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“YOU’VE GOT TO BE KIDDING,” Vi sputtered.
Surely the man wasn’t serious? He looked more like a cowboy than an officer of the court. All western, what she could see of him, from the cotton shirt with the mother-of-pearl snaps to the bola tie at his scrawny, weathered neck.
Trying to regain her composure, Vi glanced around the Echo Point courtroom. The imitation-wood paneled walls were decorated with the usual framed copies of the Arizona and U.S. constitutions. Old black-and-white photos of copper mines and cattle ranches reflected the history of the small town.
Scattered through the photos were color lithographs of dogs. Sporting dogs. Dogs with limp birds in their mouths, dogs pointing at unseen prey. And one color, eight-by-ten of a muscular yellow dog at the side of a man clutching a rifle. Thick black plastic framed the man’s glasses, a turquoise ’68 Ford Camper Special stood proudly in the background. All clues that this was one of Judge Tanner’s favorite photos from his younger days.
Vi swallowed the lump in her throat. She’d heard horror stories about skewed rural justice.
Judge Tanner looked over the rims of his reading glasses. “I don’t kid when it comes to adjudicating a case. Just because my robe’s at the cleaners, doesn’t mean this is a bunch of funny business. I take my rulings very seriously. Says here, you left the scene of an accident. Hit-’n-run.”
“I didn’t mean to imply I take the proceedings lightly. It’s just that…well, I did stop.”
“You didn’t stay to render aid or give insurance information. Hit-and-run. I can revoke your license.”
Vi bit her lip before a succinct curse could slip out. He had every right, and she had nobody to blame but herself. A hit-and-run violation, combined with a few past speeding infractions, could mean a suspended license.
Dread turned her into a one-woman perspiration factory. The lining of her blazer stuck to her back, moisture trickled in places she’d rather not think about.
She gulped. “I could lose my job….”
“Should have thought of that before.”
“I wasn’t thinking—”
“No. You weren’t. You weren’t considering that a child could just as easily have been in that road.”
The thought of maiming a child scared her as much now as at the scene. Maybe more. “I didn’t mean to hurt anyone. It was an accident. Just a dog…”
Vi glanced at the photos on the wall. “That didn’t come out the way I meant it.”
“I certainly hope not.”
Stepping closer, she murmured, “I—I’m not sure what happened to me. I’ve been under a lot of stress, my appointment was, uh, unusual. And when the guy with the dog charged at me, I guess I snapped.”
That was as much of the truth as she intended to reveal. There was no way she would describe the flashback, or the man she’d really thought was charging at her. The judge would have her in a straitjacket and pronto.
“I admit I made a mistake. I take full responsibility. The dog is recovering. I’ve offered to pay the vet bill…make things right.”
The judge addressed the dog’s owner, slumped in the front row. “Ian, will paying the vet bill make things right?”
“No. Not even close.”
Vi could feel her cheeks flush. “That’s not being reasonable.”
“Life isn’t reasonable,” the man named Ian commented.
She turned to get a better look at him. What she saw confused her. He could have been a WWF wrestler on a downhill slide. Stubble covered his chin, dark circles ringed his eyes. Exhaustion was etched in the lines around his mouth. And yet, the judge seemed to value his opinion. Maybe her knee-jerk reaction on that dirt road had been rash, but the man still intended to ruin her life.
She swiped her tongue across her dry, cracked lips. “Look, I’m sorry. Really, really sorry. But you can’t hold me responsible for the fact that the dog wasn’t leashed. And you’ve got to understand. I was afraid for my life.”
Judge Tanner leaned forward. “A. There’s no leash law in the county area outside Echo Point. B. It’s your responsibility as a driver to be prepared for the unexpected. C. While Arizona is a comparative negligence state, that applies only to civil litigation, not criminal. You can’t parcel out the blame. And finally D. Ian wouldn’t hurt a woman.”
Vi gulped. The judge might not look like the sharpest knife in the drawer, but he apparently was no slouch in the law department. Appealing to his sympathy was her best bet. “I didn’t know that…um…Ian was harmless. He looked dangerous. Put yourself in my place. A woman, alone, out in the middle of nowhere…suddenly a large, angry man comes running at me, yelling.”
The judge opened a slim manila folder and adjusted his glasses. “Ah, yes. Claims Manager it says here. Don’t imagine you intimidate too easily. Tell me about this ‘unusual’ appointment of yours. Who’d you meet? For what purpose?”
He was right. She normally didn’t intimidate easily. At least not anymore. She prayed that it had been the unique set of circumstances and not an indication she was losing all the ground she’d gained in the past ten years. She couldn’t go back to being that scared girl who jumped at her own shadow. The girl who thought black eyes and bruises were an everyday event. That all daddies drank themselves into a rage.
Drawing on her strength, her training, she tried to appeal to the judge’s professionalism. “Sir, I drove up from Phoenix to settle an auto injury claim with an elderly gentleman named Bob Johnson. He’s going in for surgery next week, and we wanted to get his accident claim settled first.” She leaned forward. “As I’m sure you are aware, if he dies before settling his claim, his relatives will no longer be entitled to compensation for pain and suffering.”
“So, out of the goodness of your heart, you came all the way up here to make sure old Bob’s grandchildren get a chunk of change, even if he croaks on the operating table?”
“Well, yes, in a manner of speaking.”
It sounded so cold. In her circle, it was considered more a mission of mercy. Besides, she liked old Mr. Johnson. That’s why she’d hung on to his file after her promotion from adjuster to unit supervisor.
“I’m surprised old Bob didn’t fill your behind full of buckshot,” the judge said.
“But he did, I mean, he tried. He chased me off with a rusty old rifle. The stuff sprayed all over the tree next to me. So, you see, I was rattled.”
A smile twitched at the corners of the old man’s thin lips, then vanished. “Be that as it may, it’s not an excuse for making a poor decision. Since you see the results of accidents every day, I’m sure you can understand how serious this is.”
“Yes, sir. But—”
“With your speeding tickets and this latest stunt, you deserve to lose your license….” The judge brought up his reading glasses, glancing through a thin file. “Violet.”
Violet. The little girl cowering in a corner, trying to make herself disappear.
Another trip down memory lane. It was almost as bad as going home, something she never intended to do again.
“Please, call me Vi.”
“Well, Vi, we have a decision here…”
“I’d appreciate any leeway you could give…sir.”
Judge Tanner leaned back in his leather chair and steepled his hands. “Maybe we can find a solution. Hit-and-run means you lose your license. But, there could be another way.”
“Speed too fast for conditions,” she supplied. A mere point or two on her license. Her insurance rates would skyrocket, but she’d save her job.
The judge’s eyes narrowed. “I don’t need you to tell me how to do my job. From the looks of your traffic violations, you always drive with your foot in the carburetor. Seems to me you could use some cooling off time. I’ll give you a break. Community service, restitution.”
Relief washed over her. A couple weekends at the local soup kitchen, maybe picking up trash in the town square. How bad could it be?
“Yes, community service. I’d appreciate the second chance, sir.”
She ignored the perspiration pooling at the waistband of her skirt. “I do feel bad about Mr….ah, about his dog.” She gestured vaguely in the madman’s direction. “I’d be happy to replace it for him.”
“So ruled. Community service, replacement of the dog.” The gavel echoed through the small courtroom. “I’ll give you a day to collect your things and move in.”
The judge glanced toward the front row. “You’ve got a spare room, don’t you Ian?”
“Uh-huh,” the big guy grunted.
“Move in?” Vi squeaked.
“Sure. You can’t watch over Daisy properly unless you stay the night.”
She choked back a laugh. “You mean I’m supposed to watch over a dog?”
“No, ma’am. You’ll replace the dog. Take her place.” Judge Tanner turned to the man. “Now, Ian, how long did Doc Woodworth say Annabelle’d be laid up?”
“A month. Six weeks if there’re complications.”
“Who is Annabelle and what does she have to do with this?” she demanded.
“Annabelle is the dog you practically killed. She’s an important member of my family and a certified service dog.”
The mountain of a man spoke to her directly for the first time since he’d come charging out of the brush.
“Wha…? There was no vest on that dog—”
“She was off duty. We weren’t out in public. Even a dog needs R&R, especially a service dog. Fetch is her stress-buster.”
“What about my job? I’ve got responsibilities, a good shot at District Claims Manager.”
The judge waved his hand as if to shoo a pesky fly, telling her exactly what he thought of her job. “You should’ve thought of that before you went speeding down a dirt road. You’ve got till four tomorrow afternoon to show up at Daisy’s place. Ian’ll give you directions.”
“But that’s not fair.” Vi stormed the bench, her heels clicking emphatically. “You can’t do that. I’ll get an attorney.”
“Attorney’d be a waste of time and money.” He gestured toward the man. “Ian, I’ll have Sheriff Moreno stop by for a report now and then. That’ll give old Joe a chance to chat with Daisy and make sure Ms. Lead Foot here keeps her end of the deal.”
“Thanks, Ralph. I’m about beat.”
“Think you can hold out till tomorrow?” His prune face relaxed into a sympathetic smile.
The man swiped a hand across his face. “I’ve done it before. I’ll do it now.”
Fumbling through a daily planner, he found a blank page and ripped it out. He scribbled furiously, then handed the sheet to her. “See you at four tomorrow.”
“Wait a minute. Who’s Daisy? And why the heck do you need me?”
“Daisy’s my mother. Annabelle’s her service dog. You’ll keep an eye on Mom at night while I sleep.”
Vi shook her head. She was having a hard time relating a service dog to a woman who needed to be watched while she was asleep. Seizures maybe? She’d read about dogs trained to sense the onset of human seizures.
“Oh, and bring some comfortable clothes.” He eyed her up and down. His lips curled into a smirk as he took in every detail of her gray silk suit. “You won’t be needing those.”
He gestured in her general direction. By those, she assumed he meant designer clothes, or maybe it was her three-inch heels.
“I need to know what I’m getting into. Why exactly does your mother need a service dog?”
“Alzheimer’s. She has Alzheimer’s.”
VI CAREFULLY NEGOTIATED the curve, keeping her speed down to a crawl. Impatience had got her into this mess, thinking on her feet would get her out.
Mentally reviewing her options, Vi figured her week’s vacation would keep the rumble of discontent at Transglobal Insurance down to a dull roar. After that, they’d start talking leave of absence, a death knell to her goals.
She patted the laptop next to her. A large box of files rested on the back seat. Black leather was hell on the thighs during the scorching summer, but it sure looked good. The Mustang was her pride and joy. New, sleek and powerful. Not bad for a girl from East L.A.
Peering ahead, she saw where the scrub brush parted for a bit and a rutted path jogged off to the right. That had to be it. It was the only private drive for miles. She followed the narrow dirt road for several hundred yards and parked on a circular drive.
Letting out a low whistle, she admired the view. It was an adobe—low, squat and brown. Perfectly framed by the backdrop of lush, undisturbed desert, the Superstition Mountains rising in the distance. It looked like a small piece of heaven.
Vi got out of the car and approached the veranda, her gaze lighting on new and wonderful discoveries. Wild flowers in big terra-cotta pots. Two antique branding irons, crossed like swords, anchored to the wall.
She laid a palm against the adobe, absorbing the warmth of reflected fall sunshine, admiring the coarse texture. The weathered mud brick looked like it had been there for years. And would probably last for many, many more. It was stable, unchanging, safe.
Patrick would have loved it. He had loved all things western. Probably because of the old cowboy movies he’d watched when they were kids. Where the good guys always won, and the bad guys were easily spotted in their black hats.
Vi swallowed hard. She would not cry. It didn’t accomplish anything. And it wasn’t what Patrick would have wanted.
Laughter and joy were what he had brought to her life. And at the first sign of trouble, he’d whisk her off to their special fort and tell her jokes until she’d forgotten her fear.
God, how she missed his smile. The mischievous twinkle in his eye. The absolute goodness in his heart. The bravery he shrugged off as brotherly duty.
Vi fingered the heavy wooden door. Splinters nipped at her, but the core was solid. The bulky expanse was attached to the hand-hewn door frame with cast iron fittings. It might be old, but it looked strong enough to hold off an army. Or one really pissed-off SOB.
Yes, Patrick would have loved it.
Someday, she’d have a place like this. If she worked harder and smarter than everyone else.
Vi slipped into her favorite daydream. The one where she possessed the security only money could buy.
What would she change if the adobe house were hers? Definitely not the massive mesquite tree shading the flat roof, its gnarled black branches stretching protectively toward the house. And not the prickly pear cacti that lined the gravel drive. The ocotillo would stay, too. It looked almost like an upside-down octopus as it reached for the sky, the long, skinny stems undulating with the slightest breeze. The blooms added just the right touch of orange, breaking up all the tans and sages of the desert.
It was quiet, hushed almost. Except for the occasional call of some sort of bird, a dove maybe. What did someone do with all this quiet? No sirens, no neighbors, just quiet.
Vi shook herself out of her reverie. She didn’t avoid challenges anymore, she took them head-on.
Her knuckles stung as she rapped on the striated surface of the door. Her efforts hardly made a sound. She pounded with her fist the second time and was rewarded with a dull thud.
She swore under her breath as she blew on her bruised hand.
The door swung open instantly, silently. Plenty of oil on those old fittings.
“You’re here. Good.”
