Alison Reynolds 01 - Edge Of Evil (v5.0)

by J. A. Jance

  I miss seeing you on the news, but I think you’re doing good work.

  Randy

  * * *

  Dear Ali,

  Why are some people so mean? They need to get a life.

  Donna

  * * *

  Dear Babe,

  From what you’ve said, it sounds as though you’ve never experienced domestic violence. Lucky for you. I have, and I really related to what’s going on with Watching’s wife. I spent eighteen years in an abusive relationship. My husband was a physician. He didn’t beat me up physically, but he did mentally. He told everyone in town that I was a mental case and he told me that if I ever tried to leave, he’d kill me in a way that no one would ever detect. I’m thinking now of your friend’s suicide. He also said that if I ever did get away, he’d track me to the ends of the earth and put me out of my misery.

  My husband was an influential person in town—you’ll notice I’m not saying which one. He made sure I didn’t have money of my own and no credit cards, either. I wanted to leave, but I didn’t know how. Then I heard about an organization called Angel Flight. Most of the time, they fly patients back and forth across long distances for chemo or dialysis treatments. But now they’ve started doing domestic violence escape flights as well.

  Two years ago next month, I walked out of my house with nothing but the clothes on my back. A friend gave me a ride to the airport. A private plane met me there and away I went. If I’d had to pay for a ticket, I couldn’t have afforded one, and since there were no tickets to buy, there were also no credit card receipts that he could use to find me.

  I live somewhere else now. People here helped me establish a new identity. Starting over isn’t easy. I’m waiting tables now, too, and I’m glad to do it. At least I’m safe. At least I’m alive. My parents and my sister know I made it out, but they don’t know where I am because I’m afraid my ex-husband might browbeat or threaten them into revealing my location. I love them and miss them, but for right now this is what I have to do for me. I’m better off safe and alone than dead.

  I’m unwilling to come out of hiding. For that reason alone, I haven’t divorced my husband and, as far as I know, he has yet to divorce me.

  I pray that Watching’s wife and baby stay safe. Unfortunately, due to liability issues, the organization that helped me is reluctant to be involved in situations that involve minor children. And I’m praying that you’ll be safe as well.

  Noname, notown, nostate.

  While she was posting that one, Ali had reason to be grateful. Noname was right. Ali had never had to deal with domestic violence on a personal basis. She had money, credit cards (at least they were still working as far as she knew), food to eat, a place to live, and friends and family who loved her. Compared to Noname, Alison Reynolds was very, very lucky.

  * * *

  Dear Ali,

  I bought your autographed photo from e-Bay for $4.67. I thought you’d want to know.

  Your fan,

  Sylvia

  Her landline rang while she was posting the e-Bay message. The caller was none other than Paul, and he was furious.

  “Did Helga tell you to do that?” he demanded. “Is that what this is all about?”

  “I don’t know what ‘this’ you mean,” Ali returned.

  “I mean pretending to wait tables at your folks’s place in Sedona. What’s that all about, looking for a sympathy vote? Poor Ali Reynolds. Lost her job at the news desk and now things are so bad that she’s had to revert to her old standby, waiting tables. Except I happen to know you’re still on the station’s payroll at the moment even if you’re not on the air.”

  “I’m not pretending,” Ali returned, keeping her voice level. “Dad got hurt. I’m helping out.”

  “Yeah, right,” Paul returned. “And you just happened to call up Lauren Masefield at the LA Times to give her the word along with what she assures me is a real cool picture.”

  Ali knew Lauren Masefield. She wrote a weekly gossip column covering local TV issues and detailing the comings and goings and detox adventures of various LA-area television personalities.

  “What picture?” Ali asked.

  “The one that’s going to be in the paper in the morning. I understand it’s a fetching one of you in all your Sugarloaf Café glory, packing around a couple of platters loaded with food. Lauren tells me the resolution’s not too hot, but that’s what you get for having whoever took the picture use a cell phone camera instead of a regular one.”

  That’s when Ali remembered the latte guy in the designer sweats, the one who had recognized her, the one she had made fun of for the benefit of the locals. She remembered, too, that he had been carrying a cell phone. Now it seemed he had managed to get even with her. Worst of all, Ali knew she deserved it.

  “I know who took the picture,” she said coldly. “Believe me, he’s no friend of mine.”

  “Whatever,” Paul said. “It doesn’t matter. The only reason I know about it in advance is that Lauren called me to see if I had a comment. I didn’t. Not for her, but I have one for you. Playing the ‘poor me’ publicity card isn’t going to carry any weight at all when it comes time to hammer out a property settlement.”

  “Wait a minute,” she said. “What I’m doing has zero to do with you and nothing to do with a property settlement. It’s about family, Paul, something you wouldn’t recognize if it smacked you over the head.”

  In that moment, with Paul’s rant ringing in Ali’s ears, he sounded like a total stranger. It was difficult for her to grasp that she had been married to the man for seven years. Ali’s mother was right. She had put herself in emotional neutral and had coasted. Now that her gears were fully engaged, it was time to fight back.

  “And another thing,” she added. “When we last spoke, it was all ‘Honey Bunny this and that’ and you were trying to talk me into coming back to you and telling me that we could work things out. Now you’re talking property settlement?”

  “That was before I knew you were going ahead with this boneheaded lawsuit,” he said. “I won’t be manipulated,” Paul declared.

  “Neither will I,” Ali returned. “And incidently, you are being manipulated. Just not by me. So if you have anything more to say to me, I suggest you do it through my attorney. I’m sure you can find Helga easily enough. I would imagine her number is in the book.”

  Ali hung up the phone. Once her hands quit shaking, she went back to the computer.

  * * *

  Dear Babe,

  Since I don’t really know you, it feels weird to address you that way, but here goes. I, too, have recently been diagnosed with ALS. I’ve heard from several people about some new treatment program available in Mexico. Do you know anything about it? It seems to cost a lot of money. Does it work? Is it worth it?

  Don Trilby

  St Louis, MO

  She wrote back to him immediately.

  * * *

  Dear Don,

  I’m sure you’re still reeling from your diagnosis. Learning you have ALS is a terrible blow for both you and your family. I’m in the process of trying to find out more about ALS treatment protocols that may be available in Mexico and not in the US. The one I’ve heard about requires an up-front commitment of $80,000 and may or may not offer any real or lasting benefits.

  As I said, I’m attempting to investigate these treatment claims in order to learn whether or not they’re bogus. If you were to send me whatever information you’ve gathered, I would be most grateful. In the meantime, you may want to contact Dr. Clyde Mason, a neurologist at the Mayo Clinic in Scottsdale, Arizona. His contact information is pasted below. I believe Dr. Mason is familiar with some of the Mexico-based treatment programs, and he would most likely be able to give you far better advice than I would be able to.

  My very best to you and to your family in this difficult time.

  Babe

  Out of respect for Don’s privacy, she posted neither his note to her nor her response. Now she posted a
new comment of her own.

  cutlooseblog.com

  Thursday, March 17, 2005

  I know that this blog has surfaced in ALS circles. I’m only just now beginning to understand all the heartbreaking ramifications of this dreadful disease—something many of you learned a long time ago.

  I have reason to believe that my friend Reenie, who died last week, was considering participating in an experimental protocol of some kind, a Mexico-based ALS course of treatment that has yet to be tested or approved for use in the United States.

  There are lots of people in this world who choose to prey on the unfortunate. They have no scruples about making dishonest claims to desperate people in search of answers. I’m worried that the treatment Reenie was considering—one that required an initial “investment” of $80,000—may be one of those bogus schemes, something created expressly to bilk money out of people who can ill afford to lose it.

  My intention is to turn my training as an investigative journalist to this situation and see what I can do to ascertain whether or not the proposed treatment is legitimate. If it were found to be so, I would be among the first to shout its praises from the rooftops. If it’s a fraud, I want to help put it out of business once and for all.

  So if you know about this—if you’ve heard of or participated in something that sounds like the program Reenie was being encouraged to join—please let me know. You can write to me in confidence through the blog. If you don’t want your comments publicly posted, all you have to do is say so. But I want to find out the truth about this. It no longer matters for Reenie because she’s gone, but it matters to the rest of you, and if Reenie were alive, I’m sure this is exactly what she’d want me to do.

  Posted 5:03 P.M., March 17, 2005 by Babe

  Realizing it was almost time to head for the Holzers’ gathering in Cottonwood, Ali closed her computer. As soon as she did, it beeped to say it was shutting down. Samantha immediately stirred from her sleep, got up, leaped off the couch, and headed for the kitchen. Despite all the turmoil in both their lives, Samantha was evidently learning to make sense of her changed circumstances.

  “Is that a subtle hint that it’s dinnertime?” Ali asked with a laugh. “And who says old humans can’t learn new tricks?”

  Chapter 14

  The sun was just going down when Ali pulled up to Ed and Diane Holzer’s place on their ranch outside Cottonwood. When she had stayed overnight with Reenie as a girl, the house had seemed incredibly spacious and luxurious besides. And compared to her parents’ apartment behind the Sugarloaf it was. After living in Paul’s Robert Lane mansion, the Holzers’ house seemed to have shrunk.

  The driveway was full of cars. As soon as Ali got out of the car, Matt and Julie came racing out of the house to meet her. “Do you know how come our dad isn’t coming?” Matt demanded.

  Ali was taken aback. “He isn’t?” she asked.

  “Grandma says Daddy’s too busy,” Julie put in. “I think he’s too sad, and I don’t blame him. Aunt Bree said to tell you to come on in. Dinner’s ready.”

  Julie waltzed off in the direction of the house. Matt stayed with Ali. Of the two of them, Julie seemed in far better shape. Maybe she was too young to fully comprehend all that had happened. Matt, on the other hand, seemed to understand too much.

  “I think he doesn’t care about us anymore,” he said bitterly, once his sister was out of hearing range. “I think he sent us here to get rid of us. He has a girlfriend, you know.”

  Shocked, Ali wasn’t sure how to respond. “Who told you that?” she asked finally.

  “Nobody,” Matt said with a hopeless little shrug. “I’m not stupid, you know. Her name’s Jasmine. She’d come to the house sometimes when Mom was at work or when she was out of town. I caught her kissing Dad in the living room once. I saw them. They didn’t see me. Is that why Mom did it, do you think? Is that why she committed suicide, because of her?”

  “I have no idea,” Ali said.

  That was the best she could do. She certainly was in no position to mention her own doubts about the official suicide call. Besides, if Reenie hadn’t committed suicide, and Howie and Jasmine somehow ended up being implicated in her death, how much worse would that make things for the two children?

  “Dad says she left us a note,” Matt continued. “But why would she do that? Why would she leave just one? Wouldn’t she leave a note for him and one for Julie and one for me?”

  It was back to the note again. Everybody seemed to have a differing opinion about Reenie’s note—opinions with no real answers.

  “That’s how it seems to me, too,” Ali said after a pause.

  The back door opened and Bree Cowan walked toward them. Before his aunt could reach them, Matt abruptly changed the subject. “How’s Sam doing?” he asked.

  “She’s fine,” Ali said. “But I think she misses you.”

  “I miss her, too,” he said. For the first time, his eyes misted over, and he moved away, drifting off toward the house before Bree had a chance to speak to him.

  “He’s taking this very hard,” Bree said, watching him go. “But then, we all are.”

  Looking at Reenie’s sister, Ali wondered if Bree knew about Howie’s ongoing affair with Jasmine Wright. There was no way to tell, and for the moment Ali decided to follow Matt’s lead and say nothing.

  “Come on,” Bree said with forced cheerfulness. “Let me take you inside and introduce you to some of these people.”

  Throughout the evening it was clear that Bree and her good-looking husband, Jack Cowan, were in charge. They managed guests, food, and drink with the casual ease of people accustomed to doing a good deal of entertaining. Their efforts left Ed and Diane Holzer free to visit with people who had traveled long distances to comfort them. Watching the family dynamics at work, Ali couldn’t help being grateful that with Reenie gone, her parents still had Bree and her husband to lean on during troubled times.

  Much later, as things started to wind down, Ali noticed Ed Holzer sitting off by himself looking haggard and spent. She went over to him and sat down on a nearby footstool.

  “How’re you doing?” she asked.

  “Not so hot,” he said.

  “I noticed Howie didn’t show up,” Ali said. “How come? The kids were upset that he wasn’t here.”

  “Because I called him up and told him he wasn’t welcome,” Ed said shortly “For Diane and the kids’ sake, I’ll do my best to tolerate him at the funeral tomorrow, but I just couldn’t face having him here tonight.” Ed shook his head.

  Ali gave Ed an appraising glance. “So you know about the girlfriend?” she asked.

  He nodded miserably.

  “Does Diane?”

  “I haven’t told her,” Ed said. “But probably. It seems like everybody else does.”

  “Including Matt,” Ali said.

  “Damn!” Ed muttered.

  It was the first bad word Ali had ever heard the man say, but she knew he meant it.

  “She was dying,” he added. “It was only a matter of time. Couldn’t he have had the decency to wait?”

  “Did Reenie know what was going on?” Ali asked.

  “About him fooling around? I’m not sure,” Ed replied. “Maybe, maybe not. If she did, she wouldn’t have mentioned it to us. Wouldn’t have wanted to worry us.” He swiped at his eyes with the sleeve of his shirt. From across the room, Diane seemed to key in on his distress. Under her questioning look, Ed forced himself to sit up straighter and pull himself together.

  “I’ve heard something about Reenie maybe wanting to be involved in some experimental treatment.”

  “I know she had been looking into several different things, even before she got the final diagnosis. Some of them were expensive, but I told her not to worry about that. If it came down to a matter of money, she could always come to Diane and me.”

  “Did she tell you anything about the various treatments?”

  “Not really. She said she’d heard about an interesting o
ne down in Mexico, but she was having a hard time getting enough information on it because everyone who signed up for it had to sign a confidentiality agreement.”

  “So she didn’t mention who was sponsoring it or what kind of institution was behind it?”

  Ed shook his head. “No. I don’t think she knew. She might have found out more after she talked to me. But she did say that, regardless of what course of treatment she chose, and no matter whether or not it helped her, she’d do it anyway, just in hopes of helping the people who came after her. That was Reenie, of course,” he added sadly. “Stubborn as all-get-out, but a do-gooder to the end, always looking out for the other guy. But that’s why this whole thing is such a shock to her mother and me. First she says she’s going to stand and fight. The next thing we know, she’s gone and driven herself off the edge of a cliff.”

  Bree came across the room then, settled onto the couch next to her father, and rested her head on Ed’s shoulder.

  “How’s it going?” she asked. “You look tired.”

  It had always been apparent that Ed Holzer, for some unknown reason, had preferred his younger daughter, Bree, to Reenie. His unabashed and inexplicable favoritism had been part of the family dynamic for as long as Ali had known the Holzers, and it had always been a source of conflict between the two daughters. Ali had long suspected that it had been one of the underlying reasons behind Reenie’s getting involved with a bad boy named Sam Turpin during her senior year and her elopement only days after high school graduation.

  Reenie had been smart enough, but she had delayed her entry into college until after the end of her first marriage. Bree, on the other hand, had gone straight from high school to college and, with no detours, had completed her MBA by the time she was twenty-six. She had started out working in her father’s bank. When he sold out, she had gone to work for his fledgling property management company and had been there ever since. Now, as a full partner and in the face of Ed’s declining health, she appeared to be running the show—the business end of things as well as taking charge of the evening’s gathering.