by J. A. Jance
Hurrying up onto the porch, Ali reached past a tangle of crime scene tape and tried the front door. It was locked. Ali headed for the back of the house, wondering as she went if the alarm system had ever been reengaged. She tried the slider from the pool patio into the family room. No luck. That was locked, too. Finally she tried the door into the kitchen. The knob turned easily in her hand.
"I wondered how long it would take you to get here," April said.
Ali stopped just inside the door. April was across the room, seated on a chair at the kitchen table. A pistol Ali recognized as one of Paul's lay nearby on the tabletop, well within April's reach. Ali knew that had she come into the house with her own weapon drawn, they both might have died in a hail of gunfire.
"What's going on?" Ali demanded. "What have you done to my mother?"
"She kept trying to tell me what to do. I got sick of it. So I decided to show her a thing or two."
"My mother told you what to do so you're holding her prisoner in the basement? Are you nuts?"
"Maybe," April conceded. "Maybe a little."
Ali took a step into the room. As soon as she did, April picked up the gun and pointed it in Ali's direction. "Don't come any closer," she said. "Put your hands behind your head and stay where you are."
"Is my mother hurt?" Ali asked.
"I didn't hit her that hard," April said. "I was tired of listening to her. I just wanted her to shut up."
"I asked you if my mother's all right."
"She's still breathing, if that's what you want to know," April allowed. "I came upstairs to get more duct tape. When I went back down, I found her phone. I heard it ringing. Someone named Bobby calledwhoever that is."
Bobby was Robert Larson, Ali's father, although Edie hardly ever called her husband by that pet name to his face.
"And that's when I saw Edie had called you," April continued.
"You're right," Ali agreed. "She did call me, and I heard everything that was said between you, April. All of it. And when she mentioned being in a basement, I knew you had to be holding her here at the house. But why? What do you think you're doing? What's this all about? Whatever it is, we've got to put a stop to it."
"We?" April returned bitterly. "There you go doing the same thing your mother didordering me around, telling me what to do. Why does everyone think they can get away with that? It's been that way all my life. It's like people think that just because someone is pretty they're also stupid. I'm not, you know."
"What exactly did my mother tell you to do?" Ali asked.
"She told me to stop smokinglike I was in junior high. She sounded just like my mother. Exactly like my mother. It was like a flashback or something."
"So your mother was always ordering you around, too?" Ali asked the question more to sustain the conversation than anything else. She knew she needed to keep April talking while she figured out what to do next.
"Are you kidding?" April demanded. "Don't try to tell me you didn't notice. She was the worst one of alltalking to the lawyers, firing the cook and the gardener, acting like it was her house and her life instead of mine."
For the first time it occurred to Ali that April herself might have been responsible for her mother's fatal plunge down the stairs.
"Your mother was trying to look out for you," Ali said reasonably. "For you and your baby both."
"Screw the baby," April said. "I never even wanted a damned baby. I never should have told Paul about it in the first place. He's the one who talked me into keeping it. If it had been up to me, I would have had an abortion just like I did those other times. But as soon as Paul knew about it, he was wild to get married, have the baby and everything."
April's words hit Ali hard. She remembered that she and Paul had talked some about having kids shortly after they married, but Chris was already a teenager by then. Ali had been happy with the way her career was going. She hadn't wanted to start the motherhood program over again, especially knowing full well that no matter how much paid help she'd have had, most of the responsibility for the new arrival would fall to her. She had already raised one only child. She hadn't wanted to do that again, but she certainly hadn't wanted to have two more children, either. So she hadn't exactly said no to Paul, but she hadn't ever stopped taking her birth control pills, either. The upshot of that had been that Paul had resented Chrisresented everything about Chrisand had never really accepted him.
Once Ali had learned about April, she had moved out of the house. In the months since then, she had blamed Paul for everything that had been wrong with their marriage. Now, though, standing with her fingers locked around the back of her neck, facing her husband's armed mistress across an expanse of kitchen, Ali Reynolds came face-to-face with her own culpability. For the first time she had to admit that it had taken two people to destroy her marriagethree, counting April.
But that wasn't the real issue here. The real bottom line had to do with April and her gun. If she had gone totally off her rocker, was anyone going to come out of this confrontation alive?
"You killed your mother?" Ali asked.
"What if I did?" April replied. "It was an accident. We were arguing in the upstairs hallway. It got physical. I pushed her and down she went."
April's dispassionate confession was calm, conversational, and utterly chilling.
"But she was still alive when she landed," Ali argued. "She was still alive hours later when we found her. Why didn't you try to help her? Why didn't you call for an ambulance?"
"Because I didn't want to help her," April returned. "Because I was tired of having her scream at me. I just left her where she was and went shopping. I figured someone else would find her eventually, and I was right."
"My mother never screamed at you," Ali said.
"No," April agreed. "But every time I was around her, she kept telling me what I should and shouldn't be doing for the baby. Smoking is bad for the baby. Drinking is bad. Eating spicy food is bad. Coffee is bad. I'm sick and tired of the damned baby. She's not even born yet, and even Sonia Marie gets to tell me what to do."
She really is crazy, Ali thought. Totally nuts!
"How did my mother get here to the house?" Ali asked.
"She figured it out," April said.
"Figured what out?"
"About my mother. She came to my room after the interview while I was changing clothes. She saw the scratches on my arms and asked me about them, so I decided to get rid of her, too. And since she liked the baby so much, I used the baby against her. I came here to the house and then I called Edie. I told her where I was and that I needed her to come quick and pick me up because my contractions had started. Worked like a charm. She couldn't get here fast enough. She was surprised when I pulled the gun on her, though. I think she thought I was kidding. I wasn't."
So Edie's ability to see through people was what had gotten her in trouble.
"My arms are getting tired," Ali said. "My hands are going to sleep. Can I put them down now?"
"Stay on that side of the room then," April ordered. "Over against the sink. Don't come any closer."
"What about Paul?" Ali asked, changing the subject ever so slightly. "Did he ever tell you what to do?"
"Sort of," April admitted. "I didn't mind that much because he was nice about it, at least at first. It got worse after I moved in here. That's when I really noticed it. He started sounding more and more like my mother. He was closer to her age, you knowcloser to hers than he was to mine."
"You killed him, too, then?" Ali asked.
"Of course I didn't kill him," April said indignantly. "I keep telling you, I'm not stupid. Why would I kill Paul when we weren't married and he hadn't even signed his new will yet? That makes no sense."
"I thought you didn't know whether or not he had signed it."
"There are a lot of things I know that people don't think I know," April returned with a grim smile. "That's the one nice thing about people thinking I'm stupid. They always underestimate me."
&nb
sp; April had already nonchalantly admitted to one murder, and Ali knew she had most likely attempted another. Given that, when she denied having been involved in Paul Grayson's death, Ali had to concede there was a possibility April was telling the truth.
"So what are you going to do now?" Ali asked.
"What do you mean?"
"You've admitted to me that you killed your own mother. You've attacked mine, and you're holding her prisoner. You're holding me at gunpoint. How is this all going to end, April? Do you have a plan?"
"Not really," April said with a shrug of her shoulders. "After everything that's happened, I really don't care that much one way or the other."
To Ali's ear, that sounded very much like an implied suicide threat. Dealing with someone in that distraught state who was also armed with a lethal weapon was a very bad idea.
"What if I've called the cops?" Ali asked.
April shrugged again. "If you had, they'd be here by now."
"What if I've called someone else?"
"You're bluffing."
"Tell me about Tracy McLaughlin."
"What about him? He's a friend of mine and a lot closer to my age than anybody else around here."
"How good a friend?" Ali asked.
"That's what your mother wanted to know, too," April said bitterly. "She even asked me if Trace was the father of my baby. Of course he isn't. You think I'm dumb enough to try passing somebody else's baby off as Paul's? What if he'd asked for a paternity test? What do you think would have happened to me then? If the baby wasn't his, I would have been out in the cold, just like I am anyway. So what does it matter?"
"Look," Ali said, trying to sound reassuring. "Let's go down to the basement and check on my mother. Once I'm sure she's all right, we can work together to figure out what's best for you and for your baby."
"You still don't get it, do you?" April said. "It's over."
"What's over?"
"There's not going to be a baby. I'm going to end this whole thing today. Now. What kind of a life would Sonia Marie have with her father dead and me in prison? Even if the cops arrest Jesus Sanchez, sooner or later they're going to figure out what really happened, the same way your mother did. Then they'll come after me. What's the point?"
"You might be in prison, but the baby would be alive."
"Somehow I don't think that's much of a favor. I already told you, there isn't going to be a baby. Come to think of it, maybe I'll burn this house down while I'm at it. That would be pretty funny, wouldn't it? If you're gone and I'm gone and the baby's gone, who gets Paul's money then?" April's question trailed off in a mirthless giggle.
Before Ali could attempt an answer, her phone rang. She pulled it out of her pocket. A glance at the caller ID window told her it was Dave calling.
"It's my father," Ali said to April. "I need to take this call. Otherwise he might come here looking for me."
April nodded. "All right," she said. "Answer it."
Ali pressed the "talk" button.
"Hi, Dad," she said with forced cheerfulness. "How close are you?"
"Dad!" Dave repeated. "I'm not your father. It's Dave, for God's sake. Don't you ever check the caller ID before you answer? And what the hell do you mean, going over to the house all by yourself?"
"No," Ali said calmly, interrupting his angry outburst. "We still haven't found her. I called in a report to Missing Persons, but I haven't gone to the cops directly. If you want to, that's up to you."
"What's going on" Dave stopped abruptly, and then seemed to tumble. "I see," he said. "It's April, isn't it? I'm almost at the house now, just turning up the hill. I'll be there in a matter of minutes."
Somehow Dave Holman was managing to sort through what Ali was saying and arrive at what she needed him to hear. God bless this man! she thought.
"Yes, Dad," Ali said. "It's a very nice hotel. Don't worry. You'll be able to get something to eat. Even if the kitchen is closed when you get there, they have twenty-four-hour room service."
"The kitchen, then," Dave said. "You want me to come to the kitchen. Is she armed?"
"Absolutely," Ali answered. "We'll find her, Dad," she added less vehemently. "I know we will."
"When you see me, try to create a diversion. Or else I will."
"Okay, Pops," Ali said. "See you soon."
She ended the call.
"Turn the phone off and put it on the counter," April said. "You're not taking any more calls."
Ali put the phone down.
"Still," April added wistfully, "it must be nice having a whole family you can call on and have them come riding to the rescue at a moment's notice."
Ali was still standing just to the right of the door. The kitchen window was behind her. If Dave approached the kitchen from that direction, April would see him, and she'd have a shot at both of them. If Ali could manage to distance herself from the door, April's attention would be split.
"You do have that kind of family," Ali said. "You've had it all along. That's what my mother was trying to dohelp you. Your mother was doing the same thing. They were both trying to give you some hard-won advice to help you through this terrible time."
As she spoke, Ali moved past the sink, but April noticed.
"Where do you think you're going?" she demanded. "I told you to stay there."
Ali's heart pounded in her chest. Summoning as much nonchalance as she could muster, she reached up in the cupboard and took down a glass.
"I'm thirsty," Ali said. "I need a drink of water. Do you want some?"
April shook her head.
Taking that as permission, Ali proceeded over to the fridge, where she used the door dispenser to fill the glass with both ice and water. She was relieved to see that April's attention remained focused on her. Unfortunately, so did the gun. Ali's move to the fridge meant she was closer to the weapon now, as well. The barrel seemed immense. And it must have been heavy, too. April's hand seemed to tremble as she tried to hold it steady.
Ali took a deep breath. If she attempted to reason with April, what were the chances she'd simply provoke the disturbed woman that much more? And how much longer would it take for Dave to get here? And when all hell broke loose, where in this high-tech granite and stainless steel kitchen would she look for cover? Ali was far more accustomed to dealing with the world through words than she was with weapons.
"Please, April," she said. "This is pointless. Put the gun down."
As Ali had feared, April did the exact opposite. Rather than putting the pistol down, she raised it and pointed it toward herself. Out of the corner of her eye, Ali caught a hint of movement at the kitchen door. Dave was there. He had approached from the opposite side without passing the window and without being seen while April's life hung in the balance.
Dropping the glass, Ali sprang forward. She reached across the table and slammed one closed fist into April's wrist. At the same time she straight-armed April in the chest with her other arm. Caught off guard and off balance, April spilled backward. The gun exploded with a roar. So did one of the glass pendant light fixtures over the counter. April landed on her back with a grunt. The force of the fall was enough that the gun bounced out of her hand and went spinning across the floor, where it came to rest against the base of the dishwasher. While April struggled to right herself, Ali scrambled after the gun.
"Ali," Dave was shouting. "Are you okay? Did she get you?"
Holding the pistol in one hand and shaking her head, Ali struggled to her feet as Dave helped April to hers. April was crying. There was blood on her face from what looked like a series of jagged cuts, but not from a self-inflicted gunshot wound. That meant Ali's desperate measure had succeeded.
"Why didn't you just let me do it?" April demanded tearfully. "Why can't you people just leave me alone? Why don't you mind your own business?"
It was a moment or two before Ali could find her own voice. Trembling, she examined her body and was more than half surprised to find no gaping wounds.
"I'
m okay," she managed at last. "At least I think I am."
In the background now, she could hear the sound of approaching sirens. So Dave had called for backup. He just hadn't waited for reinforcements to arrive before coming to the door. For that Ali was incredibly grateful.
Without another word, Ali left April's gun on the counter and raced for the stairs that led to the basement. She dashed past Paul's loaded wine racks and through the media room. Just as she expected, she found Edie in the decommissioned saunaduct-taped to the slats of the wooden bench. Another piece of duct tape covered her mouth. Her eyes were wide open.
Cringing, Ali peeled the tape off her mother's mouth, removing a good deal of skin along with it.
"Are you all right?" Ali asked.
"Just let me at that little nutcase," Edie replied. "I'll tear her limb from limb. Did I hear gunshots?"
Ali nodded while she struggled to loosen Edie's other restraints, starting with her arms. "You did hear gunshots," Ali said. "One, at least. Fortunately she missed. Dave is upstairs with her, waiting for the cops to get here. If they're not here already, they will be any minute. Are you all right?"
"I'm more mad than hurt," Edie replied. "She gave me a good crack on the back of the head. I was out for a while, and my head hurts like crazy. What in the world is the matter with that girl?"
There was no way to answer that question.
As Ali worked to free her mother from her restraints, footsteps pounded across the kitchen and down the stairs. "Where are you?" Dave demanded.
"Down the hall," Ali called back. "In the sauna."
Dave's anxious face appeared in the doorway a moment later. "Is Edie here? Is she okay?"
With the last of the tape removed, Edie tried to get to her feet. She stood briefly, but even with Ali helping her, she swayed a little and sat back down abruptly. "I guess I'm still a little woozy," she said.
"An ambulance is already on the way," Dave said.
"What's going on upstairs?" Ali asked.
"When April saw the uniforms, she fought the cops tooth and nail, but they have her in custody now. They're putting her in a patrol car or an ambulance."