Damage Control by J. A. Jance Page B

knee—when Jenny and the dogs came into the house. Panting, Tigger and Lucky flopped down on the cool tile floor next to the wall. Lady came over and lay down at Joanna’s feet. Without a word, Jenny took Dennis from his mother and then sat down with him on the floor, where she initiated a game of peekaboo that sent the baby into spasms of delight.
    “Grandma thinks we’re picking on you,” Joanna told her. “She’s afraid we’re forcing you to look after the baby when you don’t want to.”
    “But I like taking care of him,” Jenny said. “Besides, you pay me. Where else could I find a job?”
    “She thinks we’re taking advantage of you.”
    “Mother,” Jenny said. “That’s just Grandma. You know what she’s like.”
    Yes, Joanna thought. Yes, I do.
    “What’s for lunch?” Jenny asked.
    Not leftover pizza, Joanna thought. “Butch isn’t here. He went to mail his manuscript. How about peanut butter and jelly sandwiches?”
    “Sounds good.”
    They ate their sandwiches in the dining room. “What aboutDanny and Ricky Sunderson?” Jenny asked as she bit into one corner of her sandwich. “Where are they right now?”
    “At Crocker’s Motel out in the Terraces,” Joanna said. “Marianne got them vouchers to stay there for five days.”
    Jenny made a face. “That old place? It looks like a dump.”
    “It’s better than nothing,” Joanna said. “At least they’ll have a roof over their heads. It’s the only motel in town that takes dogs.”
    “Oh,” Jenny said. “But where will they go when the five days are up?”
    Joanna liked the fact that Jenny was worried about the displaced family, but it concerned her, too. People who cared too much sometimes got hurt.
    “I have no idea,” Joanna told her daughter. “Marianne’s working on the problem, but the fire just happened this morning. Sorting out those kinds of arrangements takes time.”
    Jenny wasn’t ready to drop the subject. “What about our house?” she asked. “Our other house. Butch told me this morning that the renter moved out and left the place a mess. Maybe Mrs. Sunderson and the kids could live there.”
    Joanna had an idea that the reason the Sundersons had settled on Tom McCracken’s hovel of a mobile home was that the price had been right—the rent, that is. And if the family had struggled financially when Mr. Sunderson was alive, Carol and the two boys would most likely be having to make do on less than they’d had before, now that he was gone.
    “I doubt they’d be able to afford it,” Joanna said.
    “Oh,” Jenny said again.
    The rest of the afternoon was fairly quiet—as quiet as afternoons get when there’s a baby in the house. Butch returned finally with a carload of groceries, including steaks for dinner. “Doesn’t look like it’ll rain tonight,” he said. “But they’re expecting another storm tomorrow.”
    Let’s hope it’s not as bad as yesterday’s, Joanna thought.
    George Winfield called a little after four. “Where are you?” she asked.
    “Back at the fire scene on Double Adobe Road,” he said. “Ted is about to finish up. Then I’ll have a go at it.”
    “Ted?” Joanna asked. “Who’s he?”
    “Ted Carrell’s the arson investigator from Tucson,” George said. “I thought you called him in.”
    I did, Joanna thought. But that doesn’t mean I know the man’s name.
    “Anyway, he and Blackie have been here for some time. Ernie and I are waiting them out.”
    “Blackie?”
    “The accelerant-sniffing dog. They’ve been combing through the ashes.”
    “Finding much?” Joanna asked.
    “Evidently not,” George said. “The heat at the far end of the trailer was incredibly intense.”
    “The end with the victim’s bedroom?”
    “That’s right. He said what we’ll find will be more like cremains than anything else. Ashes to ashes, as it were.”
    One of the things Joanna appreciated about George Winfield was his ability to use a light touch in what were often really