Page 22 of The Girl from Devil's Lake
Off the phone, she called the bullpen. Garth answered, and she passed this latest bit of information on to him. Then she called Arturo’s phone. He didn’t answer, so she left him a detailed message. She was off the phone and just turning on her computer when Tom Hadlock appeared in her doorway.
“Chain Gang has arrived at Saguaro Hills, and the transferees are being processed.”
“That’s a relief,” Joanna said. “Sounds as though that went through without a hitch. We’ve also reassigned beds in the jail. Once we unload one more set of five, we’ll be closer to being just overcrowded as opposed to dangerously so.
“Check with Saguaro Hills and see when we can send the next batch. In the meantime, I’ll call the contractor’s office to see where we are on the permit process.”
“Good,” Tom replied. “Hearing from you might make a difference. A chief deputy doesn’t have nearly the same kind of pull as a sheriff does.”
Joanna was about to dial Dave Ruiz’s number at the Ruiz Construction Company on her landline phone when her cell vibrated with Jenny’s photo showing in caller ID.
“Hey,” she answered, “how’s it going?”
“When I came home from work, I was worn out, but my body was wide awake,” Jenny said. “Going to sleep when the sun is coming up doesn’t really work for me. I tossed and turned for a long time, but I finally did get a couple hours of sleep.”
“Give yourself a few days,” Joanna advised. “How was your shift?”
“Okay,” Jenny replied. “A few traffic stops is all. No biggie.”
Joanna was all too aware that every traffic stop came with the possibility of going bad and turning fatal, but she didn’t say so. No doubt Jenny’s instructors at APOA had told her the same thing.
“But there is something I need to talk to you about.”
Joanna drew a quick breath. “Okay,” she said. “I’m listening.”
“Nick and I were talking on the way back to Tucson. We’d like to get married sooner rather than later.”
Here it comes, Joanna thought.History’s about to repeat itself. She’s about to tell me she’s pregnant.
“And, no, we’re not pregnant,” Jenny added, as though she had just read her mother’s mind. “I have health insurance, and Nick doesn’t. The only way I can add him to mine is if we get married, so what would you think if we got married over Christmas? We don’t want a big wedding. We can’t afford one, and if we do it in Bisbee, the wedding can be at our church up Tombstone Canyon with Marianne officiating. Then, maybe, if you and Dad don’t mind, we could have a small reception out at the ranch.”
Jenny had spilled out the whole story in a rush of words. Whenshe paused for breath, it took a moment for Joanna to reply. Hearing Jenny refer to Butch Dixon as “Dad” always grabbed Joanna’s heart, and the fact that Jenny most likelywasn’texpecting was cause for nothing short of rejoicing.
“I’ll have to talk to him about it,” Joanna answered, “but I can’t imagine that he’ll object.”
“You don’t mind?” Jenny asked.
“Not at all.”
“But please don’t talk to Dad about this,” Jenny said. “Let me. I’d rather do the asking myself. If he says yes, I’ll check with Marianne. I just saw my schedule and know I’ll have the Friday and Saturday before Christmas off, so I’ll need to see if she’s available for either of those.”
Not only was the Reverend Marianne Maculyea Joanna’s pastor at the Tombstone Canyon United Methodist Church, she’d also been Joanna’s best friend since seventh grade on. During the social hour after church on Sunday, Joanna had mentioned to Marianne that Nick and Jenny were engaged, but it hadn’t occurred to her that a wedding ceremony this soon might be in the offing. Now, on the phone, Joanna somehow stifled the urge to blurt out that there was no way in hell Jenny and Nick would be able to pull off a church wedding in less than a month.
Instead, she kept her response calm and reassuring. “Okey dokey,” she said. “Talk to Dad and see what he has to say.”
“But wait,” Jenny said. “There’s one more thing.”
“What’s that?”
“Do you still have the outfit you wore when you and Dad got married?”
Years before and just prior to the wedding, someone had set fire to Joanna’s house. The blaze had been put out in a timely manner, and the culprit had been apprehended, but her original wedding outfit—a two-piece silk-brocade sheath with a matching full-length jacket—had been reduced to ashes. On that occasion, her mother, Eleanor Lathrop Winfield, had ridden to the rescue by finding areplacement and having it shipped via FedEx. It had arrived just in time for the ceremony.
After the wedding, Joanna had taken the outfit to the dry cleaner’s. It hung untouched, still in its clear plastic bag, at the far end of her closet. There had been no other occasion when wearing it would have been appropriate. Nonetheless, she hadn’t been able to part with it.
“Of course I still have it,” Joanna answered after a momentary pause. “Why?”
“Could I wear it?” Jenny asked. “Please? Not having to buy a dress would save a ton of money.”
