by J. A. Jance
Leaving the camera crew, McLaughlin hurried over to retrieve it. "Sorry about that," he said.
"This is Tracy," April said to Ali. To Tracy she added, "And this is Ali."
No last names were mentioned or seemed to be necessary.
"Glad to meet you," Ali said.
He nodded. "Same here."
Just then a sweet young thing, a Hispanic woman in a very short skirt and very high heels, came through the French doors from the living room. Ali recognized her as a former intern from the station, although she couldn't remember the name. She wore a lapel mic and was dressed in a business suitinterviewer rather than intern attire. Obviously her career had taken an upward swing since Ali had last seen her. As she headed for the camera crew, so did Tracy.
"Now, if you'll excuse me," he said. Grabbing his ball, he hurried after her, smoothing his unruly hair as he went. Something about seeing the woman seemed to penetrate April's fog and she suddenly realized that, of all the people on the terrace, she was the only one wearing a robe.
Abruptly, she pushed her chair away from the table. "I've got to go get dressed," she said.
Since no one had come to summon Ali, she stayed where she was. A few seconds later, Tracy McLaughlin, still holding his granite ball, and Sandy Quijadashe announced her name at the beginning of the interviewstepped in front of the camera for an old-fashioned stand-up.
"This is Tracy McLaughlin," Sandy said, smiling engagingly into the camera. "You're generally credited with inventing Sumo Sudoku. Do you mind telling us how that all came about?"
"Just because someone is strong doesn't mean he's stupid," Tracy told her. "It's one of the oldest cliches in the book. I mean, how many times have you heard the words dumb as an ox'? If you're a jock, people automatically assume you're also a dolt. Sumo Sudoku is a game that mixes brains and brawn."
"How?" Sandy asked.
Not exactly insightful, Ali thought.
"Sudoku is a game of logic," Tracy replied. "Regular sudoku is usually played with a paper and pencil. Or a pen if you're very good."
"Like a crossword puzzle," Sandy supplied.
"Right," Tracy said. "Only with numbers instead of words. It's done on a square layout of eighty-one squares arranged in a nine-by-nine matrix. Numbers from one to nine are placed in the squares so that all values occur without repetition in each horizontal line, in each vertical line, and in each of the nine three-by-three submatrices that fit within the nine-by-nine square."
Sandy frowned slightly, as though the word "submatrices" was leaving her in the dust. "So how is Sumo Sudoku different?"
Not a dumb blonde, Ali thought. But dumb nevertheless.
"For one thing, it's played outdoors," Tracy explained patiently. "Instead of using paper, we use grass or sand or even gravel. It has to be played on level ground so the numbers stay wherever they're placed. And instead of using a pencil to fill in the numbers, we use rocks like this." He hefted the granite ball into the air and held it up to the camera so that the sandblasted number 3 was showing.
"This is a number three rock. It weighs thirty pounds. The number one rocks weigh ten pounds. The number nine rocks weigh ninety pounds."
"That's a lot of rocks," Sandy marveled.
Tracy nodded. "It is," he agreed. "The total weight of the playing pieces is four thousand fifty pounds. Not exactly your grandfather's game of checkers."
"I'll say." Sandy beamed.
"So when we set up for a game, the grid is made up of individual squares that are two feet on each side, so a full layout is eighteen feet per side. As I said, the terrain should be flat enough to prevent placed markers from rolling on their own, but it may be flat or sloped, grassy or sandyslightly damp sand is better than dry. Like golf, you must play the terrain as well as the basic game."
"Here you're going to play on grass?" Sandy asked.
If Tracy McLaughlin had a sense of humor, it wasn't apparent in the dead seriousness of his responses. "That's right. The game is prepared by placing all the markers ten feet from the edge of the grid. The judges will place the starting pieces in position. They are marked with an International Orange adhesive tag and may not be moved for the duration of the round. The remainder of the pieces will remain untouched and on the sidelines until the starter's signal. Markers may be moved at will during the round, but doing so more than once will slow the competitor. Markers may be carried or rolled. Speed is essential. So is accuracy."
Listening to him drone on, outlining the rules, it occurred to Ali that she was listening to an engineer masquerading as a bodybuilder. Sandy's attention seemed to be wandering, too.
"So how will today's match work?"
"What's all this?" Victor Angeleri demanded. His sotto voce greeting to Ali provoked an angry frown and an exaggerated shushing motion from a woman on the sidelines with more tattoos and piercings than clothing.
Ali rose to her feet and hurried inside with her attorney on her heels. "Mr. McLaughlin is outlining the rules for Sumo Sudoku," she said, once in the living room. "It's supposed to be the next big thing."
Victor stopped and looked back out on the terrace. "Really? Next to what?"
"Beach volleyball, for all I know," Ali answered. "But from what I'm hearing, I'm guessing the world is safe from Sumo Sudoku. What about the will?"
"Les just got here," Victor told her. "It's time."
Victor ushered her into Paul's studywhat used to be Paul's study. An unfamiliar man was seated behind Paul's ultramodern mirrored glass and stainless steel desk. He rose when Ali entered the room. "Les Jordan," he said. "You must be Ms. Reynolds."
Ali nodded.
"Sorry to be meeting under such unfortunate circumstances."
Ali nodded again. She looked around. Usually there were only three extra chairs in the roomtwo captain's chairs and a leather sling-backed contraption that was supposedly ergonomically superior to any other chair in the house. It was also Ali's least favorite. Helga was seated next to the wall in that one. It would probably soon be Helga's least favorite as well since her feet barely touched the floor. But today, with four lawyers already present, three extra swivel chairs from the game table in the family room had been crammed into the study as well.
Ali took one of those while Victor and Ted Grantham settled into the two captain's chairs. "I expect Ms. Gaddis should be joining us any moment," Mr. Jordan said seriously. "If you don't mind waiting amp;"
It wasn't lost on Ali that, while they waited for April to put in her appearance, Ali was sitting in a roomful of attorneys, all of them chalking up billable hours at an astonishing rate.
And it's all Paul's fault, she thought. If he hadn't gone and gotten himself killed, if he'd tended to business, if he'd kept his pants zipped amp;
"Would you care for some coffee?" Mr. Jordan asked.
There was something about being in her former home and being offered coffee by a visitor, especially a visiting attorney, that rubbed Ali the wrong way. "No thanks," she said. "April and I had coffee together out on the terrace a few minutes ago."
It was worth the price of admissionwhatever that might beto see four attorneys watching her in drop-jawed amazement. Before any of them replied, however, two newcomers showed up in the library doorway. One was a relatively attractive woman of indeterminate age. Her face was a tight-skinned mask that spoke of too many dollars spent on a high-priced plastic surgeon. Ali recognized the typea Hollywood socialite wifeor more likely ex-wifewith more nerve than money. The bow tiewearing man at the woman's side was, Ali realized at once, yet another attorneymaking the grand total five in all. Five too many.
"Good morning, Mrs. Ragsdale," Les Jordan said smoothly, rising to his feet. "Come in, please. I didn't realize you would be here or that you'd be bringing someone with you. I'll send out for more chairs."
"We'll only need one," the woman said. "My daughter won't be attending this meeting after all. She's not feeling up to it."
"Well then," Les said, "with all due respect, you proba
bly shouldn't be here, either, Mrs. Ragsdale. Client confidentiality rules and all that."
Dismissing him with a look, Mrs. Ragsdale turned away from Les Jordan and addressed the other people in the room. "My name's Monique Ragsdale," she said. "April Gaddis is my daughter. And this," she added, indicating the man beside her, "is Harlan Anderson. I've retained him to be here on the baby's behalfon Sonia Marie's behalf. Regardless of whether or not we're dealing with an old will or a new one, Mr. Anderson and I are here to make sure that my granddaughter's interests are protected."
Leaving Harlan standing, she strode into the room, settled her designer-clad self into one of the game room chairs, crossed her long high-heeled legs, and then gave Les a cool appraisal. "Shall we get started then?" she asked.
Ali knew at once that Monique was one tough cookie. Short of someone bodily throwing her out of the room, she and her attorney weren't leaving.
Les looked questioningly at Ali. "By all means," Ali said. "Let's get on with it."
Les Jordan sighed. First he went around the room, making all the necessary introductions, saving Ali for last.
"I know who she is," Monique said shortly. "I've seen her before. On TV. Now tell us about the will."
"The truth is, a new will was prepared," Jordan continued. "It's been drawn up, but it was never signed. We expected to finalize this after the divorce hearing yesterday. Obviously that didn't happen, so the most recent last will and testament, the one that's still in effect, is the one that was drawn up eight years ago shortly after Paul's marriage to Ms. Reynolds here."
A file folder had been lying on the table in front of him. He opened it now and began to read. Ali only half listened. She was familiar with the provisions. Shortly after the wedding, she and Paul had signed similar documents. Ali had left behind a trust for Chris. Paul had named some charitable bequests. Other than those, they had left everything to each other. Ali remembered that they had signed the wills in some other attorney's office. At the time, it had seemed that Paul was going out of his way to protect Ali's interests. Now, though, under these changed circumstances, being Paul's sole beneficiary opened several cans of worms, not the least of which, Ali realized, would be Monique Ragsdale.
As Les Jordan read through the provisionsthe charitable bequests as well as the personal onesMonique became more and more agitated. The bottom line was clear. Ali Reynolds was still Paul Grayson's wife, and since much of what they owned was community property, it went to Ali.
"You mean to tell me that April and her baby get nothing?" Monique demanded. "How can that be? You drew up the new will. Why wasn't it signed?"
Les Jordan was exceedingly patient. "Paul and I had an appointment to sign the will yesterday afternoon after the divorce was final. He wanted to do it that way. Thought it would be cleaner somehow. We were scheduled to meet here at the house so he and April could both sign new documents. Obviously that didn't happen."
"I knew Paul Grayson," Monique declared. "He was an honorable man. I can't believe he meant to leave either his intended bride or his child unprovided for."
Honorable? Ali thought to herself. With Paul Grayson's legal widow sitting right there in the room and with his pregnant not-bride sitting somewhere upstairs, that seemed an odd thing to say. You could call Paul any number of things, but honorable certainly wasn't one of them.
"Intended and legally married are two different things," Jordan pointed out.
"But still," Monique continued. "The only thing that prevented him from marrying April was his tragic and untimely death. In fact, I happen to believe that's the whole reason he's dead. That whoever killed him did so just to make sure the marriage between my daughter and Paul Grayson never happened." The pointed look she cast in Ali's direction at the end of that little speech spoke volumes.
Ali's cheeks flushed. It was galling to have to sit in the room and have your husband's mistress's mother come right out and accuse you of murder. Ali was about to open her mouth to defend herself when Victor touched her arm. With a slight warning shake of his head he admonished her to keep quiet.
"We're all dealing with a good deal of emotional upheaval at the moment, Ms. Ragsdale," he said soothingly. "For right now, though, I think it would be best if we all refrained from tossing around unfounded allegations."
Les Jordan nodded in agreement. "Mr. Angeleri is right," he said. "We need to keep from being drawn into making any kind of accusations. As for the baby, there are laws on the books in the state of California that are specifically designed to deal with cases like thislaws that protect the interests of in utero or omitted offspring. No doubt some funds would be made available from the estate to support the child and monies held in trust until he or she"
"She," Monique supplied.
Jordan nodded. "Until she reaches her majority. Most likely a guardian ad litem would be appointed to protect the child's interests in the meantime."
"That's fine and good for the baby," Monique Ragsdale objected. "But what about my daughter? What happens to her? Does that mean she could be evicted and put out on the street?"
"No one here is suggesting any such thing, certainly not at this time," Les Jordan said. "But the truth is, as I told you earlier, your daughter is merely an intended wife as opposed to a wife in fact. Unless Mr. Grayson has made some kind of specific provisions for her, through the purchase of life insurance or something of that nature, I don't know of any legal remedies that would come into play that would allow your daughter to go against the will. That's not to say there aren't any, but none come readily to mind."
"What if you went ahead and finalized the divorce?" Monique's question was addressed to Ted Grantham.
"Excuse me?" he asked.
Monique was undaunted. "Harlan here has found a similar case in New Jersey where the divorce was finalized after the husband's death. That cleared the way for the property agreement to stand in court and made for simplified estate planning. The divorce also automatically negated the old will. In this case, that might work to Sonia's benefit."
"But not to mine," Ali said sharply.
"This isn't about you," Monique said firmly. "It's all about the baby."
"And what about me?" April asked. "Divorce or no, it sounds like I'm left with nothing."
Until April spoke, no one else gathered in the room had noticed her unannounced arrival. How long she had been outside the library door listening was anyone's guess. She clearly had changed her mind about going upstairs to dress since she stood in the doorway still wearing her nightgown and robe.
Monique leaped to her feet and hurried to her daughter. "You shouldn't be here," Monique said. "You should be upstairs resting."
"I don't need to rest," April protested. "I deserve to be part of this discussion. After all, it's my life, too. I need to know what's going on instead of the bunch of you talking about it behind my back. Besides, I already heard what he said. According to Paul's will everything goes to her." She nodded in Ali's direction. "It's so not fair. How can this be happening? It's like a nightmare or something. And where are all my friends? Who sent them away?"
"I did," Monique said. "And I'm sure others have called, but I sent them all to the answering service. And I posted a Do Not Disturb' sign out at the front door. I didn't want people bothering you at a time like this. And having too many people running around would just get in the way of the filming."
"But I need my friends," April returned. "I need the company more than I need the rest. You had no right to send my friends away."
All of which answered one of Ali's earlier questions as to the whereabouts of April's friends. And Ali noticed something else. Out on the terrace April had been grieving, but she had been a grieving grown-up. Now, with her mother in the room, April seemed to have reverted to some childhood script. She sounded even younger than she wasmore like a petulant, demanding teenager than an adult.
Ignoring her mother's advice, April made her way into the crowded room, where she sank into one of the swivel chairs.
Pulling the gaping robe more tightly around her, she stared at Ali. "You were nice to me before," she said flatly, "but I guess this means things have changed. When do I have to leave, before the baby's born or after?"
"No one has said a word about your having to leave," Ali said. "And certainly not right now. With a baby due in a matter of days, you need to stay where you are until the lawyers can help us get things sorted out."
"How long does sorting-out take?" April asked. "And what's there to sort?"
Since Les Jordan had been effectively chairing the meeting, Ali looked at him for guidance.
He shrugged. "Uncomplicated estates can be settled in a matter of months," he said. "Complicated ones can take much longer than that, especially if other matters ariselike needing to liquidate property, for example. And there are always other legal issues that can cause indefinite delays."
He didn't spell out exactly what kind of "legal issues" he meant, but Ali had a pretty clear idea he was thinking about criminal proceedings. She guessed that everyone else in the room, with the possible exception of April herself, was making a similar assumption. Ali might be Paul's widow and the major beneficiary of his will, but she also knew that she wouldn't be allowed to inherit a dime as long as she was considered a suspect in his death. Until she was cleared, settling the estate would be stuck in neutraland accumulating legal fees like crazy.
"What about the funeral?" April asked.
"What about it?"
"I'm twenty-five years old," April said. "I don't know anything about planning funerals." I didn't either, Ali thought, but I figured it out.
"You don't need to worry about any of that," Monique told her daughter. "I'll handle it all."
"No, you won't," April said. Her reply was forceful enough that it took everyone by surprise, most especially her mother. "Since I wasn't Paul's wife and since I'm not his widow, it isn't my place to handle it. And it isn't yours, either."