by J. A. Jance
“I’m sure you’ve had your hands full, what with the SEC coming in and pushing people around,” Jessica said, seeming to get hold of herself. “I had been trying to get hold of Dan for hours. When I started hearing rumors about the double homicide up here, something made me think that Dan might have been involved, and I had to know what really happened. I tried calling the police department, but they wouldn’t tell me anything. ‘Pending notification of next of kin’ is what they said.”
“They didn’t tell me anything, either,” Haley said, “at least not officially, but it’s true all the same. I saw the cops carrying bodies out of the house.”
“You saw it? You were there?”
“I was across the street.”
“When will they release the names—officially, I mean? As far as I know, Dan and Millie didn’t have any next of kin.”
“Some cousins, I believe,” Haley answered, “and maybe an aunt or uncle or two back home in Missouri where Millie’s family came from originally, but no kids. No grandkids.”
“Would you care to stay for dinner?” Gram asked suddenly, inserting herself into the conversation. “It won’t be anything fancy—a reheated mac and cheese casserole and salad is all, but on a day like this, it’s easy to run out of fuel. You’re welcome to join us.”
“Are you sure you wouldn’t mind?” Jessica asked. “I don’t want to intrude.”
As much as Haley wanted to dislike Jessica Denton on sight—as much as she wanted to send her packing, she couldn’t bring herself to do so. Jessica was far too distraught to go driving anywhere by herself right then. She seemed to be almost as grief-stricken by what had happened as Haley herself was. In the end, Haley’s innate sense of kindness won out.
“Of course we don’t mind,” Haley said. “Gram is right. We’ve both had a terrible shock today, and we need to eat. All I’m going to do is heat up the casserole and make some salad.”
“Can I help?”
“The kitchen’s too small for two people,” Haley said. “If you’d like to, why don’t you go freshen up while I put the food on the table.”
“That’s probably a good idea,” Jessica said with a nod. “I’ve been crying my eyes out for hours on end. I’m sure I look a fright.”
Mentally Haley took exception to that. There was no way someone like Jessica Denton could ever look bad.
“The bathroom’s down the hall on the left,” Haley said. “Help yourself.”
19
As Ali pulled in to the garage, the aroma of meat loaf and freshly baked bread wafted through the air. Entering the kitchen, she saw Leland, knife in hand, at the cutting board working on salad makings while Bella scampered around them in ecstatic, welcoming circles while the tags on her collar jingled like so many tiny bells.
“The table’s set,” Leland announced, “and there’s plenty of meat loaf to go around.”
“I’m not hungry,” Bob muttered as Ali bent to greet the dog.
“You will be,” Ali promised, leading her father toward the guest suite. “First off, I want you out of that jumpsuit. While you’re taking a hot shower, I’ll find a robe for you to wear until B. and Mom get here with some clean clothes.”
Bob was already in the shower when she returned with a robe. Tossing it onto her dressing table chair, she and Bella returned to the library. Ali hadn’t wanted a dog, but the little waif—found abandoned in a casino parking lot—had, in a matter of months, wormed her way into both B.’s and Ali’s hearts. Now, seeming to sense Ali’s disquiet, the dog asked to be picked up and then settled, contentedly, on the chair next to her. Sitting there, stroking the dog’s smooth fur, Ali tried to prepare herself for dealing with her mother. As distraught as her father was, Ali feared her mother would be even more so.
When B. drove up, he stopped in the front driveway rather than pulling in to the garage. Bella leaped off the chair and raced to the front door, barking a full-scale alert. By the time Ali opened the door, Edie Larson stood on the front porch, carrying a loaded clothes hanger as well as a paper grocery bag that also contained items of clothing. One look at her mother’s face told Ali that rather than being distraught, Edie Larson was downright furious.
“Robert Larson has been in the police station all afternoon and no one bothered to pick up the phone and let me know?” she demanded. “What in the world were those people thinking? What were you thinking? Obviously you found out a lot sooner than I did. You should have called me. Immediately!”
Ali agreed that her mother had a point. Still, recalling the way her father had looked as he shuffled out into the lobby, Ali didn’t second-guess her decision. Seeing her father like that had been hard enough on her. It would have been devastating for her mother.
“Sorry, Mom,” she said, leading her mother inside and back toward the cozy library at the end of the house. “I wanted to have some real information from Dash Summers before we notified you.”
“Dash Summers, the attorney?” Edie repeated, stopping in midstride. “This is unbelievable. You saw fit to call Dash Summers about all this but not me? How could you? I’m Bobby’s wife, after all.”
“I didn’t call him, B. did,” Ali answered. “Dash met up with us at the police department. Once inside, Dash went back to the interview room to find out what was going on. My plan was to wait until we had solid news before I called you. When Dash and Dad came out, he swore B. and me to secrecy, insisting that he wanted to tell you about all this himself rather than having anyone else do it. Dad and I came straight here while B. went to get you.”
“Well, I’m here now,” Edie railed, “and thanks to B. I still don’t know one single thing. He’s been acting like he’s operating under some kind of court-ordered gag order.”
“He is,” Ali said. “We both are because that’s the way Dad wants it.”
Clearly offended and still holding on to her load of clothing, Edie plopped into the love seat. “Does that mean you’re not going to tell me anything, either?”
“That’s right,” Ali answered. “I’m not. Come on, now. Let me help you with all that stuff.”
Rather than handing over her load of clothing, Edie held on to it for dear life, hugging it to her chest. “I’m perfectly capable of carrying my husband’s clothing, thank you very much,” she said. “Now, where is he?”
“In the guest room, taking a shower and cleaning up.”
“I’ll clean him up, all right,” Edie declared determinedly. “I’ll also give him a piece of my mind!”
Ali knew that right then Bob Larson would need the full armor of God to deal with his outraged spouse.
“Please, Mom,” Ali said, once more reaching for the clothing. “At least give him a chance to be dressed in his own clothes before he sees you. Right now he’s most likely wearing one of B.’s robes, which will be a foot too long at the hem and six inches too short around the middle.”
B. approached from behind, interrupting a blazing mother/daughter stare-down. “That’s right, Edie,” he said, gently removing the clothing from her hands and passing them over to Ali. “Why don’t you and I wait here while Ali takes Bob his clothes. In the meantime, I’ll ask Leland to bring us some tea.”
“This is utterly ridiculous,” Edie huffed. “I’ve been married to the man for more than fifty years. I’ve seen him stark naked plenty of times. There’s no need for him to be dressed before I lay eyes on him.”
“There’s a need this time,” B. told her, “both for his sake and yours.”
On her way through the house, Ali glanced inside the bag. It contained shoes, clean underwear, and socks. Unfortunately, Edie hadn’t brought along a second pair of suspenders—the indispensable piece of equipment Bob Larson required to keep his pants in place.
Arriving at the guest room door, Ali tapped on it. When no one answered, she let herself in. Her father, shoulders hunched, stood by the window, staring dejectedly out into what was now deepening darkness. Just as Ali had suspected, the robe he was wearing was at once bot
h too big and too small, and it made him look ridiculous.
“Dad?” she asked tentatively.
He started in a way that told Ali he hadn’t registered her earlier knock.
“Thank goodness it’s you,” he said. “I was afraid it would be your mother.”
“She’s waiting in the library,” Ali advised, handing over the clothing. “Finish getting dressed. That’s where we’ll be whenever you’re ready to face the music.”
“As far as that’s concerned,” Bob muttered. “I’m not sure I’ll ever be ready.”
“Don’t worry, Dad,” Ali said reassuringly. “You’ll see. Mom will be fine.”
Ali entered the library in time to see Leland hand his mother a cup and saucer. “There you go, Mrs. Larson,” he said kindly. “A cup of tea will do you a world of good.”
Leland’s sense of propriety meant that he would never presume to call either of Ali’s parents by their first names. Or Ali and B. by theirs, either, for that matter.
“Would you care for a cup of tea?” Leland asked when he saw Ali.
“Please,” she said, sinking into her customary chair and gratefully accepting her own cup and saucer. “Where’s B.?” she asked.
“Mr. Simpson is in the kitchen tending to something,” Leland answered. “He’ll be right back.”
“If this is about that old girlfriend of Bobby’s from high school,” Edie said, “the one who contacted him through Facebook, I know all about her.”
As far as Ali was concerned, her mother’s automatic assumption that this was all due to some old romantic entanglement would have been laughable had the situation not been so much more serious than that.
“Please, Mom,” Ali pleaded. “Let’s let Dad do the telling.”
“All right, then,” Edie grumbled. “Have it your way.”
Bob came into sight just then, pausing in the doorway long enough to get the lay of the land. His hair was combed. He was wearing clean clothes and socks and a pair of regular shoes. The lack of suspenders meant he had to keep tugging at his pants. He entered the room as if uncertain of his welcome. The unmistakable look of utter defeat about him instantly dissolved Edie’s anger.
“Oh my,” she said, springing to her feet and hurrying toward him. Taking his hand, she pulled him into her arms. “Bobby, you look like you’re at death’s door! What in the world has happened to you? Come in here and tell me all about it, mister,” she added, dragging him toward the love seat. “You’re going to tell me every single thing.”
“Our money’s gone, Edie,” he whispered hoarsely. “Everything we set aside for our retirement is gone—wiped out.”
Edie took that news with seeming equanimity. “I heard something about that OFM situation earlier this evening. Once we talk to Dan Frazier, he’ll be able to straighten things out.”
“But he can’t and he won’t,” Bob said brokenly. “Dan and Millie Frazier are dead—both of them—murdered.”
Edie was horrified by the news. “I knew two people had died. Everyone was talking about that earlier during afternoon coffee, but I had no idea it was them. Who would do such a thing?”
“Don’t you understand?” Bob continued. “That’s the whole problem. The cops think I did it. Detective Drinkwater believes I held Dan responsible for losing our money, and he thinks that’s why I killed them.”
“You?” Edie demanded. “Are you kidding? That jerk Eric Drinkwater went so far as to blame you for what happened?”
Bob nodded. “And that’s where I’ve been all afternoon, down at the police department in an interview room being grilled first by Hank Sotomeyer and later by Eric.”
“This is absurd—utterly and completely absurd.”
“It’s not absurd, sweetheart.” Bob Larson seldom used endearments. The fact that he had used one now wasn’t lost on any of the people in the room.
“I can see where Drinkwater’s coming from,” Bob continued. “I was at Dan and Millie’s house just after it happened. I’m the one who found them.”
“You were at their house? How come?”
“I heard about the bankruptcy things on the news. I wanted to talk to Dan about it, and I went there. He and Millie were terribly wounded, but they were both alive when I called 911. I tried to administer first aid and ended up with blood all over me. That’s why I needed clean clothing. When the cops dropped me off at the station, they took all my clothes away to use as evidence.”
“Evidence that you did it?”
Bob nodded. “I was the last one to see them alive, and I’m the one who called it in. Naturally they think I’m responsible.”
“Naturally nothing,” Edie declared. “I have half a mind to go down to the police department right this minute and give that young jackass Eric Drinkwater a piece of my mind.”
“You’re saying there was blood at the scene?” Ali asked her father.
Bob nodded. “Lots of it,” he answered.
Ali was relieved. “That’s probably a good thing,” she said.
Her parents looked at her in horror. “How can that be a good thing?” Edie demanded.
“Because the killer’s footprints are bound to be there, too.”
During that exchange, B. had appeared in the doorway between the living room and the library. Completely focused on one another’s faces, neither Bob nor Edie seemed to notice as B. slipped into the high-backed chair across the coffee table from Ali.
“I still don’t understand why Eric Drinkwater would think you did this,” Edie continued.
“Because I was there,” Bob said.
“Oh, for goodness’ sake,” Edie said. “You would never in a hundred years do anything of the kind.”
Her heartfelt declaration left Bob momentarily speechless. At that juncture Leland reappeared in the doorway. “Dinner is served,” he announced. “Would you care to eat in the dining room, or would you rather I served the meal on trays in here?”
As usual, Leland’s instincts were spot on. Ali shot him a grateful look. “In here please,” she said. “If it’s not too much trouble.”
“No trouble at all,” Leland murmured, melting quietly out of the room. “It’ll be ready in a jiff.”
Both Bob and Edie had fallen silent. When Leland left, Edie turned to her husband.
“You heard about the bankruptcy first thing this morning and then went traipsing off to Dan’s house without mentioning a word of it to me?”
“You were still at aerobics with Betsy. And I didn’t have the guts to face you right then. I needed to know for sure what had happened before I told you about it. Instead I drove over to their place to ask Dan face-to-face. I found him out in the garage, sitting in his Mustang. Millie was on the kitchen floor. They’d both been stabbed. I called 911 right away, but they were both gone before the EMTs got there. And then . . .”
He broke off, unable to continue.
“And then what?” Edie urged.
“The cops found what they believe to be the murder weapon in my Bronco,” he said. “The windows were wide open. The killers must have tossed a knife inside on their way past.”
“You’re saying the killers were there at the same time you were?”
“They must have been. Whoever did it must have walked out the front door while I was in either the garage with Dan or the kitchen with Millie.”
“Oh, Bobby,” Edie said as tears sprang to her eyes. “It’s a wonder you weren’t killed, too.”
“But you didn’t see anyone?” B. asked.
“No,” Bob answered. “I never saw anybody, but as I turned up the driveway I noticed another vehicle was parked in front of the house next door.”
“What kind of vehicle?” Ali prompted.
“A white Ford F-150 loaded with landscaping equipment.”
“But you didn’t see any workers.”
“No, they were probably on the far side of one of the nearby houses.”
While they’d been speaking, Leland had made several trips in and out of the r
oom, each time carrying individual trays laden with plates, napkins, and utensils. Each plate held a hunk of meat loaf, a helping of salad, and a thick slice of freshly baked bread, already slathered with butter. Ali’s tray held a small ramekin with ketchup, and the others had both mustard and ketchup. When the last tray was delivered, Leland made a discreet departure, closing the French doors behind him.
“So did the person toss the knife into your Bronco just to get rid of it?” B. asked.
Bob shrugged his shoulders. “I have no idea.”
“Or maybe the killer put the knife there in a deliberate effort to frame someone else,” Ali suggested.
“It’s possible, I suppose,” Bob agreed.
Edie took a deep breath. “Exactly how much money did we lose?”
Put on the spot by her direct question, Bob’s face burned with shame. “About one point two mill, all told,” he answered at last. “You tried to warn me about putting all our eggs in one basket. Now, because I didn’t listen, it’s gone.”
“All of it?”
“Yes.”
After a brief silence, Edie asked, “What day of the month is this?”
Her seemingly sudden change of subject caught everyone off guard. Glancing at the date on his watch, B. answered before anyone else. “It’s Tuesday,” he said, “June sixteenth.”
“All right, then,” Edie said, turning back to Bob. “When we moved into Sedona Shadows, we paid the first and last month’s rent, and our move-in date was on the first of the month. That means we have until the end of August to find a new place to live.”
“Mom, please,” Ali interjected.
“No,” Edie said, “no arguments. If we’re left living on nothing but social security, there’s no way we can afford Sedona Shadows. We’ll have to move, no question. And it’s likely one or the other of us will have to go back to work. Since I’m five years younger, I’m the one who’ll need to find a job. Maybe I can get hired on as a cook in one of the school cafeterias. Or maybe we can find a snowbird who will let us do some kind of caretaking work in exchange for a place to live.”
Now it was Bob’s turn for outrage. “Edie Marie Larson, you are not going back to work—not if I have anything to say about it!”