Dead Wrong by J. A. Jance Read Free Book Online Page B

houses from up in Old Bisbee. It was easy for Joanna to assume that it predated the reopening of Fort Huachuca in the early fifties. The yard, surrounded by a four-foot chain-link fence, looked clean and well tended in the glow of the security lights from the loading docks of the businesses across the street.
    With Jaime walking just behind her, Joanna opened the gate and made her way up to the porch, where a single yellow light illuminated an old-fashioned buzzer-style bell. As soon as she punched it, a small dog began barking furiously inside the house.
    “Fritz,” a woman’s voice ordered from behind the front door. “Quiet now. Come here!” And then a moment later, “Who is it?”
    “We’re police officers,” Joanna responded. “I’m Sheriff Brady. Detective Carbajal is with me. May we come in?”
    Several locks clicked before the inside door opened cautiously to reveal a gray-haired woman clutching what appeared to be a tiny silky terrier mix in one arm. A high-volume television set blared somewhere in the background.
    “Police?” she asked, peering out at them. “What’s wrong? Has something happened—a robbery or something? With all the people coming and going from that 7-Eleven on the corner, you just never can tell.”
    “Are you Mrs. Crystal?”
    The woman nodded.
    “It’s not a robbery,” Joanna assured her. “But we do need to speak to you.”
    After unhooking the screen door, Anna Marie took Joanna’s proffered ID wallet and carried it back inside the house. She put the dog on the floor and then studied Joanna’s ID in the illumination from an overhead light. Meanwhile the dog raced back to the screen door and resumed barking. Joanna held the screen door shut to keep the dog from bursting outside.
    “Fritz,” the woman ordered. “Stop that right now. Come here.”
    Fritz, of course, paid no attention. Finally the woman returned to the porch, scooped the dog back into her arms. “He doesn’t mind very well,” she said. “Wait right here while I lock him in the kitchen.”
    Returning from incarcerating the animal, Anna Marie Crystal held the door open. “Sorry about that,” she said. “He’s a little spoiled. Come in.”
    Joanna and Jaime entered a room that reeked of years of uninterrupted cigarette smoking. The massive green glass ashtray on the coffee table was full, but not to the point of overflowing. There were doilies everywhere—beaded ones on the coffee table and on the end tables and crocheted ones on the backs of the couch and chairs. A bookshelf against one wall was lined with what looked like a complete collection of Reader’s Digest Condensed Books.
    Anna Marie was a tall, scrawny woman with an ill-fitting set of dentures. She motioned the two officers onto an old-fashioned sectional that was far too big for the size of the room, then hurried across the room, where she used a knob to switch off the blaring television set. “Now then, Sheriff Brady,” she said determinedly, “tell me. What’s this all about?”
    Jaime looked questioningly at Joanna. Nodding, she took thelead. “Detective Jaime Carbajal is one of my homicide detectives,” she said. “I’m afraid we may have some bad news for you.”
    “Homicide?” Anna Marie repeated, her gaunt face paling. “You mean someone’s been murdered?”
    “Yes,” Joanna said. “The body was found early this morning on Border Road between Paul’s Spur and Bisbee Junction. The victim has been identified as Bradley Evans, your former son-in-law.”
    The skin of Anna Marie’s face tightened into a grimace, revealing a glimpse of the angular skull beneath her wrinkled flesh. For a moment she said nothing. “So he’s dead then?” she asked at last. “That no-good son of a bitch is finally dead?”
    “Yes,” Joanna said.
    “What happened?”
    “He was stabbed to death.”
    “Good!” Anna Marie exclaimed bitterly, taking a seat in a wingback chair across from them. “It’s about damned time! Bradley Evans