Joanna stared down into the depths of her glass. “I couldn’t talk to Jim Bob and Eva Lou about all the rumors,” she said brokenly. “They have a right to know about them, I guess, that they’re claiming it’s suicide, the supposed illegal dealings with Lefty…”

“And the gun,” Marianne added.

Joanna’s head came up. “Gun? What gun?”

“You mean no one’s told you about that?”

“Marianne, nobody’s telling me anything more than they absolutely have to,” Joanna returned.

“It’s a rumor, too. I heard it from Deena O’Toole, and she heard it from her former mother-in-law. According to Gertrude, the federales are requesting ballistics tests on Andy’s.357.”

“Why?”

Marianne Maculyea paused before she answered. “They think it’s the same gun that killed Lefty.”

Joanna sat in stunned silence while Marianne poured more Jack Daniels over their melting ice.

“So what are we going to do about it?” Marianne asked.

“Do?”

“That’s right-do. Jeff and I talked about it this afternoon while jenny was taking a nap. We kept trying to reconcile all the things we’d heard about Andrew Brady in the last twenty-four hours, all these rumors, with the man we knew-the man who taught Sunday school and cleaned up after potlucks.”

Joanna raised her eyes until they met and held Marianne Maculyea’s serious, gray-eyed gaze. “And what did you decide?” Joanna asked.

Marianne raised her glass and finished off the drink. “That somebody’s lying,” she answered cheerfully. “All we have to do now is figure out who.”

She got up then, picked up her glass, and carried it into the kitchen. “I’m going home now,” she said, gathering her purse and keys. “You’ve got to be dead on your feet. We’ll thrash this all out tomorrow. In the meantime, try to get some sleep.”

Coming back to Joanna’s side, she gave her a quick hug. “Will you be all right here by yourself?”

“Go on home,” Joanna answered dully. “I’ll be fine.”

For some time after Marianne Maculyea drove out of the yard, Joanna continued sitting at the table. Weary beyond all reason, she knew she needed to go to bed. Twice she got up and started for the bedroom and twice she turned back, unable to open the bedroom door.

Tired as she was, she couldn’t bring herself to step inside the room that had once been her haven from the rest of the world. How could she possibly lie down on her side of that double bed, the one she and Andy had slept in all their married life? How could she put her head down on a pillow when the one next to hers would still be laden with Andy’s distinctive scent? How could she go near a closet where his dirty clothes would still be lying in a haphazard pile on the floor and where his freshly ironed shirts and pants would still be hanging on his side of the closet waiting for him to come put them on?

No. The bedroom was definitely off limits, but Marianne Maculyea’s whiskey was having the intended effect on Joanna’s fatigued body. Finally, barely able to put one foot in front of the other, she shambled to the linen closet and dragged out one of Eva Lou’s heavy, hand-crocheted afghans. Still wearing the terrycloth robe, Joanna turned off the lights, wrapped the an around her, and lay down on the living couch.

As soon as she lay down, she knew it had been a mistake to turn out the lights. In the darkness, the house seemed oppressively quiet. Joanna started to get up and turn them bark on, but just then Sadie came over to the couch and sniffed curiously at the afghan-wrapped cocoon. For some time the dog stood with her soft chin resting on Joanna’s shoulder. Finally, voicing her objection in a huge sigh, Sadie flopped down on the floor next to the couch.

That night Joanna Brady fell asleep to the comforting rumble of Sadie’s steady snores. In the face of that impossibly empty silence, the dog’s company was a vast improvement over being alone.

TEN

Jennifer awakened her mother early the next morning. At seven o’clock the child was already up and dressed. “Am I going to school?” she asked.

Lying on the couch, it took Joanna a moment before she was fully awake and functioning enough to realize where she was and why Jennifer was asking.

Fighting off despair, Joanna looked at her daughter. “There’s lots to do. We have to finish planning Daddy’s funeral today.”

“But it’ll be boring,” Jennifer objected. “Besides, all the other kids will be in school. I already missed yesterday. Can’t I go? Please?”

Joanna was torn. Inarguably, it would be easier to do things without having to worry about Jennifer, but as a mother, she wondered about the propriety of Jenny returning to school so soon after her father’s death.

“If you really want to go, I suppose it’ll be all right,” Joanna agreed finally. “But I’ll take you. I’m not sending you on the bus. Have had breakfast?”

“Not yet,” Jenny said.

Joanna heaved off the afghan. “You go eat. get dressed.”

Alter another quick shower to subdue her hair, Joanna found that in the daylight, the room wasn’t quite as bad as it had been at ht. Just inside the bedroom door she discovered the Arizona Inn shopping bag. She had no idea how it had ended up there; perhaps her mother had brought it along with her m Tucson. In any event, once dressed in a sweatshirt and ratty jeans, she took her work boots out of the bag and carried them along with her to the kitchen.

She found Jennifer in the breakfast nook reading the cereal box and crunching down a bowl of Cheerios. “I made coffee,” Jenny said. “I hope it’s not too strong.^”

Joanna paused long enough to pour a cup. It was strong, all right, but Joanna took it without complaint and without watering it down, either. She dropped her boots on the floor and settled down opposite her daughter. Jenny looked up at her questioningly.

“Are you mad because I’m going to school?” she asked.

Joanna shook her head. “I’m not mad at anybody,” she said.

“Something like this never happened to me before,” Jennifer continued. “I don’t know how to act.”

Joanna managed an affectionate smile. “At times like this, it’s probably best to do whatever feels right. If you feel like going to school, go. How does that sound?”

“Fine,” Jennifer nodded, then added, “Grandpa’s here.”

Joanna looked around. “He is? Where? When did he get here?”

“While you were in the shower. He said he’d be out in the barn getting hay for the cattle.”

Joanna hunched down and began to pull on her boots. “Why’s he doing that?” she flared. “I can feed cattle, for Pete’s sake. I’m not helpless, you know.”

Jennifer shrugged. “He said you have enough to worry about right now, so he’s taking care of the animals.”

“Well, he shouldn’t!” Joanna exclaimed indignantly, straightening up and heading for the door.

“Maybe it seems right to him,” Jennifer observed, without looking up from her cereal bowl. “Maybe it’s what he feels like doing.”

Joanna stopped at the door and looked back at her daughter, struck by the adult wisdom in her child’s words. Sometimes Jennifer amazed her.

“Maybe you’re right,” Joanna said. “Finish your breakfast and brush your teeth. I’ll go see Daddy Jim needs any help. When we finish, I’ll take you to school.”

By the time Joanna went outside, though, Jim Bob Brady had already finished with the cattle and was coming from the barn to the house. He looked far older and more stoop-shouldered than Joanna remembered. There d always been a remarkable physical resemblance between Jim Bob Brady and his son. As the old man walked toward her now with the early morning sun on his face, Joanna felt a sharp pang of loss. She would never have a chance to see how Andy would look at that age, to watch how his hair might grow gray or see how sunlight and hard work might have etched lines into his smooth features.