Free New River Blues by Elizabeth Gunn Page A

front of his house.
    â€˜I called my office,’ he said, ‘and my secretary said trouble here at the house – so I called the County Attorney . . . he’s a friend of mine.’ Of course he is. ‘He kindly sent one of his assistants to meet me at the morgue so I could see the—’ His big jaw clamped shut and a muscle in his face flexed. He swallowed. ‘It’s my wife . . . and another person. Is my daughter . . . ?’
    â€˜Daddy, I’m here,’ Patricia said, suddenly behind him on the sidewalk.
    Shit. Here we go again. Sarah braced for a new emotional storm.
    Instead, what followed was an awkward short ballet of painful body language between father and daughter. Roger Henderson said, ‘Oh, Patsy,’ with what sounded like relief, and reached out for her. She leaned toward his arms for a nanosecond, then pulled back and blurted, ‘Mom’s dead!’
    He took back his unused embrace quickly and put his hands in his pockets. ‘I know. I saw . . . somebody shot her.’ They stared at each other, breathing hard, for two or three seconds before he said, ‘Well, I guess we have to . . .’ inclining his head sideways toward Sarah.
    Patricia nodded curtly, the way you’d confirm a drink choice or an order for pork rinds, and the two faces turned toward Sarah as if it was her job to figure out how this complicated pair should deal with each other.
    Sarah gestured toward the busy yard behind her. ‘I’m sorry to say that your house has become a crime scene. Do you understand why I can’t let you in there till we’re done? We have to protect the chain of evidence.’ Patricia looked at her shoes and said nothing about getting in there by accident.
    â€˜But we need to talk,’ Sarah said. The two Hendersons nodded again, identical businesslike nods. Patricia Henderson’s features were a near-perfect copy of her mother’s in the younger pictures back there in the house, but all her body language seemed to echo her father. ‘We could sit in my car but it isn’t very convenient. Why don’t we go downtown?’
    â€˜The police station?’ Henderson’s guard came up. ‘I don’t want to—’
    â€˜We can talk in a private room there,’ Sarah said, ‘and – would you like to come too?’ she asked Patricia.
    â€˜OK.’ Patricia looked more than willing to go hear what her father had to say. He muttered something about needing to make some phone calls first. Patricia asked him coldly, ‘Are they more important than finding out who killed Mom?’
    â€˜No, of course not,’ he said, ‘but it’s already one o’clock and . . . all right.’ He clamped his jaw shut around the rest of his objections and told Sarah, ‘Shall we go in my car? It’s over there in Ortman’s driveway.’
    â€˜It is?’ Patricia stared across the street. ‘I thought Ruth said you wrecked it.’
    â€˜I picked up another car at the office.’
    â€˜It looks exactly like the one you had.’
    â€˜It is. We lease a whole fleet, you know that.’
    â€˜Mr Henderson,’ Sarah said, ‘you had an accident?’
    â€˜This morning, a few miles south of Phoenix. That’s why I’m so late getting home.’
    â€˜Are you OK?’ Patricia asked him. ‘Did you get hurt?’
    â€˜I got a bump on the head and spent a couple of hours in an emergency room. Got these fancy bandages and they say I have a bruise on my cheek, can you see it?’ He gave Patricia an ironic little insider nod. ‘You know how I always nag you to wear your seat belt? Well, my seat belt saved my life this morning.’ They stared at each other, rendered speechless by so many calamities back to back. Finally Henderson took a deep breath, dug out his keys and said, ‘Well . . . you