanna nodded. “Yes,” she said. “For the time being.”

“Good,” Amy said, settling onto the edge of Holly's bed. “Mrs. Gonzales can show you out.”

Isobel, waiting in the hall, led the way down the stairs. “What's going on up there?” Joanna asked.

The Hispanic woman shook her head. “I don't know. If it had been up to me, I would have let her go. She only wanted to see what was up on the dump. She's been sitting in her room staring at it and worrying herself sick about it for days. She was already that far. What would it have hurt to let her go the rest of the way?”

“Holly wanted to see what was on top of the dump?” Joanna asked. “Why?”

“Who knows? She keeps on asking me about it. What's up there? What's it like? I told her I didn't know.”

“But she climbed up it?”

“Yes.”

By then they were outside the house. “Where?”

Isobel walked far enough to see the dump around the corner of the house. “There,” she said, pointing. “She was almost up at the top, just above that little mesquite halfway up.”

Joanna shaded her eyes, but she saw nothing. The dump was a dangerous and barren wasteland that had barely changed for as long as she could remember. Why would Holly Patterson want to climb it?

“What's wrong with her, Isobel?” Joanna asked.

Isobel Gonzales shook her head. “She's been bad all along, ever since she's been here; not eating
very much; barely sleeping. All she does is sit in that chair of hers, rocking and rocking. But she's been worse these last few days, ever since her dad came to see her.”

“Harold Patterson came here?” Joanna demanded. “When?”

“Tuesday afternoon,” Isobel answered. “He got here just before I left to go vote.”

Joanna instantly recognized the discrepancy. Holly's lawyer had claimed she tried to kill Burton because he had talked Harold out of settling and out of keeping the scheduled appointment with Holly. But the old man had kept that appointment after all.

“Did Ernie Carpenter ever talk to you about that? Does he know Harold Patterson stopped by here that day?”

“Nobody's talked to me about it at all.”

He should have, Joanna thought. “But go on with your story,” she said.

“Well, this morning I thought things were better. Miss Patterson even came down to the kitchen for coffee. But as soon as she saw the paper, she fell all to pieces. I thought for a minute she was having a heart attack. It scared me to death. You saw her. Now she's back to rocking again.”

“You said something about a paper,” Joanna said. “What paper?”

“Today's
Bisbee Bee
,” Isobel answered.

“What happened then?”

Isobel shrugged. “She looked at the paper, and then she went all weird. After a minute, she went running back upstairs. I thought she was fine. I
went back to work. A few minutes later, Mr. Rogers and Miss Baxter came back from lunch. I told Miss Baxter what happened. She went up to talk to Miss Patterson. A few minutes later, I heard the commotion outside. I saw it all from the kitchen window. Miss Patterson was up on the dump, and Miss Baxter was trying to get her to come down. That's when she fell. I was afraid she'd break her neck, but I guess she only skinned her hands.”

“Where exactly did she fall?”

“When she was climbing back down the dump. A rock must have slipped out from under her foot.”

“She fell on the dump, not the terraces?”

“She wasn't anywhere near the terraces.”

Joanna felt the skin prickle on the back of her neck. For a long moment, she stood looking at the somber brown facade of
Casa Vieja
. Linda Kimball was right. Something was definitely wrong inside those brown stuccoed walls, and Holly Patterson was in danger.

“Isobel,” Joanna said, “I need to drive out of here because they're expecting me to leave. But if I came back on foot, could you let me in and get me up to Holly's room without anyone seeing me?”

“Sure,” Isobel answered. “Why don't you park down by my house? Take that little dirt road just outside the gate. It goes around the wall to the back. Park down there and then come up the stairs through the terraces. That's the way I come to work. I'll meet you at the basement door and take you up the inside back stairway.”