Dead to Rights

“Those kids need their father. Dick is my chief deputy, but when it comes to romance, you don’t have a thing to worry about.”

“I already told you,” Ruth asserted, “it is too late. I got sick and tired of listening to him talk about Joa

Joa

“You’re filing for a divorce?”

“Sure I am,” Ruth Voland replied. “Ken and I want to get married as soon as we can.”

“But Ruth,” Joa

“If he’s so damned perfect, you have him then,” Ruth Voland said. “It was bad enough when he was married to the job. I could take that. I knew what to expect. But then, when you turned up, it was too much. I’m just a housewife, Sheriff Brady. I don’t know what you are, but to hear Dick tell it, you must be right up there with Wonder Woman. I can’t compete with that. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to get hack to my Exercycle.”

Still in a daze, Joa

“What’s going on?” Eva Lou asked. “You look upset.”

“Ruth Voland has thrown Dick out of the house. She’s filing for a divorce. She thinks there’s something going on between us.”

“Between you and Dick Voland?”

“That’s right.”

“There isn’t anything, is there?” Eva Lou asked.

“Of course not!” Joa

“Probably not,” Eva Lou answered. “You’ve got to look at it through her point of view.”

“Which is?”

“Other than being an Avon Lady for a little while a few years back, I don’t think Ruth Voland has ever worked out-side the home. All of a sudden you arrive on the scene, not just as a fellow officer, but as her husband’s boss. He’s bound to talk about you. The more he does, the more threatened she must feel.”

“But Eva Lou,” Joa

“Whether you meant to be or not, you are the other woman,” Eva Lou said quietly.

“But what should I do about it?” Joa

“Not a blessed thing,” Eva Lou answered. “It’s strictly between the two of them. It has nothing to do with you.”

The front door banged open and a breathless Je

SEVENTEEN

When Je

“Must be a good book,” Joa

Closing it, Butch looked over at her and gri

He glanced around the room. “Where’s Je

“Waylaid by the video games,” Joa

“If she’s any good, she could he gone a long time,” Butch said.

“Believe me,” Joa

“You look tired,” Butch said, examining her face. “Rough day, I suppose, with the funeral and all.”

Joa

Je

“Well,” Joa

“It’s nice,” he said. “And small. And everybody seems to know you.”

“That’s how small towns are supposed to work. Everybody knows everybody else.”

“No,” Butch said. “People know you specifically. Several different people have asked me what I’m doing in Bisbee. When I tell them I’m here visiting a friend and that the friend is you, they all have something to say about you.”

“Good, bad, or indifferent?” Joa

“Mostly good,” Butch replied. “The people I’ve talked to seem to be very proud of you. Small-town girl makes good and all that.”

Joa

“So were most of the guys whose names ended tip on the Vietnam War Memorial in Washington, D.C.,” Butch Dixon answered seriously. “But just because they were drafted doesn’t keep them from being heroes or martyrs, depending on your point of view.”

A moment or two passed. “Does that bother you?” he asked. “The fact that everybody knows you?”

“I guess I’m getting used to it.”

Sensing that the conversation was making her uncomfortable, Butch changed the subject. “It’s gorgeous country,” he said. “The contrasting reds and grays. The blue sky. The whole place is just incredible.”

Relieved of her four quarters, Je

“Je

“Hello,” Je

“Hello yourself,” Butch returned. “And the pizza of the day is pepperoni with extra cheese.”

“Did you know that’s my favorite?” Je

Butch nodded. “A little bird told me.”

“It did not,” Je

Butch gri

“The High Lonesome is about ten miles the other side of town. Fifteen miles or so from where we are now.”

“And the two of you live out there all by yourselves?” he asked. “Isn’t it lonely?”

Je

Joa

“What do you mean, a long commute?” Butch asked.

Joa

Butch Dixon’s response was a genuine hoot of laughter. “Back in Chicago, where I grew up, twenty minutes was how long it took my father to get to the train station in Downers Grove. Then there was another hour on the train. That’s a long commute. He did it every weekday for twenty-five years.”

“You’re from Chicago?” Je