Dead to Rights by J. A. Jance Page B

Joanna,” Eleanor said. “See you at eleven-thirty sharp, but make it earlier if you possibly can.”
    “Right,” Joanna said, returning the handset to its cradle. “Will do.”
    She reached into the top drawer and pulled out the phone book. Marliss Shackleford’s number was listed under the initial M. Marliss herself answered after only one ring.
    “Sheriff Brady here,” Joanna said. “Returning your call.”
    One of the things Joanna disliked about Marliss was the way the woman purred into the phone. “Oh, Joanna,” she breathed. “I’m so glad you were able to get back to me to-night. With all those goings-on about Dr. Buckwalter, I wasn’t sure you’d manage it.”
    Wanting to keep the call on a strictly businesslike basis, Joanna tried to pass the buck. “If you’re calling about that, Marliss, you’ll have to go through Chief Deputy Montoya. He’s the department’s official public information officer. It’s best if all media inquiries are channeled through him. He’ll be back in the office at eight o’clock in the morning ...”
    “Don’t worry,” Marliss said. “This has nothing whatever to do with the Buckwalter case. I was calling you about some-thing else entirely.”
    “What?” Joanna’s question sounded blunt, but she let it stand. She was too tired to do anything else.
    “I was calling about Marianne Maculyea,” Marliss said.
    “Marianne,” Joanna echoed. “What about her?”
    “I’m worried about her, is all,” Marliss said. “Several other people are as well. Is everything all right between her and Jeff?”
    “Is everything all right? What kind of a question is that?’
    “Well.” Marliss hesitated. “Jeff Daniels has been gone for almost a month now. I heard late this afternoon that the Canyon Methodist Board of Directors met earlier today. They had to advance Marianne quite a big chunk of money. You don’t suppose Jeff has gotten himself in some kind of trouble, do you?”
    Joanna bristled. “Marliss, I’m sure whatever action the board took was supposed to be confidential.”
    “Oh, of course.”
    “Are you on the board of directors?” Joanna demanded.
    “No,” Marliss countered, “but one of my friends is. She said—”
    “If it’s supposed to be confidential, then I don’t want to know what anyone said,” Joanna interrupted. “It’s none of my business, and it’s none of yours either, Marliss. Good night.”
    “But wait,” the other woman said hurriedly. “Don’t hang up. What I’m afraid is that Jeff Daniels has gotten himself it some kind of trouble with the Chinese authorities and that Marianne needs the extra money to bail him out. He’s always struck me as sort of a hippie type. And I just saw a National Geographic program on TV, on public television, of course, that talked about all the drugs and hippies in Goa, India, which happens to be right next to China, you know. I thought that it anyone would be aware of what was really going on, it would be you.”
    The word “hippie” might have gone out of favor in the rest of the world, but among old-time Bisbeeites it still accounted for anyone who veered ever so slightly out of the norm. With a mighty effort, a seething Joanna Brady attempted to keep from saying everything that was on her mind. The end result left her voice quivering like a serving of underdone church potluck Jell-O.
    “Jeff Daniels went to China to bring home a baby,” Joanna said. “He’s in a place called Chengdu, which, as I understand it, is far better known for its coal dust than it is for drug trafficking. If there has been any delay in Jeff’s return, I’m sure it has absolutely nothing to do with what you regard as Jeff Daniels’ hippie tendencies.”
    “Joanna, I’m only doing my job,” Marliss objected. “If there’s something going on, the public has a right—”
    “No, you’re wrong, Marliss,” Joanna shot back. “This has nothing to do with your job. It has nothing to do with being a