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Authors: J. A. Jance
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right around nine o'clock or so. I remember I was out gettin' my clothes in off the line. I got up early to wash up a few things to take along to Tucson. I musta put 'em out on the line about seven—I put 'em in as soon as I woke up. I wake up at six-thirty on the dot. Always have, and I put on the coffee and turned on the clothes washer about that same time. The clothes had been out long enough to dry, and I wanted to get 'em packed and in the car so I could hit the road before the sun got much hotter. That's one of the bad things about gettin' old. Just can't take the heat the way I used to. It must have been about eight-thirty then. Maybe a quarter to nine. I'da thought she'd be on her way to church by then."
"What was Belle doing when you saw her?" Joanna asked. "Anything out of the ordinary?"
"Nope. She drove up and parked that big of Cadillac of hers right there behind Clyde's truck. Belle's car is so big that I'm always surprised it makes it through that narrow little gate. Once it's inside, it takes up half the driveway. Anyway, Belle couldn't have been inside the house more than a minute or two, because I was just rollin' my clothes basket back into the house when she came tearin' out of the house and took off again."
"You didn't talk to her?"
"No," Sarah said. "And that wasn't like her—not stop-ping off long enough to say hello or chew the fat. Didn't give much thought to it, though. Figured maybe she was on her way somewhere or had her mind on somethin' else and didn't even see me standin' out there in—"
Stopping abruptly in mid-sentence, Sarah pursed her thin lips again. "You don't suppose . . . ?" Then, as if in answer to her unfinished question, she shook her head. "Certainly not," she announced. "It's not possible."
"What's not possible?" Joanna asked.
"That Belle had somethin' to do with all this—with what happened to Clyde. No, I've known the woman all her life. She wouldn't hurt a flea. Fact of the matter is, some of the neighbors and I used to laugh at her when we'd see her move things out of the house—bugs and centipedes and such—rather than kill 'em. Surely someone who literally wouldn't hurt a fly couldn't kill a person, could they?"
For the third time in the space of a half-an-hour, someone had raised the possibility that Belle Philips was somehow responsible for her former husband's death.
"That's why we have homicide detectives," Joanna said soothingly. "To find out whether something like that is possible."
All the while Sarah had been droning on and on, Joanna had been paying close attention to what was happening outside the lace-curtained windows and beyond the two cottonwood trees that shaded Sarah's front yard. Sitting where she was, the sheriff had an almost unobstructed view of the street. In ten minutes' time, a series of cars had come and gone as Mike Wilson's Search and Rescue detail assembled, collected Deputy Sandoval and then left again, Dick Voland's Bronco had also pulled up. It was parked directly behind Joanna's Blazer. Voland and one of the deputies had marched off toward Clyde's shop at the back of the property. Realizing her chief deputy must have arrived with a search warrant in hand and trusting that he knew what he was doing, Joanna hadn't bothered to traipse after them.
Now, though, she watched as a van with Pima County's logo emblazoned on its door pulled up and parked behind Dick's Bronco. The pinch-hitting medical examiner had arrived from Tucson, so Joanna decided to go.
She stood up and held out her hand. "Thank you so much, Mrs. Holcomb. You've been a great help. One of my detectives or I may need to talk to you again, but in the meantime, I'll have to be going."
Rather than taking Joanna's proffered hand, Sarah simply stared at it without moving. "If I'da known where all this was headed . . ." she said, "that you might end up goin' after Belle . . . I'da kept my big mouth shut. That's what I shudda done."
"Mrs. Holcomb," Joanna said reassuringly,
"What was Belle doing when you saw her?" Joanna asked. "Anything out of the ordinary?"
"Nope. She drove up and parked that big of Cadillac of hers right there behind Clyde's truck. Belle's car is so big that I'm always surprised it makes it through that narrow little gate. Once it's inside, it takes up half the driveway. Anyway, Belle couldn't have been inside the house more than a minute or two, because I was just rollin' my clothes basket back into the house when she came tearin' out of the house and took off again."
"You didn't talk to her?"
"No," Sarah said. "And that wasn't like her—not stop-ping off long enough to say hello or chew the fat. Didn't give much thought to it, though. Figured maybe she was on her way somewhere or had her mind on somethin' else and didn't even see me standin' out there in—"
Stopping abruptly in mid-sentence, Sarah pursed her thin lips again. "You don't suppose . . . ?" Then, as if in answer to her unfinished question, she shook her head. "Certainly not," she announced. "It's not possible."
"What's not possible?" Joanna asked.
"That Belle had somethin' to do with all this—with what happened to Clyde. No, I've known the woman all her life. She wouldn't hurt a flea. Fact of the matter is, some of the neighbors and I used to laugh at her when we'd see her move things out of the house—bugs and centipedes and such—rather than kill 'em. Surely someone who literally wouldn't hurt a fly couldn't kill a person, could they?"
For the third time in the space of a half-an-hour, someone had raised the possibility that Belle Philips was somehow responsible for her former husband's death.
"That's why we have homicide detectives," Joanna said soothingly. "To find out whether something like that is possible."
All the while Sarah had been droning on and on, Joanna had been paying close attention to what was happening outside the lace-curtained windows and beyond the two cottonwood trees that shaded Sarah's front yard. Sitting where she was, the sheriff had an almost unobstructed view of the street. In ten minutes' time, a series of cars had come and gone as Mike Wilson's Search and Rescue detail assembled, collected Deputy Sandoval and then left again, Dick Voland's Bronco had also pulled up. It was parked directly behind Joanna's Blazer. Voland and one of the deputies had marched off toward Clyde's shop at the back of the property. Realizing her chief deputy must have arrived with a search warrant in hand and trusting that he knew what he was doing, Joanna hadn't bothered to traipse after them.
Now, though, she watched as a van with Pima County's logo emblazoned on its door pulled up and parked behind Dick's Bronco. The pinch-hitting medical examiner had arrived from Tucson, so Joanna decided to go.
She stood up and held out her hand. "Thank you so much, Mrs. Holcomb. You've been a great help. One of my detectives or I may need to talk to you again, but in the meantime, I'll have to be going."
Rather than taking Joanna's proffered hand, Sarah simply stared at it without moving. "If I'da known where all this was headed . . ." she said, "that you might end up goin' after Belle . . . I'da kept my big mouth shut. That's what I shudda done."
"Mrs. Holcomb," Joanna said reassuringly,
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