Trial by Fire

by J. A. Jance

  “So you think I should call Chris?” Athena asked.

  “Over the telephone? Of course not. You don’t have classes in the morning, and if you leave now, you can be home in two hours. Go home and tell Chris this wonderful news. Celebrate this miracle in person and together.”

  “You’re sure?” Athena asked.

  Ali laughed aloud. “Yes, I’m sure. And once Chris knows, you’d better be sure everyone else knows as well—my parents; Chris’s other grandparents; your grandmother; and, yes, your parents, too. Uncancel that airline cancellation, Athena,” Ali advised. “Go to Minnesota after all, sooner rather than later. Who knows? Maybe your father will change his stripes and stop being such a jackass.”

  For the first time, Athena smiled. “I doubt that,” she said.

  “Try it,” Ali said. “He might just surprise you.”

  CHAPTER 12

  Upon returning to the hotel, Ali fell into bed. The idea of being a grandmother thrilled her. The only thing that saddened her was that Dean hadn’t lived to see the arrival of this new person and to watch him or her grow into adulthood.

  Ali was glad it was far too late to call her parents. Otherwise she might have been tempted, but this was Chris and Athena’s news to deliver, and they were the ones who needed to do the telling.

  Ali fell asleep almost instantly. When she woke up at six-thirty the next morning, she bounded out of bed with a happy heart. Yes, she had to go to the hospital, where people were dealing with life-and-death matters, but for right now, Ali’s cup was brimming.

  Not so her suitcase. The other clothing Leland had packed for her was more formal than the jogging suit, and she knew it wouldn’t blend into the burn-unit waiting room background. Instead, Ali did a rerun of the pink jogging suit, topped off with her wig. Once dressed, she hurried down to the lobby to grab a cup of coffee. The temperature outside at this hour was surprisingly pleasant—cool enough that she decided to leave the car where it was and walk to the hospital.

  On the eighth floor, Ali found the waiting room area relatively quiet, and there were only two people in the waiting room. James’s father was dozing in a chair. That most likely meant that his former wife was in the room with their son. The only other occupant was one of the teenagers, who had moved from the middle of the room to one of the chairs, which were now back in their original positions.

  There was an attendant at the nurses’ station. “Is Sister Anselm here?” Ali asked.

  “Yes,” the woman said, “but she’s currently unavailable. If you’ll take a seat . . .”

  Ali did so. A few moments later the teenager rose to his feet, yawned, and stretched his lanky frame. “Is that lady in room eight fourteen a friend of yours?” he asked.

  The kid was lean and tough and looked to be seventeen or eighteen years old. If Ali had met him on a dark street, she might have been worried, but since he had clearly spent the whole night in the waiting room, she couldn’t help being impressed by his apparent loyalty to his injured friend.

  “Sort of,” Ali replied. “I know her.”

  “Her son got here a little while ago,” the young man volunteered. “He drove over from California last night, and her daughter is here now, too. They just went downstairs to get some breakfast.”

  Ali appreciated knowing that tidbit. “Thanks for the info,” she said. “What about her husband?”

  The young man nodded. “He’s still in the room, along with that nun. He’s been in there off and on most of the night. The doctors came through on rounds a little while ago. Nobody else has been allowed inside.”

  The nurse had said Sister Anselm wasn’t taking calls, but maybe texting was all right. Ali opened her phone and sent a message.

  I’m back. Outside. In the w8ing rm.

  Ali’s phone rang before there was any chance of a text response. “Are you still down in Phoenix?” Edie Larson wanted to know.

  “Yes, I am.”

  “I have some good news,” Edie announced. Ali glanced at her watch. This was the time of day when her mother often made phone calls, after the Sugarloaf’s baking was done and before the breakfast crowd descended.

  Chris and Athena must have called her after all, Ali thought.

  “I wanted to tell you about this yesterday,” Edie continued, “but I didn’t have a chance. You’ll never guess who came in for lunch yesterday.”

  “You’re right, Mom,” Ali agreed. “I have no idea.”

  “Bryan Forester and those two adorable little girls of his,” Edie replied. “And you won’t believe who was with him.”

  Ali hadn’t known Bryan’s twin daughters, Lindsey and Lacy, until after their mother’s brutal murder. Both of them were smart, blond, and cute, but in terms of personality, they were very different.

  Lindsey was vivacious and talkative; her sister was quiet and withdrawn. Ali suspected that Lacy suffered from Asperger’s syndrome. The child was shy to the point of being spookily quiet and was content to let her sister do most of the communicating. Lindsey was easygoing and impetuous, while Lacy was silently observant. No odd details escaped her attention. At the time of their mother’s murder, Lacy had been the one who had noticed an out-of-place vehicle and remembered the license plate number. That had been the telling clue that had helped clear her father’s name. Edie Larson had long since adjusted to the idea that if the twins came to the Sugarloaf, Lacy would need a separate plate for each kind of food, lest her hash browns, toast, bacon, and eggs somehow come in contact with one another.

  Edie continued, “Mindy Farber, that’s who. The four of them were all having a great time. In fact, I actually heard Lacy laugh out loud for the first time ever. I didn’t know she could.”

  Mindy Farber had been one of Athena’s roommates prior to the wedding. She had also been Lindsey and Lacy’s second-grade teacher. At the time of their mother’s murder, Mindy had come to the girls’ rescue when their father was led off in the back of a patrol car.

  “I’m glad to hear that,” Ali said. “Glad to know they’re having fun.”

  Ali knew that out of concern for his children, Bryan Forester had stayed in a loveless marriage for years before his wife’s murder. Ali liked to think that in Mindy he might have found someone who was capable of loving him back.

  “Mark my words,” Edie said. “From the way they were all carrying on, I wouldn’t be surprised if Mindy turns up sporting an engagement ring one of these days.”

  “I hope so,” Ali said. “They’re both nice people.”

  That was one of the things Ali loved about being back in her hometown after years of exile—everybody knew everybody else. Most of the time that was comforting, but there were times when having everyone know everyone else’s business drove her nuts. She knew that her off-again, on-again romance with Dave Holman had sparked plenty of gossip. And if she started going out with B. Simpson? Ali didn’t even want to go there. People around town would have them engaged after one or two dates, which, now that she thought about it, might well be what was happening with Bryan Forester and Mindy Farber.

  “So?” Edie asked impatiently, “what do you think?”

  Ali’s mind had been wandering. Since she hadn’t been listening, her mother’s question caught her off guard.

  “Sorry, Mom,” she said. “Something was going on at this end. I wasn’t listening.”

  “For Father’s Day,” Edie said. “Do you think your dad would like one of those big gas barbecues, like the one Chris and Athena have?”

  When Edie had hinted about this before, Ali had avoided taking a stand. Getting a barbecue outfit for a guy who cooked eight hours a day, seven days a week was a lot like getting a yard guy a new lawn mower.

  Since Edie had asked directly, however, Ali felt obliged to answer. “I think he’d rather have a big-screen TV. Have you talked to him about it?”

  “Of course not!” Edie returned indignantly. “It’s supposed to be a surprise. If I have to ask him what he wants, it won’t be.”

&nb
sp; Better to ask and get him the right thing than surprise him with something he doesn’t want.

  “Suit yourself, Mom,” Ali said. “You know him better than anyone.”

  Except for the years Bob Larson had been in the service, Ali’s parents had worked together behind the counter of the Sugarloaf Café for their entire adult lives. Part of that time, they had been in partnership with Edie’s twin sister, Evelyn. With Aunt Evie gone now, it was just the two of them and a couple of long-term waitresses. During their many daily hours in and around the café’s small but immaculate kitchen, they argued with each other often, but mostly without rancor. They also tended to finish each other’s sentences. They knew each other about as well as two people could.

  Ali’s phone buzzed. A glance at the readout told her Dave was calling. “Mom,” she said, “I have to go. I’ve got another call.”

  She switched over to the other line. “Hey, Dave.” She had yet to open her briefcase, so she picked it up and carried it down the hallway so they could speak in relative privacy.

  “Where are you?” he asked.

  “Back at the hospital. I got here just a few minutes ago.”

  “How’s it going?”

  “Quiet so far,” Ali said. “Sister Anselm’s still in Mimi’s room. So is Hal Cooper.”

  “What about Mimi’s kids?” Dave asked. “Have either of them showed up?”

  “Reportedly yes,” Ali replied. “Both of them. I haven’t seen them or spoken to them. I was told they’re down at breakfast. What’s going on with you?”

  “I’m still here in Phoenix,” he said. “I stayed at a Best Western, but I’m an employee rather than a consultant.”

  Ali ignored the dig. “How did the interview go?”

  “With Hal? All right. When he started talking about Maggie, I thought at first she might be a girlfriend. Turns out she’s a cockapoo. He had left her with a neighbor, but when I took him by the crime scene so he could pick up some clothes, he picked the dog up, as well. They’re at the Ritz, too, since that’s the hotel nearest the hospital.”

  “What did you think about him?” Ali asked.

  “About him staying at the Ritz?”

  “No, about whether he did this.”

  “He fielded questions from several of us all at once, and his story never wavered,” Dave said. “He also provided plenty of documentation. The marshals are checking into those, and so far they all check out.

  “Oh,” Dave added, “I thought you’d want to know that we’ve located Mimi Cooper’s car, or rather the highway patrol did. Her Infiniti was parked in a vacant lot just outside Gilbert with a For Sale sign plastered on the front window. It’s been there for at least twenty-four hours, stuck in among several other for-sale-by-owner vehicles.”

  “That would mean that if Hal was involved, he’d need to have at least two accomplices,” Ali said. “One to drop off the vehicle, and another one to pick up the driver.”

  “That’s how it looks,” Dave agreed. “Someone saw the Infiniti sitting there and wanted to buy it. He called the phone number listed for the seller. When that turned out to be a nonworking number, the guy got suspicious and called the cops. When someone finally got around to running the plates, they traced it to Mimi Cooper. The highway patrol towed the vehicle to their crime-lab impound lot. Once they saw what was inside the trunk, they notified the ATF. As of now the ATF guys are all over it.”

  “Have they found anything?” Ali asked.

  “Plenty,” Dave answered. “Naturally Donnelley is trying to keep a tight lid on the flow of information, but one of the guys who works at the lab is a good buddy of mine. He told me they found three empty gas cans, along with a partially used roll of duct tape and some women’s clothing—a bright blue pantsuit, a bra, a pair of panties, and a pair of gold sandals.”

  “Sounds like pretty much the full-meal deal as far as Mimi’s clothing is concerned,” Ali said.

  “That’s right,” Dave agreed. “It’s also my understanding that someone from the ATF may be dropping by the hospital sometime this morning. They’re hoping Hal Cooper will be able to identify the clothing as belonging to his wife.”

  Ali remembered that Hal had told him Mimi had two rings—her wedding ring and her no-wedding ring.

  “Did they mention finding any jewelry in the car?” she asked.

  “Nope,” Dave answered. “No sign of that, at least not so far. I’m sure the crime lab is going over it inch by inch, looking for prints and any other trace evidence. Donnelley is still determined this all leads back to ELF. I happen to think he’s nuts, but that’s just me. As it turns out, however, it’s no longer any of my concern. For right now, I’m off the case. Sheriff Maxwell just called. With the ATF taking the lead on the investigation, he wants me back in Prescott, pronto. I have a court appearance scheduled for this afternoon on another case. The county attorney was going to ask for a continuance. Now he doesn’t need to. I’m on my way there instead.”

  “Did Sheriff Maxwell say anything about wanting me back home as well?” Ali asked.

  “Not to me,” Dave answered. “I think he’s still hoping you’ll be able to keep an eye on whatever the ATF is up to down here. He remains convinced that Donnelley and his people won’t be sharing any more information with us than is absolutely necessary.”

  Great, Ali thought. Now I’m working undercover for both Sister Anselm and Sheriff Maxwell.

  In a sudden flurry of activity, two people—a man and a woman—stepped off the elevator. The woman, a tall, willowy brunette, was complaining loudly to someone on her cell phone. The close family resemblance suggested that the man was her brother.

  “I’ve been here for hours,” she said. “My poor brother drove all night to get here, but we have yet to be allowed inside the room. Hal is in there, and so is that busybody nurse or nun or whatever. The two of them come and go as they wish, but we can’t? It’s a pile of crap!”

  “I believe Mimi’s son and daughter just got off the elevator,” Ali said. “I should go.”

  “Don’t speak to them,” Dave advised. “Do the same thing you did yesterday. If you sit there with your computer on your lap, you’ll disappear into the woodwork. No one will know you’re there. In the meantime, I’m on my way north, but after hearing Hal’s description of Mimi’s two offspring, I’ll be interested in knowing what they have to say for themselves. Let me know if they mention anything about Mimi’s missing painting. I’ve been told it’s plug ugly, but it’s also worth a ton of money. It’s by someone named Klee. That’s spelled K-L-E-E, but it’s evidently pronounced like C-L-A-Y. I’ve never heard of the guy. Have you?”

  Ali was stunned. “Do you mean Paul Klee?” she asked.

  “Right. That’s the one.”

  “Mimi Cooper had an original Paul Klee hanging over her fireplace in a house that didn’t have so much as a burglar alarm?”

  “Oh, they had an alarm, all right,” Dave said, “but according to Hal, Maggie kept tripping the motion detector and triggering false alarms. They figured that since they had the dog, they didn’t need to turn on the alarm when they were home.”

  “Wrong,” Ali said.

  “Yes,” Dave agreed. “They’re not the only people to make that mistake.”

  “Tell me about the painting,” Ali said.

  “Winston, Mimi’s first husband, evidently gave her the painting as an anniversary present. I’m not sure how he came to have it. He said that holding on to the painting was like money in the bank, and much better than a savings account since it would grow with inflation.

  “When Mimi was getting ready to divorce him, though, Winston wanted the painting to be included in their community property settlement. Had the divorce become final, Mimi might have lost it. From a financial point of view, Winston Langley did her a huge favor by dying first. Sound familiar?”

  It was all too familiar. “Don’t remind me,” she said.

  “Sorry,” Dave said. “Back to the painting. Hal says it look
s like a paper mat little kids make sometimes by weaving strips of paper together, only this one is done with paint. Hal Cooper doesn’t like it much. He claims it’s nothing but a bunch of colored squares.”

  “That fits,” Ali said, trying to remember what she had learned in her long-ago humanities class. “I believe Klee was a cubist, among other things. From Switzerland originally. I think he died sometime around the beginning of World War Two.”

  “How do you know all this stuff?” Dave asked.

  “I’m a liberal arts major, remember,” she returned with a laugh. “My head is full of all kinds of useless information—cotton, hay, and rags, as Lerner and Lowe would say. Which reminds me, what made you come up with that phony art history class story yesterday? It was brilliant.”

  “The marine corps isn’t long on art history,” Dave replied. “I’ve always thought about taking a class in it. I just never got around to it.”

  The sound of raised voices near the nurses’ station caught Ali’s attention. “Something’s going on down the hall,” she told him. “I need to go and assume the position.”

  “Okay,” Dave said. “Talk to you later.”

  Ali closed her phone and went back down the hall. While she’d been speaking to Dave, Agent Robson had arrived and had planted himself in front of the counter, where he was arguing with the charge nurse and the ward clerk. Unobserved by either of them, Ali quietly took a seat.

  “If I can’t see Mimi Cooper, then I want to talk with her husband, or with that other woman,” Robson declared. “You know the one I mean, the woman who was here yesterday. She’s a nun or a nurse, I’m not sure which.”

  “That would be Sister Anselm. She’s Ms. Cooper’s patient advocate.”

  “Call her, then,” Robson ordered. “Tell her Agent Gary Robson with the ATF needs to see her. Immediately.”