Read Online Shoot, Don't Shoot by J. A. Jance - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: J. A. Jance
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Joanna replied.
“Promise?”
“I promise. I’ll see you Wednesday night.”
Jenny stepped away from Joanna’s grasp. “What’s the name of the place we’re stay’ again?”
“The Hohokam Resort Hotel.”
“Does it have a swimming pool?”
“It’s supposed to.”
“Come on, Sadie and Tigger,” Jenny said to the dogs. Then she looked innocently back up at h mother. “Me and the dogs’ll race you to the corn of the fence.”
Joanna’s grammar-correcting reflex was automatic. “The dogs and I will race you,” Joanna countered.
Jenny grinned up at her impishly. “Does that mean I get to drive?” she asked.
The nine-year-old humor was subtle. It took a moment for Joanna to realize she’d been had, that for the first time in months, Jennifer Ann Brady had actually cracked a joke. And then Joanna was grinning, too.
“Last one to the corner is a rotten egg,” she said, bounding into the Blazer and turning the key in the ignition. Jenny and the dogs took off running. Joanna let them win, but only just barely.
After passing them, Joanna glanced in the mirror. The last thing she saw as she drove away from High Lonesome Ranch was Jenny, standing on tip-toe by the corner of the fence and waving her heart out. Her long hair blew in blond streamers behind her, while the two dogs danced around her in crazy circles.
“She’s going to be all right,” Joanna marveled to herself as the Blazer jounced across the rutted track that led out to High Lonesome Road.
A couple of stray tears leaked out the corners of her eyes as she drove, but they were welcome tears—not at all the kind she had expected.
Maybe it was trying to drive two hundred miles on a full stomach. Maybe it was the warm autumn sun slanting in on her through the driver’s window. By the time Joanna had driven as far as Eloy, she could barely stay awake. She stopped at a truck stop for coffee break. Reaching for her purse, she caught sight of Juanita Grijalva’s envelope and carried it along into the coffee shop. As she slipped into a booth, she tore open the flap.
Sipping coffee, she shuffled through the stack of copied newspaper articles. Even though most of the articles were undated, as soon as she started reading them, the chronology of events was clear enough.
The first article was little more than three inches long. It reported that the partially clad, badly beaten body of an unidentified woman had been found in the desert a few miles south of Lake Pleasant. The grisly remains had been discovered by a group of high school students ditching school for an afternoon keg party. Officers from the Peoria Police Department were investigating.
The next article identified the murdered woman as Serena Maria Grijalva, formerly of Bisbee. At age twenty-four, she was the divorced mother of small children.
Joanna stopped short when she read Serena’s age. Twenty-four was very young to have a nine year-old daughter. Joanna herself had been eighteen years old when she got pregnant and nineteen when Jenny was born. Serena had been four whole years—four critical years—younger than that.
The article noted that Peoria Police Detective Carol Strong, primary investigator in the case, indicated that detectives were following up on several leads and that they expected a break soon.
The third article was longer—more of a feature story. Because it was situated at the top of the page, the date showed, and Joanna’s eye stopped there. September 20. The day of Andy’s funeral. No wonder that two months later, most of this was news to Joanna. That nightmare week in September she had been far too preoccupied with the tragedy in her own life to be aware of anyone else’s. Still, the realization that Serena and Andy had died within days of each other put a whole new perspective on the words she was reading.
When Serena Maria Grijalva left her children home alone last Wednesday night to go four blocks down the street to the WE-DO-YU-DO Washateria,
“Promise?”
“I promise. I’ll see you Wednesday night.”
Jenny stepped away from Joanna’s grasp. “What’s the name of the place we’re stay’ again?”
“The Hohokam Resort Hotel.”
“Does it have a swimming pool?”
“It’s supposed to.”
“Come on, Sadie and Tigger,” Jenny said to the dogs. Then she looked innocently back up at h mother. “Me and the dogs’ll race you to the corn of the fence.”
Joanna’s grammar-correcting reflex was automatic. “The dogs and I will race you,” Joanna countered.
Jenny grinned up at her impishly. “Does that mean I get to drive?” she asked.
The nine-year-old humor was subtle. It took a moment for Joanna to realize she’d been had, that for the first time in months, Jennifer Ann Brady had actually cracked a joke. And then Joanna was grinning, too.
“Last one to the corner is a rotten egg,” she said, bounding into the Blazer and turning the key in the ignition. Jenny and the dogs took off running. Joanna let them win, but only just barely.
After passing them, Joanna glanced in the mirror. The last thing she saw as she drove away from High Lonesome Ranch was Jenny, standing on tip-toe by the corner of the fence and waving her heart out. Her long hair blew in blond streamers behind her, while the two dogs danced around her in crazy circles.
“She’s going to be all right,” Joanna marveled to herself as the Blazer jounced across the rutted track that led out to High Lonesome Road.
A couple of stray tears leaked out the corners of her eyes as she drove, but they were welcome tears—not at all the kind she had expected.
Maybe it was trying to drive two hundred miles on a full stomach. Maybe it was the warm autumn sun slanting in on her through the driver’s window. By the time Joanna had driven as far as Eloy, she could barely stay awake. She stopped at a truck stop for coffee break. Reaching for her purse, she caught sight of Juanita Grijalva’s envelope and carried it along into the coffee shop. As she slipped into a booth, she tore open the flap.
Sipping coffee, she shuffled through the stack of copied newspaper articles. Even though most of the articles were undated, as soon as she started reading them, the chronology of events was clear enough.
The first article was little more than three inches long. It reported that the partially clad, badly beaten body of an unidentified woman had been found in the desert a few miles south of Lake Pleasant. The grisly remains had been discovered by a group of high school students ditching school for an afternoon keg party. Officers from the Peoria Police Department were investigating.
The next article identified the murdered woman as Serena Maria Grijalva, formerly of Bisbee. At age twenty-four, she was the divorced mother of small children.
Joanna stopped short when she read Serena’s age. Twenty-four was very young to have a nine year-old daughter. Joanna herself had been eighteen years old when she got pregnant and nineteen when Jenny was born. Serena had been four whole years—four critical years—younger than that.
The article noted that Peoria Police Detective Carol Strong, primary investigator in the case, indicated that detectives were following up on several leads and that they expected a break soon.
The third article was longer—more of a feature story. Because it was situated at the top of the page, the date showed, and Joanna’s eye stopped there. September 20. The day of Andy’s funeral. No wonder that two months later, most of this was news to Joanna. That nightmare week in September she had been far too preoccupied with the tragedy in her own life to be aware of anyone else’s. Still, the realization that Serena and Andy had died within days of each other put a whole new perspective on the words she was reading.
When Serena Maria Grijalva left her children home alone last Wednesday night to go four blocks down the street to the WE-DO-YU-DO Washateria,
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