by J. A. Jance
Ali nodded. “Dave Holman is on his way, too.”
“I thought as much,” Leland said.
“Why are you doing this?” Arabella asked again.
Brooks turned to look at her. “I suppose you’ve heard of the straw that broke the camel’s back? In this case, we’re talking about a star.”
“A star?” Arabella asked.
“A Silver Star,” Brooks replied.
“Oh, that,” Arabella said.
Now it was Ali who thought they were speaking a foreign language. What Silver Star? she wondered.
“How do you suppose Mr. Ashcroft ended up with my Silver Star?” Brooks asked. “I used to keep it in my wallet back when I first started driving your mother back and forth to Paso Robles, and I never noticed when it disappeared. I thought it had just fallen out somewhere along the line, but you stole it from me, didn’t you?”
Shrugging, Arabella picked up her drink and took an unconcerned sip. While Ali watched, she slipped back into the bizarre game-playing persona she had exhibited on their long drive together.
“What if I did?” she asked coyly. Somehow, trapped in that seventy-year-old voice, Ali heard the sound of a terribly disturbed nine-year-old girl determined to have her own way. No matter what.
“Did you plant it in Mr. Ashcroft Junior’s car?” Brooks asked.
“Maybe I did,” Arabella said. “Maybe I was hoping if the cops came around asking questions, they’d find the star and think you and mother were responsible for what had happened to him. I mean, you were just Mother’s driver back then, but luckily no one ever asked any questions, either. Bill Junior was a drunk, he died, no big deal.”
“Until Billy started asking questions,” Brooks said.
“Yes. He finally had to clear out Bill Senior’s storage unit where Bill Junior’s personal effects from the crash scene had been kept. I’m sure he was looking for something else, but what he found was the star. He hadn’t quite put the whole story together, though,” Arabella added. “He thought the two of us were in on it as a team. I don’t think he had any idea I was capable of doing something that drastic completely on my own. He found out, though, didn’t he?”
The doorbell rang. Brooks glanced at his watch. “Good,” he said. “Right on time.”
“It’s the middle of the night,” Arabella muttered as Brooks went to answer the summons. “Who on earth could that be?”
A few moments later, Brooks escorted a newcomer into the room. Ali expected to see Dave Holman or one of the local Sedona uniforms. Instead, she saw a tall, sallow-faced stranger, carrying a briefcase of his own. Despite the lateness of the hour, he came dressed in a full suit and tie. His costume alone was enough for Ali to realize he had to be a lawyer.
“I’m not too late, am I?” the newcomer was asking.
“No, not at all,” Brooks assured him. “No one else is here yet, although the police have been summoned. They’ll be here momentarily.”
“Good.”
“What kind of strangers are you inviting in now?” Arabella wanted to know.
“Madam Ashcroft,” Brooks said. “This is Morgan Hatfield, your criminal defense attorney. He’s just now driven up from Phoenix.”
“Send him back,” Arabella insisted. “I already told you, I don’t need a defense attorney. I don’t want one.”
“But you do need one,” Brooks said. “And now you have one.”
“And since the police are no doubt on their way,” Hatfield said, “I should probably have a moment alone with my client.”
“Very well,” Brooks said. “Would you care for some coffee?”
“I’d like that very much, Mr. Brooks,” the attorney said. “It’s likely to be a very long night.”
The butler turned to Ali. “If you don’t mind, Ms. Reynolds, perhaps you would be so kind as to join me in the kitchen. I’ll bring your drink along.”
Not surprisingly, Dave Holman was the first to arrive. When the car came up the drive, Brooks hurried outside and brought Dave into the house through the garage.
“Goddamnit, Ali!” he exclaimed when he saw her. “When are you going to stop scaring me to death?” And then, without another word, he pulled her off her chair and gathered her into a smothering bear hug. Ali was surprised by how good it felt to have his arms around her and by how comfortable it was to lean into his shoulder.
“Is Friday the thirteenth over yet?” she asked.
Dave raised his hand behind her shoulder so he could get a look at his watch. “A long time ago,” he said.
“Great.”
In the meantime, Leland Brooks, the soul of discretion, busied himself at the counter, setting out cups, plates, and napkins. “How many officers do you think will be coming?” he asked.
“Several,” Dave said. “From several different jurisdictions.”
Brooks switched on the coffeepot and then turned to beam at them. “In that case,” he said, “I’ll make some more sandwiches. It’s a good thing I bought groceries tonight.”
The interviews with Ali were conducted in the kitchen while interviews with Arabella took place in the living room. A signed search warrant was produced. Brooks opened the trunk so they could retrieve Arabella’s computer. He also handed over a battered Hartmann briefcase.
Sometime after three, Ali saw a pair of uniformed officers lead a handcuffed Arabella outside and place her in the back of a waiting patrol car. As they held her head to keep her from bumping it, Dave Holman was there watching the procedure. So was Leland Brooks.
It’s probably the first time he’s ever watched her pull out of the driveway when he hasn’t held the door for her, Ali thought.
When Brooks returned to the kitchen a few minutes later, he kept his head averted and wiped at his eyes with the back of his sleeve. When he caught Ali watching him, he shrugged. “Time for a stiff upper lip,” he said.
A few minutes after that, Dave stuck his head in the door from the garage.
“Judge Macey is here,” he said. “He wants to know if the stuff that’s here in the garage is what you want loaded.”
“Yes, it is. Tell him I need to finish straightening up in here. I’ll be out to help him in a few minutes.”
“Don’t rush,” Dave said. “I can give him a hand.”
Brooks set off into the living room with a tray, gathering plates, napkins, cups, and saucers as he went. Ali followed him. When he came to the chair where he had deposited Arabella’s coat much earlier, he stopped and set down the tray. Then he picked up the coat and stood there for a long time, silently stroking the long, soft fur.
“You did the best you could for her,” Ali said.
Brooks shook his head. “I’m afraid my best wasn’t nearly good enough,” he said. “When Mrs. Ashcroft was dying, I told her—I promised her—that I’d see to it Miss Arabella was never locked up again. But you saw what just happened. They took her away in handcuffs. They’ve arrested her and are taking her to jail. One way or the other, she won’t be back. I’ve failed completely.”
“Arabella Ashcroft killed people,” Ali said. “She told me so herself. She’s a murderess, Mr. Brooks. You’ve looked after her for years. When you saw what was happening tonight, you made sure she had legal representation. What more could you have done?”
“I could have put her in the Rolls, turned on the engine, and locked her in the garage,” he said. “At least that way she wouldn’t be under arrest.”
“But you would be,” Ali said. “What good would that do? How many years of your life have you devoted to this woman, who deliberately tried to pin one of her own murders on you?”
Brooks sighed. “Too many to count,” he said.
“You’ve done enough for her,” Ali said. “Far more than most people would.”
“What I can’t understand is how she could be so devious,” he went on.
“Don’t be so hard on yourself,” Ali said. “It’s tough to deal with people who never tell the truth. I should know,” she added w
ryly. “I was married to one of them. Besides, it’s clear that Arabella is mentally ill.”
But Ali’s comment did nothing to dissuade Brooks from his barrage of self-recrimination. “I always prided myself in knowing exactly what she was up to,” he said. “But now it turns out I was wrong—completely wrong. The guns in particular, Ms. Reynolds. I have no idea how she gained access to the combination for the safe. I hold myself entirely responsible for that. And as for poor Mr. Ashcroft. I gave Miss Arabella her medication that night before I ever left for Prescott. She should have been asleep until morning.”
“I believe Arabella Ashcroft learned to fake taking her medications a very long time ago,” Ali said. “Long before you came into the picture.”
He nodded. “I suppose you’re right.”
Out of long habit, he smoothed the coat and returned it to the back of a chair while Ali picked up the tray and carried it into the kitchen. There was a dishwasher there, but it seemed to get little use. Brooks relieved her of the tray and then set about washing up the delicate bone china in a sink full of hot, soapy water.
“Where will you go?” Ali asked. “What will you do?”
“For the time being, I’ll probably live in an apartment in Prescott. I’ll need to stay around here long enough to handle the sale of the house. It’s a shame. It was state-of-the-art when Mrs. Ashcroft had it built, but it’ll probably end up being sold as a tear down. The real estate agent advised me to leave it furnished while it’s being shown, but once it’s sold I’ll need to dispose of the contents—the furniture and the artwork, and the vehicles, as well. Once that’s all handled, I’ll stay long enough to see what happens to Miss Arabella. After that, I may do some traveling. I haven’t been back home to England—to Dorset—in decades, not since Mrs. Ashcroft sent me there to school. I’m sure it’s changed quite a lot.”
“What about money?” Ali asked.
“Oh, I’m fine as far as money is concerned,” Brooks said reassuringly. “That won’t be a problem. Before Mrs. Ashcroft died, she set up an annuity for me—a generous annuity. And then there’s my social security. Living here, I’ve had almost no expenses through the years, and I’ve been able to put aside most of what I’ve had coming in. It’s built up into quite a sizable nest egg.”
“And what about this house,” Ali asked. “You’ve lived here a long time. Won’t you mind leaving it?”
Brooks pulled his hands out of the dishwater, dried them on a towel, and looked around the room with its antiquated cabinetry and appliances. “I don’t think so,” he said at last. “I’m getting on in years, and taking care of this house has been a lot of work.”
A man Ali had never seen before came in from the garage. The newcomer came over to the sink, stood beside Brooks, and put a comforting arm around the butler’s shoulder. “Hey, Lee,” he said. “How’s it going?”
“Not too well,” Leland Brooks said, with an audible catch in his throat. “Not well at all.”
Something about the familiarity of the gesture and the way the men stood side by side in front of the sink told Ali more than she would have thought possible. Without another word being exchanged, she understood that they were far more than friends and that they had been together for years.
It was the same way Edie Larson knew things about people. She knew, too, that in his moment of grief, Leland Brooks deserved some privacy.
“I believe I’ll go see what Dave is doing,” Ali said. With that she abandoned the kitchen in favor of the garage, leaving the two men alone in the kitchen, but as she closed the door behind her, it seemed unlikely that either of them would notice.
{ CHAPTER 20 }
The sun was high in the sky that morning when Ali awakened to the tantalizing smell of coffee and to the guilty knowledge that when Dave had finally brought her home from Arabella’s house, she had told him nothing about the Crystal video. It wasn’t as if there hadn’t been an opportunity. That would have been when he had walked Ali up to her door, but then other considerations had taken precedence.
“Sorry about Roxie,” Dave said. “I talked to Richey earlier. He told me Roxanne had stopped by to give you the third degree.”
“Crystal has her convinced that you and I have something going.”
“Don’t we?” Dave asked with a grin.
That was when Ali could have told him; should have told him, but she was too tired. “You tell me,” Ali returned.
And that was when, to Ali’s utter astonishment, Dave had leaned down and kissed her squarely on the lips. He kissed her as though he really meant it in a way that said Crystal and Roxie and even Edie Larson were absolutely right in their assumptions.
When Dave finally turned Ali loose, she had staggered into the house. She lay in bed for a while, wondering if the kiss had really happened or if, in a delirium of weariness, she had merely imagined it. Finally she fell asleep and slept without dreaming or moving. She knew about the latter because she had slept on one hand, which was now alive with needles and pins. Lying there waiting for the tingling to subside, she once again wondered about that phantom kiss. Was it real or had she made it up? And if she hadn’t made it up, what did it mean?
Once Ali’s hand was capable of movement, she put on her robe and headed into the living room, expecting to find Chris somewhere in the house. Instead, she was surprised to see an unfamiliar young woman seated on her couch with Sam draped contentedly in her lap.
“You must be Athena,” Ali said.
Athena Carlson was a diminutive blonde with blue eyes and a ready smile. Her shoulder-length hair was pulled back and held in place by a clipped comb. She wore a vivid red-and-white tracksuit and a pair of Velcroed tennis shoes. A metal rod peeked out from under the bottom of the right leg of the tracksuit. The end of a complicated plastic-and-metal device that functioned in place of her right hand and arm rested on the couch beside her. If Sam noticed the difference, it apparently didn’t bother her.
“Yes, I am,” Athena said. “And you must be Chris’s mom.” Athena made as if to rise and started to move the sleeping cat off her lap.
“Don’t get up,” Ali told her. “Stay where you are. Sam looks like she died and went to heaven.”
Athena settled back onto the couch. Sam opened her one good eye briefly, glanced around the room, and then closed it again and resumed her nap. Ali was impressed. Sam was notoriously picky—and spooky—when it came to visitors.
“I hope we didn’t wake you, Ms. Reynolds,” Athena continued nervously. “Edie called. She told Chris that she had set aside some sweet rolls for us and that he’d better come down and get them before she threw them out.”
If Ali’s mother was already being called Edie, if she was reserving some precious Saturday morning sweet rolls for them, and if Sam, who didn’t like anybody, had already surrendered unconditionally to Athena Carlson’s charms, then Ali was way behind the times. Not only had she missed dinner, she had missed a whole lot of other stuff, too.
The last of the hot water sizzled out of the reserve tank on the Krups coffeemaker, announcing that the brewing cycle was over.
“Coffee?” Ali asked.
“Please.”
“How do you take it?”
“Black.”
Good answers, Ali thought.
She brought the coffee and set one cup down on the end table next to Athena. “Call me Ali,” she said. “Everyone else does.”
“I’m glad to finally get a chance to meet you,” Athena said. “I was afraid Chris was going to keep me hidden under a rock forever.”
Ali would have preferred for Chris to be there running interference at this initial meeting, but he wasn’t, so they would have to make do on their own. “I’m glad to meet you, too,” she said. “I suppose after all this time you were expecting some kind of dragon lady?”
“No, not at all,” Athena said with a smile. “Chris kept telling me that you were a wonderful person and that he was sure we’d get along like gangbusters. And if you’re anythi
ng like your mother—who reminds me of my grandmother back in Bemidji, Minnesota, by the way—I’m sure that’s true. I had a great time with your parents last night.”
“I’m sorry I wasn’t there,” Ali said. “I planned to be there.”
“Well,” Athena said, “there’s nothing like having somebody hold a gun on you to change your mind.”
So the word is out, Ali thought.
Chris’s Prius pulled up outside and he bounded into the living room carrying a plate of sweet rolls in one hand. He stopped short when he saw his mother and then looked anxiously back and forth between the two women. “You two have already met?”
“Yes, we have,” Athena said. “And nothing bad happened. Worlds did not collide. Everything’s fine.”
Chris put the rolls on the counter, then came back to the couch, where he sat down next to Athena. Ali thought he still looked anxious, more so than introducing his mother to his girlfriend should have warranted.
“Did you tell her?” he asked Athena.
Athena shook her head. “Not yet. I didn’t think it was my place.”
Ali’s motherly antennae were already up and operating. Now they went on high alert. Tell me what? she wondered. What’s going on here? Are they pregnant? Is that what this is all about? Am I about to be the mother of the groom at a shotgun wedding?
“It’s about your computer,” Chris said.
Ali was so relieved, she almost laughed aloud. “My computer,” she repeated. “What about it?”
“When you didn’t show up at Grandma’s and Grandpa’s for dinner last night, we came back here looking for you. Later on in the evening when you still weren’t back, I started thinking about that stalker who came after you last year. I wondered if maybe there was something on your computer that would let us know what had happened or where you had gone. So I logged on to your computer and read your files.”
“Chris,” Ali said. “That’s no big deal. I don’t know why you’re so upset. It’s not like what I do on my computer is top secret or anything.”