Edge Of Evil

by J. A. Jance

  “I see you’ve won her over,” Ali said.

  Chris grinned. “It was easy,” he said. “Grandma sent home some meatloaf, which I was willing to share. Where’ve you been?”

  “Cottonwood,” Ali said, sinking down on the couch beside him.

  “With Reenie’s parents?”

  Ali nodded.

  “I guess I’m glad I missed that one,” he said.

  “You haven’t exactly been doing light duty,” she said. “How are things with Grandpa and Grandma?”

  “Better,” he said. “Kip is a lot stronger than he looks, and he seems to know what he’s doing as far as looking after Gramps. We found Kip some clean clothes and secondhand shoes down at the clothes bank. By the time Grandma got back to the house, he had cleaned up and was looking almost civilized. I was afraid she’d raise hell about him being there, but she didn’t. She grumbled some, but that was about it.”

  “That’s just how they are,” Ali explained. “For some reason they have to act like they’re fighting about it even though Dad knows he needs the help and so does Mom.”

  “Weird,” Chris said. “Want something to eat?”

  “No,” she said. “Reenie’s folks had more than enough food. What time does your ride leave in the morning and where do you meet him?”

  “Noon, but Danny’s picking up someone else in Phoenix along the way, so he’ll come here to get me. Unless you’ve changed you mind and want me to stay longer.”

  “I haven’t changed my mind,” Ali said. “You’ve done more than your share. You need to get back to school.”

  Her computer was sitting on the coffee table with a business card on top of it. “What’s this?” she asked, leaning forward to check.

  “An alarm guy,” Chris said. “You didn’t call anybody, did you?”

  “I forgot,” she admitted.

  “Well, I didn’t. I called him myself and told him to get in touch with you next week to set up an appointment.”

  “Thanks,” Ali said.

  “By the way,” Chris said, “once I get back to LA, I’m going to move out of the pool house. I’m not going to stay there if you’re not there, not with the way Paul’s treating you. I’ve done some calling around and I’ve already found some guys who need a roommate for next quarter, but what are you going to do?”

  “I’m not sure,” Ali said. “I’ll help Mom and Dad for as long as they need me. After that? I really don’t know.”

  “Do you think you’ll stay here?”

  “Maybe,” she said. “Maybe not. Why?”

  “Because I’ve been doing some checking around here for teaching jobs,” Chris said. “There’s going to be an opening for a welding teacher at the high school next year. They’re always glad to have beginning teachers because they’re so cheap. And that would give me a chance to work on my sculptures in the evenings and on weekends. If I’m going to make it in the art world, Sedona is as good a place as any to break in, but—”

  Ali could barely contain her excitement. “That would be wonderful!” she exclaimed, leaning over to give him a quick kiss. “Have you told Grandma and Grandpa?”

  “Not yet,” Chris said. “I didn’t want to get them all wound up about it in case it didn’t happen. The problem is, I’ve been checking on apartments just in case, and they’re all so expensive, that I don’t see how I’d make it.”

  “Apartment?” Ali demanded. “Why would you need an apartment? If you need a place to stay, you can stay here. How’s that for a deal? If I’m not here, you can rent it for whatever you can afford. If I am here, we may end up being roommates.”

  “Sounds good to me,” Chris said, grinning. “As long as you don’t have too many loud parties and keep me from getting my beauty sleep.”

  As soon as Jay Leno came on, Chris wandered off to his bedroom. When he did, Ali put the business card to one side and opened her computer.

  * * *

  Dear Babe,

  How come it’s never the woman’s fault? Do you guys all hate men or what?

  Howard

  Hammond, Indiana

  * * *

  Dear Ali,

  Velma again. I just can’t bring myself to call you Babe. You’ll always be Alison Reynolds to me. Maybe that girl who bought your photo on e-Bay could send it in so you can post it. I still think you should have your picture here, no matter what that brat of a Melissa thinks. Don’t pay any attention to people like that. Sticks and stones, remember?

  Also, I’m still using my grandson’s computer—I’ve asked my daughter to get me one for my birthday next month—so I don’t get to check every day. Please don’t erase anything. For at least a week. That way I can go back and read what I missed.

  By the way. My husband was a very nice man. He never hit me or anything. He always brought home his paycheck. From what I see here, I guess I was very lucky. We got married when we were both nineteen. He’s been dead for eight years. I still miss him.

  VelmaT in Laguna

  PS I like having a pen name. I never had one of those before. And you can print what I write, but please check the spelling and punctuation. Will that make me a published author?

  * * *

  Dear Babe,

  Pleese do not post this. My name is Corine Witherspoon. My husband is Ben Witherspoon, but when he rites to you he calls himself Watching. He is a dangrous man. I was his penpal when he was in prison for atttempted murder. He told me he was framed, but now I think he reelly did do it. I am in a safe house now. And this is a new e-mail address that he doesn’t know. Thank you for warnning me. I think little Tony and I got out just in time. When I get a job, I will rite again and let you know how we are doing.

  Corine and Tony

  That one gave Ali goose bumps—twice over. For one thing she knew Corine and Tony were safe, but she knew Watching was really dangerous. She replied immediately.

  * * *

  Dear Corine,

  Thank you for writing. I’m so glad to know that you and Tony are safe. I was worried about you.

  Thank you, too, for warning me about your husband. Can you give me any information about him—about the kind of vehicle he might drive, where he lives, license plate number, that kind of thing? Having the information from you would be a big help as I work on figuring out how to deal with this. As you’ve probably noticed in the blog, I’ve put in a good deal of personal information. I’m afraid if your husband really does decide to come after me, he won’t have any trouble finding me.

  Sincerely,

  Alison Reynolds

  * * *

  Dear Ali,

  I’ve gone through Reenie’s backup files. There’s no sign there of any suicide note. None. I’ve also done my best to log on to Reenie’s e-mail account but without any luck. It’s possible she could have written it in there and printed it elsewhere.

  I had better luck when it comes to Jasmine Wright, and some of it is very interesting. She was supposed to teach an evening American History class that night, but she didn’t show up. I found that out from a friend who works in the NAU administration office. Jasmine lives with two other women down in Munds Park—which is very close to the turnoff to Schnebly Hill Road, by the way.

  I wasn’t able to get the exact address because they all get their mail at the post office, so tonight I did something I never thought I’d do. My friend told me which parking lot Jasmine uses. I waited there in the lot during her class. When she left, I followed her. Big surprise. She went straight to Howie Bernard’s house. I waited around for an hour or so, but she still hadn’t come out by the time I left.

  Two things. How come she has a key? And if Reenie’s parents were having a reception or something tonight down in Cottonwood, how come Howie wasn’t there?

  The YW’s day care will be open tomorrow morning, but they’re hoping to close early—at noon or so—so the teachers can come to Reenie’s funeral. I’ve decided I’m not coming in at all. See you in Cottonwood.

  Andrea

&nbs
p; * * *

  Dear Andrea,

  Good work on the address thing. And you’re right, Jasmine’s proximity to Schnebly Hill Road is very interesting.

  As far as Reenie’s e-mail account is concerned, I’ll forward the information to my son. Chris was a computer expert on the day he was born. He may be able to figure it out even if we can’t.

  Yes, see you at the funeral. Howie wasn’t at the Holzers’ place tonight for the very good reason that he wasn’t invited. It seems the word is out on Jasmine, and Reenie’s relatives are bent out of shape about it. I don’t blame them. I’m bent, too. The other night Jasmine had nerve enough to tell me she’d see me at the funeral. I can’t imagine she’ll actually show up.

  Ali

  Ali pulled the information from the Reenie file and sent it on to Chris. If he wasn’t studying, it would give him something to do the next morning while she was at the Sugarloaf and while he was waiting for his ride.

  * * *

  Dear Ali

  Going through Lisa’s stuff out in the garage made me very sad. One of the first things I found was a beautiful greeting card. The background is deep blue. The foreground is three lush pink begonias. There was no envelope so I don’t have an address, but here’s what the card said.

  Dear Lisa,

  Thank you for the information. I’m so sorry it didn’t work for you the way you hoped it would. Please keep in touch.

  Reenie

  When I saw the card, I started to cry, for both Lisa and for Reenie. I couldn’t help it.

  And then I found something else—a receipt for a cashiers check for $80,000 payable to Rodriguez Medical Center, Mazatlan, Mexico. I hope this information is helpful. In the meantime, now that I’ve started the job of sorting, I’m going to keep on. Thanks for getting me going. Otherwise the boxes would have sat here for years.

  Louise Malkin

  The sound of a bugle on-line told Ali she had an instant message from Chris.

  * * *

  Dear Mom,

  Reenie’s password is Samantha. Duh!

  Love,

  Chris

  Ali sent him an immediate thank-you. She was tempted to use it and log on right then, but she was tired. And she wanted to complete the next morning’s post before she went to bed, so she worked on that instead.

  cutlooseblog.com

  Friday, March 18, 2005

  According to some sources, bloggers supposedly sit around in their pajamas irresponsibly posting outrageous things on their computers. I strenuously object to the use of the word “irresponsibly.” And I’m not convinced that anything I’ve said is “outrageous” either, although some of my readers may disagree with that assessment. But the pajama part? Absolutely! No question. I’m wearing them right now.

  No matter how early I’m supposed to rise and shine, my interior body clock remains firmly stuck in the rhyme and rhythm of doing the late-night news. So even though I should have been in bed a long time ago, I’m not. Fatigue is going to set in big-time, probably right in the middle of the diner’s breakfast rush.

  I spent the evening with my dead friend’s parents and with her two kids. Her husband, the children’s father, was evidently preoccupied with other matters. He didn’t attend. There was lots of food. No, make that mounds of food—although no one seemed interested in eating much of it.

  While we all try to come to terms with having lost someone special from our lives, police agencies continue to investigate exactly what took her from us. And why. Most of the people who knew Reenie seem to have accepted the idea that she committed suicide in the face of her medical diagnosis. So far, I haven’t been able to do that. I still want to know what was going on in her life—and in her heart and mind—during her last few hours on earth. I don’t know why I want to know, but I do.

  And so, although I still can’t believe my friend is gone, today is her funeral. Don’t be surprised if I don’t post later today or maybe even tomorrow. I probably won’t feel like it.

  Posted 12:01 A.M. by Babe

  She was about to sign off when there was New Mail click. When she checked, she recognized Corine Witherspoon’s Hotmail address.

  * * *

  Dear Babe,

  Ben works construction. Mostly drywalling. He drives a green Datsun 710 station wagon with Texas plates. We were living in Lodi when I left, but we were behind in the rent on the apartment, so he probally isn’t there now. Take care.

  Corine

  Ali went to bed after reading the message. She didn’t go to sleep, at least not right away, and when she did finally slip into slumber, nightmares came hot and heavy. Someone was chasing her through the snowy woods, firing at her with a machine gun. As the bullets whined around her, Ali dove for cover. But the cover wasn’t there. She found herself tumbling and falling through the frigid air.

  Even though the house was toasty warm, she woke up shivering.

  Chapter 15

  There wasn’t enough time for the kind of makeup job needed to repair the ravages of Ali’s lack of sleep. Her mother was kind enough to point that out as soon as she stepped into the kitchen at the Sugarloaf Café.

  “What did you do last night, go out and tie one on?” Edie asked as Ali hurried into the locker room to collect that morning’s clean sweatshirt. “You look like death warmed over.”

  “Gee, thanks, Mom,” Ali returned. “You really know how to cheer a girl up.”

  “Well, you should be cheered, “Edie added. “I’m firing you.”

  “You’re what?”

  “Firing you. Laying you off. But not until nine o’clock or so. That’s when Susan’s due to show up.”

  “Who’s Susan?”

  “Jan’s cousin, Susan Lockner. From Glendale. The Glendale by Phoenix, not the one in California. She retired from working at Denny’s years ago, but Jan says she can still sling hash with the best of them. She and Jan talked it over last night and Susan’s agreed to come up and help us out for a while. For as long as it takes is what Jan said, which I take to mean until your father’s back on his feet. She’ll be staying at Jan’s place.”

  “Yup,” Jan said, appearing in the service window. “I’m looking forward to it. It’ll be like a perpetual sleepover. I’ll bet I can still whip her butt at canasta.”

  “But…” Ali began.

  “No buts,” Edie declared firmly. “Dad and I talked it over yesterday. We decided it’s not fair for us to impose our troubles on you any longer, especially since it’s all due to your father’s own foolishness.”

  “It’s not imposing,” Ali said, but Edie wasn’t listening.

  “And I’m sure you have plenty of other things to attend to,” she continued undeterred. “Now let’s get breakfast out the way. I have no idea when that consultant is going to show up, most likely right in the middle of some disaster or other.”

  As Ali headed for the dining room, she felt more than a little bereft. That was surprising since it was over losing a job she had never wanted in the first place.

  I’ll probably feel the same way when it’s time for Sam to go back to Flagstaff, she thought.

  At first Ali kept a wary eye on all the customers coming and going, paying close attention to each stranger who came through the door and wondering if this one or that one might turn out to be Ben Witherspoon. Eventually, though, things got too busy for her to continue paying that kind of attention. By the time Dave Holman showed up at his usual 8:30, Ali, suffering from lack of sleep, was ready to admit defeat. She found herself watching the clock in anticipation of Susan’s arrival.

  “Will I see you at the funeral today?” Dave asked as she poured his first cup of coffee.

  She nodded. “But not here anymore,” she added. “I’ve been told my services are no longer required. It turns out I’m being replaced by a food-service professional.”

  “Sorry to hear that,” Dave said. “I was just getting used to having you growl at me every morning. It was almost like being married again.”

&nb
sp; Ali was searching for an appropriately biting comeback when she saw the telltale twitch in the corners of his mouth and realized he was teasing her. “You should be so lucky,” she said.

  Susan Lockner showed up a few minutes later and a good fifteen minutes early. She marched straight into the kitchen and squeezed into the only 3X Sugarloaf sweatshirt to be had.

  “Time to stand down, honey,” she said, barreling up to Ali and bodily removing the coffeepot from her hand. “Reinforcements have arrived.”

  Ali obligingly walked around the counter and settled on the empty stool next to Dave.

  “Hey, Edie,” he called in the direction of the kitchen. “Since Ali’s no longer hired help, can I buy her breakfast?”

  “I wouldn’t if I were you,” Edie returned. “If her husband couldn’t afford her, I wouldn’t advise you to try it.”

  Ali blushed. She had done her best to keep her marital situation well under Sedona’s gossip radar. Obviously Edie Larson felt no such compunction.

  Dave looked at Ali in surprise. “Does that mean your marriage is on the rocks, too?” he asked.

  “Looks that way,” Ali said.

  “I’m sorry,” he said.

  “It could be worse,” Ali told him. “After all, I don’t have young kids to worry about the way some people do.”

  Dave nodded. “Lucky for you,” he said. “But still, if I had known, I wouldn’t have given you such a hard time.”

  “It’s okay,” Ali replied. “I can take the heat, but in compensation, I will let you buy me breakfast. Besides, I need to ask you a couple of questions.”

  “Order first,” he said. “Let’s see what this new girl can do.”

  The term girl didn’t exactly fit. After all, Susan was about as far into her seventies as Jan was. She was also pushing three hundred pounds, but once behind the counter, she knew exactly what to do, and she was more than capable of trading banter with the rowdy cable installers in the far corner booth.