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  Two days after Brianna’s funeral, Bisbee’s Fourth of July celebration had been dealt an almost fatal blow when the fire-works budget had come up $10,000 short of the money necessary to release the fireworks package from the supplier. With the evening’s celebration on the brink of cancellation, David O’Brien had stepped into the fray. Saying that his daughter had always loved fireworks, he had coughed up the missing financial shortfall. Not only that, he had agreed to provide a sizable ongoing endowment in Brianna O’Brien’s name that would guarantee the continuation of Bisbee’s fire-works display for many years into the future. This, then, would be the occasion of the First Annual Brianna O’Brien Memorial Fireworks Display.

  Observing the man from the sidelines, Joanna could see that the strain of the last few weeks had aged him severely. He looked old and haggard and beaten. Still, she had to give him credit for being strong enough to show up at all. Joanna respected him for it. She knew what kind of effort it took to carry that off. She had done much the same thing herself.

  The intervening days had brought some surprises in terms of the Aaron Meadows/Alf Hastings investigation. Meadows’s plea-bargained confession was making life difficult for Marco Marcovich. In terms of bringing down a friend of the governor, Aaron’s word alone might not have carried that much weight, but Maggie Hastings, threatened with coconspirator status, had also joined the plea-bargain parade. She had come forward and had named names of some of the other people Alf Hastings had dealt with in Marco’s behalf. In addition, she had contributed one more important piece of the puzzle.

  One of the reasons Marco had helped his cousin Alf get the job at Green Brush Ranch had been the expectation that eventually Aaron Meadows’s smuggling route through the Peloncillos would end one way or the other. When that happened, Marco had expected Alf to have an alternate route already in place-one that would have continued to ferry Freon into the country from Mexico directly across David O’Brien’s well-fortified property and without any member of the O’Brien family knowing a thing about it.

  Poor guy, Joanna thought, still looking at David O’Brien. No wonder he looks old. He’s outlived his three children, all of whom died for no reason other than being in the wrong place at the wrong time. He’s lost one wife to death and the other has abandoned him in favor of a convent. And one of his supposedly good friends has played him for a fool.

  Composing herself, Joanna walked up the ramp and went directly to where David O’Brien and Alvin Bernard were still visiting.

  “Hello there,” she said, shaking hands with them both. “From the looks of all the cars circling around in search of parking, it should be a great crowd.”

  “Chief,” somebody called from across the platform. “Chief Bernard. Could I talk to you a minute?”

  Alvin excused himself, leaving Joanna and David O’Brien on the platform together. “How soon do we start?” she asked.

  “Five minutes.” O’Brien answered without bothering to glance at his watch. “Although I don’t suppose we need to worry about being late. The display won’t get under way until I give the official signal to turn off the ballpark lights.”

  “I see,” Joanna said.

  It pleased her to hear a hint of the old imperiousness back in David O’Brien’s voice, even though he no longer had Katherine to cater to his every whim. “If you’ll excuse me, I guess I’ll go find my chair,” she added.

  “No, wait,” O’Brien said. “I’m glad the two of us have a moment to talk. I wanted to ask a favor of you.”

  “A favor? What kind?”

  David O’Brien reached into his pocket and pulled out a small velvet-covered jewelry box. “Here,” he said. “1 found this box in Brianna’s room. When the coroner’s office returned Bree’s personal effects to me, I realized where the box must have come from.”

  Popping the lid open, he held out the tiny black box, cradling it in the palm of his hand, offering it to Joanna. She looked down at the box. There, nestled in a velvet bed, sat two pearl earrings. One had been found on Brianna’s body. The other had been located later outside the gate to Green Brush Ranch.

  “I believe you know the young man who gave my daughter these, don’t you?” David O’Brien asked.

  Joanna nodded. “His name’s Ignacio,” she said. “Ignacio Ybarra.”

  “I’ve read Bree’s journal,” O’Brien continued huskily. “In it she usually referred to him as Nacio. I was wondering, would you mind seeing to it that these are returned to him? Now that I’ve had them repaired, I thought he’d probably like to have them back. I certainly have no use for them.”

  Carefully, Joanna took the tiny box from David O’Brien’s hand, closed it, and then dropped it into her pocket. “I’ll be glad to,” she said.

  “I understand this Nacio wants to be a doctor someday,” O’Brien went on. “He expected to go to school on a football scholarship, but that’s impossible now. The opportunity evaporated when he was injured in that football game last November.”

  “Yes,” Joanna said. She knew all about that, too. She had learned it the same way David O’Brien had-from reading Brianna’s journal.

  “Would you mind giving him a message from me?” David asked.

  Joanna nodded. “Certainly,” she replied. “What kind of message?”

  “Tell him I have some college monies set aside that I don’t want to see go to waste. Tell him my banker, Sandra Henning, will call him next week to set up an appointment. It’s a scholarship now,” O’Brien added. “Not a loan. And it’s not really from me, it’s from…” Choked with emotion he broke off without finishing.

  Looking at the man’s ravaged face, it was easy for Joanna to see what was going on. Faced with his own culpability, David O’Brien was trying to make amends-to Bree and to Nacio both.

  “It’s from Bree,” Joanna finished for him. “A scholarship from Bree.”

  “Come on,” Agnes Pratt interrupted, tapping Joanna on the shoulder. “It’s time to take our seats.”

  As soon as Joanna sat down, she was able to see Jenny and Butch sitting in the front row of the grandstand. They weren’t difficult to pick out since Jenny was standing on her feet, waving frantically. Joanna waved back at them-a tiny, discreet wave-letting them know she had seen them, too.

  A few minutes later, the crowd was asked to stand for the playing of “The Star-Spangled Banner.” As the organist from Bible Baptist Church struck up the first notes of the national anthem, Joanna glanced at David O’Brien’s face. He was sitting at attention with tears glistening on both haggard cheeks while his lips mouthed the familiar words:

  “Oh, say can you see, by the dawn’s early light…”

  As the music swelled and washed over the crowd, Joanna felt tears in her own eyes as well-tears in her eyes and goose-flesh on her arms and legs. That always happened to her when she heard those wonderfully stirring notes of music. On this occasion, though, it was different somehow. It was more than just the music. It was David O’Brien, too.

  Here was a man who had lost everything that mattered to him-lost it not once, but twice. And yet he had somehow found the courage to go on. He had figured out a way to turn his personal tragedy and culpability into something else-into something good for other people, for a townful of children who otherwise would have been disappointed by missing the magic of a Fourth of July fireworks celebration. Not only that, David O’Brien was also finding a way to break free of a life-long history of prejudice in order to reach out to someone else.

  Watching him sing, Joanna had no doubt that David O’Brien’s unexpected generosity in the face of his own loss would help a brokenhearted boy from Douglas fulfill his dream of becoming a doctor.

  Halfway through the song, Joanna reached into her pocket and let her fingers close tightly around the sturdy little velvet-covered box. Somehow, holding on to it helped her hold her own tears in check. For a while anyway. But by the time they reached “land of the free and the home of the brave” Joanna Brady just gave up and let herself
cry.

  Because she needed to. And because, for a change, crying felt good.

  About the Author

  J.A. Jance is the author of the J.P. Beaumont series, the Joanna Brady series, and two standalone thrillers. Born in South Dakota and brought up in Bisbee, Arizona, Jance lives with her husband in Seattle, Washington.

  ***

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