Page 61 of The Girl from Devil’s Lake (Joanna Brady Mysteries #21)

Bisbee, Arizona

Joanna fell into bed around seven and slept for the next ten hours.

By the time she woke up at five a.m., the PR storm had already broken.

Anna Rae had sent out the press release, and Joanna’s mailbox was overflowing with requests for interviews from four separate networks, all of them asking for hour-long sit-downs during the day on Monday, after the arraignment and before the press conference. Ditto from TV stations in Tucson.

At that point, Joanna’s mother, Eleanor Lathrop Winfield, would have been turning handstands and booking her daughter in for full hair, nail, and makeup appointments.

Joanna wasn’t interested. She looked the way she looked, and that would have to do.

She booked the network interviews for an hour and gave the Tucson stations half an hour each.

Those already took a huge chunk out of a day where much of the morning would most likely be spent at the courthouse.

Several people requested information about the evidence photos. She forwarded those to Dave Hollicker. Anna Rae wanted to know if there was any response. Joanna let her know there was. Joanna was still lounging on the couch in her bathrobe when Dennis came out of his bedroom.

“You’re not going to church?”

That was something that almost never happened.

“Nope,” Joanna said.

“Why not?” he asked. “Is it because of that Roper guy?”

Joanna’s first thought was that Butch must have said something, but Dennis quickly put that concern to rest.

“One of my friends lives just up the street from him on Country Club Drive. He said there were cop cars all over the place the other day and now it’s covered with yellow crime tape. People are saying it has something to do with whatever happened to that reporter you don’t like.”

Joanna took a breath. “Yes, it has something to do with Marliss,” she said, “but I’m not allowed to mention a suspect’s name until after he’s actually been charged with a crime, and you shouldn’t either.

The arraignment is set for tomorrow, but today I don’t feel like going to church and having people asking me questions I can’t answer.

It’s the law, yes, but it also seems rude. ”

“Will Dad be dropping us off? I’m supposed to hang out with Jeffy after church.”

“I’m pretty sure he will, but he’s making breakfast. Why don’t you ask him?”

Moments after Dennis left for the kitchen, Sage showed up and the conversation repeated itself. No, Joanna wasn’t going to church, but Sage wasn’t interested in a ride. “If you’re not going, can I stay home, too?”

Joanna wasn’t prepared to fight any battles today. “That’s totally up to you,” she said. “Go if you want; stay home if you want.”

“Thanks, Mom,” Sage said, giving her a smooch. “What’s for breakfast?”

“Go ask Dad,” Joanna told her.

She was preparing for a quiet morning at home when her phone rang with a call from Detective Howell.

“Morning, Deb,” Joanna said. “How are things?”

“Sorry to disturb your morning,” was the reply, “but Marliss Shackleford’s mother just called from Tombstone. She’ll be here in about half an hour and wants to talk to you.”

“No rest for the wicked,” Joanna said, closing her computer and putting it aside. “I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

She was at her desk by ten past ten when Deb ushered Dianne Borison into the room.

Marliss Shackleford’s mother was not at all what Joanna expected.

Pencil thin, wearing a designer suit and high heels, she could have been a doppelg?nger for Jane Fonda, red hair and all.

She was dripping with diamonds and condescension.

Joanna rose to greet her. “I’m so sorry for your loss, Ms. Borison,” she said. “Won’t you have a seat?”

“Thank you, but Mrs. Borison, please, if you don’t mind.” Before sitting down the woman examined both of the visitors’ chairs as though expecting to find a horde of lice lurking there.

“Marliss was such a bright young thing, but she adored her father, and when Danny, my second husband, entered the picture, she hated him from day one until her dying day, as it turns out.”

Dianne Borison sniffed and paused long enough to wipe a tear that was threatening to dislodge a chunk of mascara.

“Marliss could have done anything, been anything. Instead she came to this hick town because her aunt, my first husband’s sister Glenda, left her that run-down shack, little more than a cabin, really—in Briggs or Galena, whatever; I can never remember which is which—and went to work as a reporter for that two-bit Bisbee Bee .

Why work for a rag like that or even a website when, if she’d played her cards right, she could have been working for the Washington Post ? ”

Joanna was astonished by the woman’s unmitigated snobbery.

The houses in Galena and Briggs were bungalows that had served as company housing back when the copper mines had been in operation.

Most likely Marliss’s uncle had worked for Phelps Dodge.

He and his wife had probably lived in it as a rental and then purchased it once PD put the property up for sale.

Marliss’s yard may not have been picture perfect, but her place was definitely not a “run-down shack.”

For the second time in as many days Joanna’s heart ached for Marliss Shackleford. Butch’s mother was a piece of work, but Dianne Borison topped Margaret Dixon by a long shot!

“How can I be of service, Mrs. Borison?” Joanna asked carefully.

“Well,” she said, “Dr. Baldwin has released the body to a place called Higgins Funeral Home. I suppose you’re familiar with them?”

“Very,” Joanna replied.

“Several years ago, when Marliss and I were still on speaking terms, she sent me an email saying that if anything ever happened to her, she wanted to be cremated and have her ashes spread at a place called Juniper Flats, wherever that is.”

“It’s the highest point in the Mule Mountains,” Joanna answered. “You came through the Mule Mountain Tunnel on the way into town. Juniper Flats is way above that.”

“Sounds dangerous,” Dianne said.

For someone in shoes like that? Joanna thought. Absolutely.

“Anyway,” Dianne continued, “Mr. Higgins is going to do the cremation tomorrow. I’ve already purchased a beautiful urn, but he suggested that since Marliss had lived here in town, perhaps a small memorial service is in order. He has a time slot available on Tuesday afternoon at four.”

“At the mortuary?” Joanna asked. “Why not at the church?”

“What church?” Dianne asked.

“Tombstone Canyon United Methodist,” Joanna replied. “But even at the funeral home, I’m sure Marianne would be glad to officiate.”

“Who is Marianne?” Dianne Borison wanted to know.

“She’s a pastor,” Joanna replied. “She was Marliss’s pastor and mine, too.”

“Are you telling me...Marliss actually went to church?” Dianne asked in disbelief.

Joanna nodded.

“How do I get in touch with this Marianne?”

Without having to look it up, Joanna wrote Marianne’s number on a Post-it and handed it over. Dianne took the note and shoved it into a brand-name purse that had probably cost a bundle.

“There’s one more thing,” Dianne said.

“What’s that?”

“Again, back when Marliss and I were still in communication, every time I talked to her, it was always Joanna Brady this and Joanna Brady that. It occurred to me that you were probably her best friend here in town, and I wondered if you’d mind giving her eulogy.”

Joanna was flabbergasted. It had never occurred to her that she and Marliss had so much in common—grieving for an absent father, dealing with a controlling mother, and having to fight to find their own paths.

And if in Dianne’s conversations with her daughter she had come away with the notion that Marliss and Joanna were the best of friends, then the woman hadn’t been listening to a word her daughter had been saying.

Joanna didn’t hesitate, not for a moment. “Of course,” she said. “I’ll be happy to. Four p.m. on Tuesday at Higgins Funeral Home?”

Dianne nodded.

“Okay,” Joanna told her. “I’ll be there.”