by Jance, J. A.
The person on the other end of the line did some talking, and Dave’s face took on a distinctly reddish hue.
“Mrs. Helwig, please slow down. Are you telling me Mr. Morrison is dead?” Even across the table, Ali could hear snippets of a woman’s voice—an almost hysterical woman—talking at warp speed.
“When?” Dave asked at last. “And how did it happen?” Finally, he added, “Can you tell me who’s doing the investigating?”
Holding his phone between his chin and his shoulder, Dave dragged a tattered notebook out of his shirt pocket and began scribbling in it. “Yes, I have it,” he said. “Detective O’Brien with the Scottsdale Police Department. And what’s that address again?”
Seconds later, when Dave closed both his phone and his notebook, he looked at Ali and shook his head. “So much for my potential witness,” he said. “Matthew Morrison is dead. Sometime overnight he drove his vehicle into his garage, closed the door, and left the motor running. His wife found his body this morning. Just before I called the office looking for him, she had phoned to let them know that he wouldn’t be coming in ever again.”
As he spoke, Dave was already dialing the next number. “Someone else will have to go to Prescott to pick up that search warrant,” he said into his phone. “I’m on my way to Phoenix. Scottsdale, actually. It seems our possible witness or suspect in the Morgan Forester homicide offed himself overnight. Well, so far it seems like suicide, anyway. Right. It’s probably a good thing for Bryan Forester that we’ve still got him under lock and key. Otherwise he might be declared a suspect in a second homicide.”
There was another long pause. “No!” he exclaimed. “You can’t be serious. They’re actually thinking about cutting him loose? Who came up with that lamebrained idea? All right, then, if they do let Forester out, I want someone on his tail every step of the way. I want to know where he goes and who he talks to. I also want you to amend that warrant request to include his telephone records. If there’s any kind of connection between him and the guy who’s dead down in Phoenix, I want to know about it. He may have been able to do a clean sweep of his computer, but his phone records won’t be as easy to destroy.”
Dave hung up and took one last slug of coffee. Between phone calls, he had eaten very little. Leaving most of his food, he slapped a twenty-dollar bill down on the table. “Tell your mom to keep the change,” he said. “I’ve gotta go.” With that, he dashed out the door.
Edie came back over to the table after he left. “Sorry about the Thanksgiving thing. I really stepped in it. Is that why Dave went racing out of here like that, or was there something wrong with the food?”
“The food was fine,” Ali said. “And there’s no problem about Thanksgiving. Dave’s on his way to Phoenix. Something happened to one of his potential witnesses.”
“I wonder if they’ve had any luck in finding Morgan’s ring,” Edie said.
“What ring?” Ali asked. “What are you talking about?”
“Morgan’s wedding ring,” Edie answered. “And the three-carat diamond engagement ring that was with it. I heard they’re both missing.”
“They weren’t found on the body?”
Edie shook her head. “Nope. One of the cops was asking Cindy Martin about them last night. Cindy always did Morgan’s nails, and the cops wanted to know if Morgan was wearing her rings the last time she came into the salon—which she was, by the way. Cindy said she never went anywhere without them.”
“So people are thinking that the killer stole her rings?”
Edie shrugged. “Cindy says she’s heard that Bryan is really hard up for cash right now.”
“So now she’s suggesting that Bryan made off with his wife’s rings in hopes of what—pawning them and realizing some quick cash?”
“It’s just a theory,” Edie said. “People are entitled to their opinions.”
“And I’m entitled to mine!” Ali returned. “What else are people saying?”
“There’s evidently some talk about possible drug use. I guess there was a puncture wound of some kind found on the body. The cops asked Cindy if Morgan Forester ever used drugs of any kind. Cindy said that if that had been the case, she for sure would have known about it.”
Did she know about Singleatheart? Ali wondered. If she had, she would have spilled her guts about that, too. Remind me never to set foot in Cindy Martin’s salon.
“Look, Mom,” she said. “I don’t think we should be discussing any of this.”
“Why not?”
“For one thing, these sound like confidential details of a homicide investigation.”
“But Cindy—”
“Cindy talks too much,” Ali declared.
As Edie went to deliver coffee to another table, Ali was left thinking about the series of ha-has that had been written over every one of Bryan Forester’s computer files. If Bryan wasn’t responsible for destroying his own computer files, who was? Someone who had no idea Bryan had backups. Ali was equally sure Dave was right about one thing—the culprit, whoever it was, had something to hide. And that was when it came to her for the very first time that there might be some connection between the guy who had infiltrated Ali’s computer and Morgan Forester’s killer.
Maybe what Ali and B. had been dealing with was something far more deadly than a simple identity thief. Lost in thought, Ali removed Bryan’s thumb drive from her computer. She needed to warn B. about that, and much as she had wanted to avoid doing so, she also knew that she would have to ask him for help with the possibly contaminated thumb drives.
Ali glanced at the clock on the far wall. She had spoken to B. on the phone under three hours earlier, and he’d been on his way to bed, but the urgency of the situation meant she needed to talk to him sooner than later. When she called, though, his line went straight to voice mail, so she left a message. When her cell phone rang a few minutes later, she more than half expected to hear B.’s voice on the line. She didn’t.
“This is Haley Marsh’s grandmother,” Nelda Harris said. “Is this Ms. Reynolds?”
“Yes, it’s Ali. What’s going on?”
“I’m sorry to bother you so early in the morning, but I need your help.”
“Why?” Ali asked. “What’s wrong?”
“It’s Haley. I told her about our conversation when I got home from work last night. I wanted her to reconsider turning down your scholarship offer. She was very upset with me. She claimed I had no right to go behind her back and talk to you. We had a terrible fight about it. This morning she’s shut herself up in her room with the baby and is refusing to come out, refusing to go to school. What if she drops out completely, Ms. Reynolds? What will happen to her then? In all the years we’ve been together, we’ve never had this kind of difficulty. I can’t imagine what’s gotten into her. I’m at my wits’ end.”
“Do you think my talking to her directly would do any good?” Ali asked.
“I don’t know,” Nelda said. “Maybe. Right now she won’t listen to a word I have to say. Like I said, she won’t even come out of her room.”
Ali finished putting away her computer. “All right, then, Mrs. Harris. If you think I can be of assistance, I’ll come right over. I’ll be there as soon as I can.”
“Thank you so much.”
Halfway between Sedona and Cottonwood, Ali’s phone rang again. This time, when she answered, the caller was Leland Brooks.
“Do you remember hearing anything about a tile delivery scheduled for today?” he asked.
Ali didn’t. What she did remember was spending what had seemed like weeks of her life narrowing her choices down to the particular kind of Italian limestone tile that was to be laid in all three baths.
“What about it?” Ali asked.
“A driver from Contract Transportation just called here looking for Mr. Forester. He’s bringing a load of tile up from Phoenix and is on his way to Manzanita Hills. He says he can’t unload it without having someone on hand to sign for the delivery. He’s currently un
able to locate Mr. Forester.”
“Because Mr. Forester happens to be in jail at the moment,” Ali supplied.
“Yes,” Leland agreed. “I thought it best not to mention that. The driver told me that since your name is on the invoice, along with Mr. Forester’s, you can okay the delivery in his stead.”
“I can,” Ali agreed. “Unfortunately, I’m halfway to Cottonwood right now. What about you? Could you sign for it for me?”
“If that’s what you’d like, I’ll be happy to do so,” Leland said. “But I’ll have to drop off the carpet shampooer first. It’s due back before nine. The carpet is quite damp at the moment, so it’s just as well that I’ll be out of the house for a while. That’ll give it a chance to dry a bit. Is there anything else you need me to do?”
“Not right this minute, but I’ll need your help this afternoon. We should probably both plan on being back at Manzanita Hills later on today. Detective Holman told me that someone from the sheriff’s department will be executing a search warrant there, looking for incriminating evidence they believe Bryan Forester may have hidden somewhere on the property. We’ll need to be there to let them in.”
“Very well,” Leland said. “I have all the keys. I’m more than happy to handle that for you as well.”
“Thank you,” Ali said. She was incredibly grateful to have the unflappable Mr. Brooks backstopping her every move. “Depending on what happens in Cottonwood, I should be back in plenty of time for the search warrant.”
A few minutes later, when Ali stopped in front of Nelda Harris’s duplex, the woman herself hurtled through the front door and came rushing to meet her.
“We’re not having a good morning,” she said, gripping Ali’s hand. “Not at all. Thank you so much for coming.”
“Where is she?”
As Nelda led the way into the house, Ali’s ears were assaulted by the sound of wailing. Liam was clearly unhappy. “They’re both still in her room,” Nelda said, pointing toward a closed door. “She won’t come out.”
Ali went over to the door and tapped on it. When nothing happened, she tapped louder. “Haley?” she said. “It’s Ali Reynolds. I’m here with your grandmother. We need to talk.”
“Go away,” Haley said, raising her voice to be heard over Liam’s screeching. “I don’t want to see you, and I don’t want to talk.”
“What’s wrong with Liam?” Ali asked. “He sounds upset. Is he all right?”
“He’s tired. He needs a nap. He didn’t sleep last night, and neither did I. Now go away and leave us alone.”
Ali felt her heart constrict. She remembered those early years when Chris had been little and when everything to do with him had fallen on her shoulders. She’d had some help from babysitters during the day, but she also recalled those long sleepless nights when Chris had cried for hours on end and hadn’t cared at all that his weary mother needed to stagger off the next day to school where she’d had to fight to stay awake during class.
“Please come out, Haley,” Ali pleaded. “Let’s all talk about this. Your grandmother is here to help you, and so am I.”
There was a pause filled only by Liam’s plaintive wailing. At last the bedroom door inched open to reveal Haley standing there in a pair of sweats with her sobbing child perched on one hip. Without a word to Ali or her grandmother, Haley marched into the kitchen, filled a sippy cup with milk, and then went over to the couch. When she sat down, Liam reached for the cup.
“Help me with what?” Haley demanded as Liam settled back against her. “With him? Have a ball. Welcome to my stupid life. And you think we should talk? What’s there to discuss? I thought the two of you had it all figured out, that you’d decided everything about my future without bothering to consult me.”
As Liam drank from the cup, a sudden silence filled the room. He hiccupped a little and then handed the cup back to his mother. Exhausted, he leaned against her and stared up at her chin. Within a matter of moments, he fell fast asleep.
“Great!” Haley exclaimed. “Maybe I can sleep now, too.” She slammed the still-full cup down on the end table beside her, whacking the cup hard enough that a few drops of milk spurted out, but the noise wasn’t loud enough to disturb the sleeping baby. Without a word, Nelda picked up the cup and put it in the fridge, then went back over to the table and sponged up the spilled milk.
“So talk,” Haley muttered defiantly, staring at Ali. “Isn’t that what you came here to do—to tell me what a terrible mother I am and order me around?”
“I didn’t come here to tell you anything,” Ali said. “I came here to help. And believe me, I know how hard it is to think about going to school when you’ve been up all night with a fussy little one.”
“Sure you do,” Haley retorted. “Other kids get to go to football games and basketball games and dances. I get to come home, do homework, and take care of Liam. That’s it.”
“Once you go to work, it’ll be the same thing,” Ali pointed out. “You’ll go to work. You’ll come home. You’ll take care of your baby. How will that be different from what you’re doing now? And how would it be different if you were going to school instead of going to work?”
“I wouldn’t have to do homework, for one thing,” Haley said. “And I wouldn’t have to put up with all the other kids at school. You don’t have any idea what it’s like. Neither does Grandma. School is hell. The kids treat me like I’m some kind of freak because I have a baby. They’re all busy talking about what it’ll be like when they go off to school—what school it’ll be, what dorm they’ll live in, what clothes they’ll take along, who their roommates will be, stuff like that. As far as I know, none of the schools have dorms for girls with babies.”
That one exchange was enough for Ali to get it. Haley Marsh’s disinclination to go on to school or accept the scholarship had far less to do with ability or ambition than it did with her having been treated as a social outcast in high school. She had claimed she wanted to stop going to school and to get a job in order to give her grandmother a break. Maybe that was partially true, but it wasn’t the whole story. Haley wanted to give herself a break as well.
Meanwhile, Haley turned away and ducked her head, letting a screen of long blond hair obscure her face. Ali wondered what else the girl was hiding.
“High school is hell,” Ali agreed quietly. “There’s nothing as mean as high school girls when they turn on someone who doesn’t fit in.”
Ali paused, waiting for Haley to respond. She didn’t. Instead, she ducked her head even lower, but Ali caught sight of the single tear that rolled down Haley’s cheek and dripped onto her shirt. Ali saw it; Nelda didn’t. And in that moment, Ali understood something else about Haley Marsh. During the last two years, she had somehow managed to conceal her desperate social status from her caring and loving grandmother.
“The kids at school treat you like crap?” Ali asked.
Haley looked up and met Ali’s gaze. “Pretty much,” she admitted.
“College is different,” Ali said. “For one thing, not everyone is the same age. It’s a bigger pond with a lot more fish, so it doesn’t matter so much if you don’t fit in with one group, because there are plenty of others. And some of the people you meet there will already have kids. I did.”
“But you were married, weren’t you?” Haley asked. “That’s a lot different.”
“Not as different as you might think,” Ali told her. “By the time my son was born, my husband had been dead for two months. He died of a brain tumor. Admittedly, I wasn’t a freshman at the time. I already had my B.A. and was working on my master’s, but still, going to school and looking after a baby was desperately hard. Going to high school with a baby must have been awful, and going to college would be tough. I won’t try to pretend otherwise.”
Haley nodded. “But at least you had a husband,” she said wistfully. “You weren’t doing it all alone.”
“You’re not alone, either,” Ali pointed out. “You have a grandmother who would do a
nything for you and has been doing it all along. You also have your son. Regardless of how Liam came into being, you chose to have him, didn’t you?”
There was a pause before Haley nodded.
“You could have had an abortion,” Ali added. “Under similar circumstances, I think many people would have, but you didn’t. Why not?”
“Because I don’t believe in abortion,” Haley said quietly. “It’s against my religion.”
“You also could have given him up for adoption,” Ali suggested. “But you didn’t do that, either, and why not? Because no matter what, he’s your baby, and you love him, all of which means that you really are a good mother.”
Haley ducked her head again, and another tear dribbled onto her shirt.
“But part of being a good mother is being good to yourself, Haley,” Ali continued. “I didn’t come here today to tell you what to do about going on to school or to beg you to accept a scholarship you don’t want, but I did come to tell you something important. Your grandmother came to me to see me yesterday for one reason and one reason only. She loves you. She wants you to have a chance to live up to your potential. And why does she want you to do that? Because she wants you to give your son a better life than her daughter—your mother—gave you. By being good to you, your grandmother is being good to herself.”
“You know about all that, then?” Haley asked. “About my mother? Grandma told you about what happened?”
“Yes,” Ali said with a nod. “She did. She also told me that you have Liam because you chose to have Liam. Having him and keeping him were the only possible decisions open to you, but you need to remember that was a choice, Haley, a conscious choice made by you and nobody else. I’d like you to feel empowered by that decision instead of feeling trapped by it. I don’t give a rat’s ass what the girls at Mingus Mountain think about you. What’s important is what you think about yourself.”
“But you still want me to go to college.”
“No one is telling you to do anything, but I am asking that you think about it—that you think about the kind of life you want to live with that little boy of yours. And when you make up your mind, let me know.”