J.A. Jance's Ali Reynolds Mysteries 3-Book Boxed Set, Volume 1: Web of Evil, Hand of Evil, Cruel Intent

by Jance, J. A.

  “A blow job. You know what that is, don’t you?”

  “Yes,” Ali replied grimly. “I do know what blow jobs are.” Why the hell do you?

  Crystal shrugged again. “So I gave him one. It wasn’t a big deal.”

  “You gave him a blow job for what, a Subway sandwich?”

  “No. KFC.”

  Ali could barely believe her ears, and she knew when or if Dave heard the full story, it would totally break his heart.

  “I suppose you know what that makes you then,” Ali said. “If you’re selling sex for money or food, you’re a prostitute.”

  “Blow jobs aren’t sex,” Crystal asserted. “That’s what the boys at school say—that you can save your virginity for marriage and still do blow jobs now. Just ‘friends with benefits.’ No problem.”

  For a moment, Ali was beyond speechless. When she was finally able to reply, she measured her words very carefully. “Some boys will say anything to get what they want out of a girl. But if I were a nice man looking for someone equally nice to marry, a blow-job virgin wouldn’t be first on my list.”

  Ali waited for Crystal’s response. When none was forthcoming, Ali glanced in her direction. The enveloping warmth of the vehicle must have affected Crystal because she had nodded off in mid-conversation. With her body sagging against the car door, she sat there with her eyes closed and her mouth slightly open, breathing deeply. Ali realized that she probably hadn’t even heard Ali’s parting remark.

  As Ali drove on through the cold winter night, her heart went out to Dave Holman. He has no idea what he’s up against.

  In the cold hard predawn darkness, a single vehicle, an SUV, slowed and then rolled to a stop in the middle of the Burro Creek Bridge on U.S. 60 north of Wickenburg. While the driver stayed behind the wheel, two people got out. For a few moments they milled indecisively around on the bridge deck. Finally they went to the rear of the vehicle and pulled something heavy from the luggage area.

  They carried it over to the guard rail, hoisted it, and then shoved it over the side, letting it plummet to the floor of the canyon, hundreds of feet below.

  The driver honked the horn impatiently. “Let’s go!” he yelled. “Somebody’s coming. We’ve got to get out of here.”

  By the time Ali drove back into Sedona, it was already after six. Ali started to drive straight home. Then, at the last minute, she pulled into the Sugarloaf parking lot instead. As soon as the car stopped, Crystal stirred, sat up, and looked around.

  “What are we doing here?” she asked sleepily.

  The tough-broad act seemed to be working, so Ali kept at it. “You said you were hungry earlier. I’m willing to buy you breakfast, but on one condition.”

  “What’s that?”

  “The people who own this place are my parents. They’re also friends of your father’s. So, when we walk in the front door, I want you to turn right just past the cash register, go straight into the restroom, and use soap and water to scrub that god-awful mess of makeup off your face.”

  For a moment it looked as though Crystal was getting ready to argue, but the air in the parking lot was heavy with the scent of Edie Larson’s freshly baked sweet rolls. Eventually they carried the day.

  “All right,” Crystal allowed gracelessly. “I’ll do it.”

  It was early yet. When they entered the Sugarloaf, only the corner booth was occupied, filled with a bunch of regulars, a crew of construction worker bees who had to be on shift by 7 A.M.

  As soon as Ali slipped onto one of the stools at the counter, Edie Larson came over, bringing an empty mug and a steaming pot of coffee. “If you’re not a sight for sore eyes,” she said, pouring Ali’s coffee. “An answer to a maiden’s prayer. And who in the world is that with you, the person who just disappeared into the restroom? She looked like something the cat dragged in—or maybe not even that good.”

  “That’s Crystal Holman,” Ali answered. “Dave Holman’s thirteen-year-old daughter. There was some kind of family altercation up in Vegas. Crystal came to see her dad. I picked her up over in Mund’s Park about an hour ago.”

  “A family altercation,” Edie repeated. “You mean she ran away from home?”

  Edie always seemed to be two steps ahead of everyone else in any given conversation.

  “More or less,” Ali answered. “She looked like the wrath of God. I sent her into the restroom to wash several layers of dead makeup off her face.”

  “Looked like someone beat her up, too,” Edie observed, then she examined her daughter. “You don’t look so hot yourself,” she added.

  “Gee, Mom, thanks,” Ali said. “But why am I the answer to a maiden’s prayers?”

  “It’s your father,” Edie said. “He left me a note. He was out half the night on some wild goose chase trying to locate that Bronco of his. I know it was after one before he ever got to bed, so when my alarm went off this morning, I turned his off. I thought it would be better for all concerned if he had a chance to sleep in. With me in the kitchen slinging hash, we’re going to be short-handed out front. I was wondering if you could pitch in for an hour or two—just until your dad wakes up and can drag his tail over here.”

  Ali, too, was dead on her feet and ready to be in bed. And this was part of the good news/bad news dynamics of being back home in Sedona—she was always close enough to be called on to help her parents in an emergency—if only for a couple of hours.

  “What do I do with Crystal?” Ali asked.

  “Does she know how to bus tables or wash dishes?” Edie asked.

  “I doubt it,” Ali said.

  “There’s no time like the present to learn,” Edie said. “You know where the sweatshirts are. Get one for you and one for her.”

  When Crystal emerged from the restroom, her face was scrubbed clean. Except for the still visible bruise on her cheek, she looked altogether better. By then Ali had donned a Sugarloaf Café signature sweatshirt and had another one lying on the counter.

  “What’s this?” Crystal asked, picking up the shirt as she slid onto her stool.

  “Your uniform,” Ali answered.

  “Uniform? What for?”

  “For working here,” Ali replied. “If you want breakfast, you’d better be prepared to bus tables and wash dishes.”

  “No way,” Crystal returned.

  “No work, then no breakfast,” Ali answered.

  “But I’m too young to work in a restaurant,” Crystal said.

  “You’re too young for hitchhiking and a lot of other things I could mention, but that didn’t stop you,” Ali replied. “Now, put on the sweatshirt.”

  Without another word, Crystal unfolded it and pulled it on over her head.

  “What do you want to eat?”

  “French toast. Bacon. And maybe one of the sweet rolls they have back there on the counter.”

  “She’ll have French toast, bacon, and a sweet roll, please,” Ali called to her mother, who had retreated to the kitchen to oversee the grill. Ali turned back to Crystal. “When you finish eating, please clear the dirty dishes off the counter and tables and put them in that plastic dishpan over there. Then please reset the tables with clean silverware and new place mats and napkins. When the dishpan is full, please take it back into the kitchen. My mother will show you how to run the dishwasher.”

  Several new customers and the Sugarloaf’s other morning waitress, Jan Howard, entered at once, all of them talking and laughing. Leaving Crystal to wait for her breakfast, Ali stood up, collected an order pad and a coffeepot, and headed off down the counter.

  In the next little while Crystal wolfed down an order of French toast and bacon, two sweet rolls, a glass of orange juice, and a glass of milk. Then, pushing her plate aside, she gave Ali a single questioning look before she, too, went to work.

  It turned out that, under Edie’s and Jan Howard’s tutelage, Crystal was a much quicker study than Ali would have anticipated. By the time Bob Larson turned up, a little before nine, she had learned to do a
credible job of busing tables and running the dishwasher back in the kitchen.

  As soon as Bob saw Ali working behind the counter, he came straight to her station. “What are you doing here?” he wanted to know.

  “Pinch-hitting for Mr. Lazy Bones,” Ali returned.

  Just then Crystal pushed through the swinging door from the kitchen and emerged carrying a tray loaded with clean glasses.

  “And who’s that?” Bob wanted to know, nodding in her direction.

  “You should probably ask Mom about her,” Ali suggested. “She can tell you the whole story.”

  “If she’s speaking to me, that is,” Bob said mournfully.

  “She turned off your alarm clock,” Ali said. “She fixed it so you could sleep in. If that isn’t love, I don’t know what is.”

  Without another word, Bob turned and headed for the kitchen. “Have you heard anything from Kip?” Ali asked after him.

  Bob stopped and shook his head. “Not a word,” he said, then disappeared through the swinging door. A few minutes later Edie emerged. She had shed her cooking apron and had changed into a clean sweatshirt of her own. “You two go on home now and get some sleep,” she said, collecting Ali’s order pad. “I’ll take over from here.”

  Shortly after that, Ali and Crystal headed out the door. Crystal was still wearing her uniform sweatshirt, a gift from Edie. As Ali climbed into the Cayenne, she felt as weary as she remembered feeling in years. Once they got to the house, Ali gave Crystal a stack of bedding and directed her to the sofa. Then she handed her one of Chris’s T-shirts to use as a nightshirt. Ali was in the bedroom pulling on her own nightgown when her cell phone rang.

  “I’m just coming into Flagstaff on I-40,” Dave said. “How are things?”

  “Well, I’m certainly glad to know you took my advice and slept overnight in Vegas,” Ali said. She walked over to the alarm key pad and turned it on. “Crystal and I just finished up helping out with breakfast at the Sugarloaf. Now we’re hoping to get some sleep.”

  “Crystal helped out at the restaurant?” Dave asked. “Are you kidding?”

  “You’d be surprised how far hunger goes in producing willing compliance,” Ali told him. “You can come by here a little later to pick her up, but give us a couple of hours before you do. Neither one of us has had much sleep.”

  “That makes three of us,” Dave said. “I’ll go home, then, too. Give me a call when you’re ready. That way you can wake me up instead of the other way around.”

  “How’s Roxie taking all this?”

  “Long story,” Dave said. “Let’s not go into it right now.”

  “Sounds good to me.”

  Ali was asleep as soon as her head hit the pillow. Sometime later a ringing telephone jarred her awake. “Ms. Reynolds?” a stranger asked.

  “Yes. Who is this?”

  “Your EMS operator. Your system is alarming. Could you please give me your password, and are you all right? Do you need us to summon some assistance? I see on my screen that someone has gained access to your home through the front door…”

  Ali reeled off her password and scrambled out of bed, pulling on her robe as she went. She hurried out into the living room. Crystal’s blankets and pillow lay abandoned on the sofa. Her clothes and shoes were nowhere to be seen. Obviously Crystal had taken off on her own. Where the hell had she gone?

  “It wasn’t someone coming in,” Ali told the operator. “It was someone going out—a guest going out who had no idea that opening the door would set off the alarm.”

  “You’re all right then?”

  “I’m fine,” Ali said. Fine but pissed!

  “You’ll key in the end-alarm code then?”

  “Yes,” Ali said. “Yes, I will.” And she did. Then she threw on a tracksuit and a pair of tennies and raced outside to the Cayenne. She caught up with Crystal halfway down the hill and pulled up beside her. Seeing Crystal in one of Chris’s ski jackets didn’t improve Ali’s frame of mind.

  “There’s nothing like being an ungrateful pain in the ass,” Ali told her. “Just where do you think you’re going?”

  “To see my friends,” Crystal returned.

  “It’s a school day,” Ali said. “Your friends are all in school. At least they should be.” And you should be, too, Ali thought. “Get in.”

  “I’ll walk over and see my dad then,” Crystal said. Defiance seemed to be the order of the day.

  “Not in my son’s ski jacket, you won’t,” Ali said. “Now, either get in the car or I call the cops and have you arrested for petty theft.”

  “You wouldn’t,” Crystal said.

  “Yes, I would,” Ali told her. “I don’t know what makes you think people don’t mean what they say. Do you see the phone in my hand? Do you see me dialing nine-one-one?”

  Crystal favored Ali with a long stare. Finally, with a disparaging shake of her head, she flounced around the front bumper to the Cayenne’s passenger side door and climbed in.

  “Take off the jacket,” Ali said, once Crystal was inside.

  “Why should I?”

  “Because I told you to.”

  “But it’s cold,” Crystal objected.

  “Too bad,” Ali returned.

  Crystal removed the jacket and then flung it into the backseat. “Besides,” she added. “I was just borrowing it. It wasn’t really stealing.”

  “You didn’t have my son’s permission to take it,” Ali pointed out. “That makes it stealing the same way taking food or money for sex—even sex you don’t think is sex—is called prostitution.”

  When Ali glanced in Crystal’s direction again, she noticed that for the first time the girl’s tough-as-nails demeanor seemed to have crumpled a little.

  “Don’t tell my father I took it,” she whimpered suddenly as tears sprang to her eyes. “Please don’t tell him about the other, either—about, you know, the hitchhiking.”

  Ali knew full well that Crystal’s running away had been a cry for help. Something was definitely wrong in this young woman’s life. But Ali also knew that she was dealing with a master manipulator, and she had no intention of being routed by this sudden case of deliberately staged waterworks. She didn’t relish having to tell Dave what his darling daughter had been doing, but someone was going to have to tell him—and Ali’s first choice for that job was Crystal herself. Things were never going to get better for Crystal unless she accepted some responsibility for her own actions.

  “If you don’t want me to tell him, then you’d better,” Ali said.

  “I can’t,” Crystal said softly.

  “Why not?”

  “Because when he finds out what I’ve done, he’ll probably kill me.”

  “And most of the parents I know wouldn’t blame him if he did,” Ali returned. “Seat belt,” she added.

  This time Crystal fastened hers without a murmur of objection, so maybe they were making progress. “Where are we going?” she asked.

  “Where you said you wanted to go,” Ali countered. “To see your father.” And they headed into town.

  Forced to move out of his house in the aftermath of his divorce, Dave Holman had taken up residence in the basement apartment of an old house on Sky Mountain. His landlady, a well-to-do widow with a penchant for traveling, was happy to have a dependable tenant to look after the place while she was off on one of her year’s several cruises or staying for months at her flat in London. Dave, on the other hand, was glad to rent from someone who was seldom around and who gave him very little grief.

  Pulling up the steep driveway with its tricky turnaround, Ali was reminded of Arabella’s place. This house was comparable to the Ashcroft’s in size and elevation but the view from that one was three hundred and sixty degrees. This one, built into the hillside, was only one-eighty and looked off to the east.

  When Ali stopped the car, Crystal reached for the door handle. “Are you coming in?” she asked.

  “Not right now,” Ali said. “Please tell your dad what’s going
on. He’s a good man, Crystal, and he needs to know. Let him help you.”

  Crystal nodded. “Okay,” she said.

  Dave must have heard them drive up. The door to his downstairs apartment swung open and he came striding through it, walking with a cell phone pressed to his ear. As Crystal exited the car, Ali saw a storm of warring expressions distort Dave’s handsome face. He was at once furious and grateful; angry and concerned. As he hurried forward to gather his daughter into his arms, gratitude won the day.

  “Thank you,” he mouthed silently to Ali over the top of Crystal’s head.

  Ali nodded.

  “Will you come in?” he asked aloud.

  “No, thanks,” Ali said. “I’m sure you two have a lot to talk about. I’d just be in the way. I’ll leave you to it.”

  Good luck, she thought. You’re going to need it.

  { CHAPTER 7 }

  Having had her whole day blown out of the water, Ali was eager to get back home. She had yet to make any of the cancer treatment calls she’d promised to make on Velma’s behalf, and she had yet to touch Arabella Ashcroft’s diary.

  With Crystal safely in her father’s keeping, a relieved Ali turned around and drove back down the mountain. It was early afternoon and almost time for the Sugarloaf to close for the day. Still as she started to drive past the restaurant, she was surprised to see several more vehicles in the parking lot than should have been there at that time of day, including a City of Sedona police car. Knowing that there was little love lost between her father and the local constabulary, Ali made a U-turn and then went back to the parking lot, where she pulled in beside the patrol car.

  The CLOSED sign was in the window, but the door was unlocked. Ali let herself inside. Her father was seated in the corner booth along with two uniformed City of Sedona police officers. One of the officers was new to Ali. The other one, Kenny Harmon, she did know. As a rookie patrol officer, Kenny had given Bob Larson his one and only speeding ticket—for doing forty in a thirty-five. Kenny’s presence accounted in large measure for the thunderous look on Ali’s father’s face. The fourth person in the booth was a woman. Her back was turned to Ali, but she seemed to be doing most of the talking.