by J. A. Jance
“Crystal’s old enough to have some say in the matter, but not by pulling a stunt like this, and for right now the divorce decree is very clear. It specifies that Roxie gets full custody and I get to pay full child support. If Crystal were to come to live with me, Gary and Roxie would have to lose some of the child support. Believe me, that’s never going to happen.
“Besides,” he added, “if it did, what would I do with her? Where would we go? This is only a one-bedroom place, but it’s as much as I can afford. I’m fine here on my own, but it would never work for two people. Tonight, Crystal is in the bedroom, and I’m camping out on the couch. That’s not feasible in the long run. If she was going to stay on here permanently, I’d have to find somewhere else to live. You take what I make, deduct what I pay in child support, and figure out how much is left. Not very much. Not enough to pay for a decent two-bedroom apartment. We’d end up in one of those trailer parks down by Oak Creek. They’re probably okay, but they’re not the kinds of places where I’d like to raise my daughter.”
Ali could hear the distress in Dave’s voice. Buffeted by indecision, he was unable to see his way clear in any one direction.
“Why don’t you bring Crystal here tomorrow and let me look after her for the day?” Ali suggested finally. “Better yet, bring her along to the Sugarloaf when you come to breakfast tomorrow morning. I’ll come down to the restaurant and pick her up. She can stay with me until you get back from Prescott. Ditto for Friday.”
“Are you sure you wouldn’t mind?” Dave asked. The relief in his voice was obvious. “I mean, you’ve already done so much…”
“Hey, Dave,” Ali said. “Hello!!! It’s Ali Reynolds, remember me? Remember everything you did for me when we were out in California? We’re a long way from being even. Besides, isn’t that what friends are for?”
“As long as you’re sure you don’t mind.”
“I don’t,” Ali said. “See you in the morning.”
Ali had planned on returning to Arabella’s diary, but she changed her mind, closed the slim volume, and returned it to her purse.
If I’m going to be dealing with Crystal Holman all day tomorrow, Ali told herself firmly, I’d better try to get some sleep.
CHAPTER 8
For the second day in a row, Ali was at the Sugarloaf bright and early. Dave’s aging Nissan was already parked outside, and he and Crystal were seated in one of the booths. Ali stopped off at the counter where her mother had just picked up a freshly filled coffeepot. She poured a cup for her daughter.
“Any word on Kip yet?” Ali asked.
Edie shook her head. “Not so far. Your father’s worried sick about him. I’m still of the opinion that the man’s off on a toot somewhere and he’ll be back once he sobers up. Even Kip Hogan is smart enough to see he’s got a good thing going here. If your dad’s soft-headedness isn’t a good thing, I don’t know what is. Chicken-fried steak?”
Ali nodded. “Sounds great,” she said. Then, taking her coffee, Ali walked over to Dave and Crystal’s booth. “May I join you?” she asked.
Dave greeted her with a grateful smile. “Sure. Have a seat.”
Crystal, looking like a clown in a pair of her father’s oversize sweats, was anything but cordial.
“So I guess you’re stuck babysitting me today?” she demanded, shoving her emptied plate and silverware aside. “Aren’t I a little old for that?”
“Crystal!” Dave admonished. “Ali’s a good friend of mine, and she’s doing me a huge favor by looking after you today. There’s no need to be rude.”
At this rate, it’s going to be a very long day, Ali thought. Time to put on the tough-broad act again. “That depends,” she replied.
“On what?” Crystal wanted to know.
“On you,” Ali said. “I can keep you company today or I can be your babysitter. If you insist on acting like a baby, then I suppose I’ll be forced to treat you like a baby.”
The slightest hint of a grin tweaked the corners of Dave’s mouth. Meantime Crystal favored Ali with a sour stare before turning her attention fully on her father. “If you don’t want to leave me at your place alone, why can’t I go to Prescott with you?” she wheedled. “Why do I have to stay here with her?”
Having Ali there seemed to give Dave some much needed backbone where his headstrong daughter was concerned. “Because I said so,” he answered. “Because I’m going to Prescott on official police business in an official county vehicle. I’m not allowed to bring along passengers.”
“But…”
“No buts,” Dave said.
“Crystal,” Ali said cheerfully. “I’m not nearly as bad as you think I am. Besides, since your dad’s paying for breakfast, you won’t even have to wash dishes.”
Crystal pulled a face. Out of her line of sight Dave winked at Ali and then glanced at his watch. “If I’m going to be on time, I need to go collect my wheels and head out.” He stood up and extracted his wallet from his pocket. “See you later.”
Crystal crossed her arms. “Whatever,” she said.
After Dave left, Ali and Crystal sat silently in the booth with Ali sipping her coffee and with Crystal staring out the window. Crystal was the one who finally broke the silence.
“Are you his girlfriend or what?” she asked.
“Your father and I are friends,” Ali said. “Good friends. Ever since high school.”
“Dad made fun of Mom for living in a trailer, but now he’s hanging out with someone who does, too, and who works in a cafe. I can hardly wait to tell Richey and Cassie that Dad is dating a waitress.”
“Helping my parents out on occasion doesn’t necessarily make me a waitress-but what would it matter if I was?” Ali asked. “There’s nothing wrong with being a waitress. On the other hand, behaving like a spoiled three-year-old and insulting people isn’t a good way of showing you don’t need a babysitter,” Ali said.
“But I don’t need a babysitter,” Crystal insisted. “And you can’t keep me here against my will. Isn’t that like false imprisonment or something?”
“Maybe you’d prefer real imprisonment,” Ali replied. “If you run away while your father has left you in my care, I’ll have an Amber Alert posted on you so fast that you’ll never make it to the freeway. When the cops catch up with you, you’ll be in trouble and so will whoever’s giving you a ride. By the way, did you happen to tell your father what you used for bus tokens to get here?”
Crystal turned away and didn’t answer. Meantime, Edie showed up with Ali’s breakfast.
“How are you doing?” Edie asked Crystal. “Do you want anything more?”
“Maybe another sweet roll,” Crystal said.
“So what are we going to do then?” Crystal wanted to know once Edie left their table. “Sit around in this stupid place all day?”
“Get you some decent clothes maybe?” Ali asked. “Your father’s don’t exactly suit you.”
“Where from?” Crystal asked sarcastically. “Wal-Mart?”
Obviously Wal-Mart didn’t measure up, but Ali pretended cluelessness. “Sure,” she said. “If Wal-Mart’s okay with you, it’s fine with me.”
Ali had almost finished her chicken-fried steak and Crystal had mowed through her second sweet roll when the front door crashed open and a distraught Sandy Mitchell staggered inside. Dodging around the counter, Sandy pushed her way into the kitchen and fell into Bob Larson’s arms.
“They think they found Kip,” she sobbed. “He’s in Phoenix at St. Francis Hospital. He may not make it.”
Leading Sandy by the arm, Bob brought her back out of the kitchen and eased her onto one of the stools at the counter. Everyone else in the restaurant fell silent, listening.
“Where?” he asked. “Where did they find him?”
“Up by Flagstaff somewhere,” Sandy said. “They said it looked like someone had beaten him with a baseball bat and left him for dead along I-17. They airlifted him to Phoenix to the trauma center at St. Francis. They’ve brought in
a surgeon from the Hyde Neurological Institute. They’ve already done one round of brain surgery. They may have to do another one today.”
Ali remembered being at Sunset Point to retrieve her father’s crippled Bronco and hearing the low-flying helicopter pass overhead. But that had been the night before last. How could it have taken this long to connect the dots between the Sedona missing persons report and a severely beaten trauma victim?
“Can you drive down there with me?” Sandy continued. “I’m not sure I can do this by myself. I’m so upset right now that I almost wrecked the car twice just getting here.”
Bob glanced around the crowded restaurant. It was already full and more customers were clustered near the door waiting to be seated. With Bob out front, Edie had ducked back into the kitchen.
“I can’t go right now,” Bob said. “Later on today, yes, but not right now.”
“I’ll take her,” Ali offered. “Crystal and I can give her a ride down to Phoenix, and you can bring her back home this evening.”
“Is that all right with you, Sandy?” Bob asked.
Sandy nodded. “If Ali doesn’t mind.”
“Crystal and I were planning on doing some shopping today, and the shopping is definitely better in Phoenix,” Ali said. “We’ll be happy to give you a ride.”
Crystal rolled her eyes.
“All right,” Bob said. “It’s settled then. You go with Ali. I’ll come down this afternoon as soon as the restaurant closes.”
With that, he returned to the kitchen and resumed possession of his spatula. Once Edie returned to the counter, she went straight to Sandy.
“Have you had anything to eat today?” she asked.
“No,” Sandy said, shaking her head. “Not yet.”
“Have something then,” Edie urged. “You need to keep up your strength, and you know what hospital cafeterias are like. They’re expensive and the food stinks.”
Sandy left the restaurant a little while later with a fully stocked care package of food. Ali took Crystal and stopped by her own place long enough to make sure Sam had food and water and to straighten up.
If Ali was going out in public in Phoenix, she was determined to look reasonably decent. In the privacy of her bedroom, she applied her makeup. Then she changed out of her casual around-Sedona sweats in favor of a pair of tight-fitting jeans and a bright magenta long-sleeved T-shirt, both of which looked terrific on her newly Mr. Bowflexed figure, thank you very much.
With Ali’s recent history in mind, she no longer left home without taking her Glock. To finish off her outfit she slipped on her small-of-back holster and topped that with a hip-length denim jacket. At the last moment, thinking her computer might come in handy for keeping Crystal entertained, Ali dragged that along out to the car. Then they drove to Sandy’s place in Oak Creek RV Haven, a low-rent trailer park that had almost washed away in the previous summer’s severe flooding.
While they waited for Sandy to emerge from a camper trailer that made Kip’s LazyDaze seem spacious by comparison, Ali called Chris’s cell phone. She knew he was in class and couldn’t answer, but she left him a message so he’d know what was going on. Then she turned to Crystal. “How about if you ride in back?”
“Do I have to?”
Ali had to bite back a sarcastic reply. Crystal’s a child, Ali reminded herself. A very troubled child.
“You don’t have to ride in back, but I’d appreciate it if you would,” Ali said. “I know you think your life sucks at the moment, and I’m not saying it doesn’t. But so does Sandy Mitchell’s. The man she loves is in the hospital and may be dying. She’s really upset right now and may need to talk.”
“All right,” Crystal agreed grudgingly. She got out of the front seat and into the back one, slamming both doors as she went.
“Seat belt,” Ali said.
With an exaggerated sigh, Crystal complied. Once she was belted in, she pulled an iPod from the pocket of her father’s oversize sweats, plugged in her earphones, and went away. Ali couldn’t help being struck by the fact that Crystal had run away from home with no clothes but with plenty of electronic gear-both a cell phone and an iPod.
A few minutes later, Sandy emerged from her trailer carrying a small suitcase. “I decided to bring some extra clothes along in case I end up having to stay over.”
And that, Ali decided, was the difference between a child of the twenty-first century and a grown-up from the twentieth.
“Good thinking,” she said. “You’ll probably need them.”
Intent on making their next-of-kin notification, Detectives Larry Marsh and Hank Mendoza stepped up onto the flagstone porch and rang the bell.
The bell was answered by a man wearing a white jacket who was anything but friendly. “Yes,” he said. “May I help you?”
“We’re looking for Ms. Ashcroft,” Larry said. “Ms. Arabella Ashcroft.”
“And who might I say is calling?”
Larry produced his ID wallet and passed it inside. “I’m Detective Larry Marsh and this is my partner, Hank Mendoza. We’re with the Phoenix Police Department. Homicide.”
Larry heard a woman’s voice calling out from somewhere deep inside the house. “Was that the doorbell, Mr. Brooks? Is someone here?”
“One moment, please,” the man said. “Let me check and see if now would be a convenient time for Madam to see you.”
He closed the door quietly but very firmly in their faces.
“Madam,” Hank repeated. “Was that what I think it was-a real live butler?”
“So it would seem,” Larry replied. “And I don’t think we passed the approved visitor test.”
Several minutes elapsed, leaving the cops with little to do but admire the view. “How much do you think a place like this is worth?” Hank asked.
Larry was always perusing the real estate sections of newspapers in hopes of finding someplace cooler to go when he retired. He had researched the Sedona market and had learned that his pension would come up short when it came to retirement housing in that particular area.
“With a view like this and with as much property? I’m guessing the place is worth a bundle.”
The cops were about to give up and go away when the door opened once again. “Sorry for the delay,” the butler said, with a stiff half bow. “Madam will see you now. This way.”
The two officers followed the butler into a spacious living room where a hint of morning wood smoke from the fireplace still lingered in the air. A woman with a halo of silvery hair stood next to the cooling fireplace.
“Good morning,” she said, while the butler hovered attentively nearby. “I’m Arabella Ashcroft. You wanted to see me?”
“Yes, ma’am,” Larry said solicitously. “I’m afraid we have some bad news for you.”
“What kind of bad news?” Arabella asked. “Mr. Brooks said you’re with Homicide. Does that mean someone has been murdered?”
“Yes,” Larry said. “It does. Your nephew, William Ashcroft, was found murdered Tuesday morning in the South Mountain Preserve.”
Arabella staggered slightly and raised her hand to her chest. “Oh, my goodness,” she said, making her way to a nearby chair. “This is dreadful. Billy’s dead? How can that be? He was here just the other day, and he was fine then, perfectly fine. What day was that when he was here, Mr. Brooks? Do you remember?”
“It was Sunday,” the butler replied. “Sunday afternoon.”
“As far as we can ascertain, Ms. Ashcroft, you’re his only living relative,” Detective Marsh continued. “We understand he has an ex-wife, somewhere, but so far we’ve been unable to locate her. We found you through Mr. Ashcroft’s phone records.”
“Oh, dear,” Arabella said. “I’m forgetting my manners. Do sit down. Make yourselves comfortable. And would you care for something to drink-coffee, tea?”
“Coffee would be great,” Hank said, settling onto a couch.
Detective Marsh nodded in agreement. “I’d like coffee, too, if it’s not
too much trouble.”
“No trouble at all, is it, Mr. Brooks,” she said. “Do bring them some. And while you’re at it, you might bring me something a bit stronger. This has been a terrible shock.”
“I think it was those kids,” Sandy Mitchell said as they headed south on I-17. “And that means that everything that happened is all my fault.”
“Which kids?” Ali asked.
“You know. The ones I carded at the store. The one was especially obnoxious. He was making a scene and giving me all kinds of grief. And then, all of a sudden, out of nowhere, there’s Kip, standing there holding a bouquet of flowers and looking sweet and funny and fierce all at the same time. At first the kid just ignored him. I think he thought it was some kind of joke. Then Kip grabbed his sleeve, lifted him off the ground-Kip’s very strong you know-and told him to get out or he’d…” Sandy looked uncomfortable, and gestured with her head toward the backseat where Crystal was sitting.
“Or he’d what?” Ali asked.
“You know. Shove those flowers up his…” Sandy stopped then continued, “That’s when the kids finally got it-that Kip meant what he was saying. So they left. Didn’t even finish buying the rest of their groceries. Just left them there on my check stand.”
Somehow Ali doubted that the phrase shove up your ass was something that would offend Crystal Holman’s thirteen-year-old, none-too-tender sensibilities, but it was nice that Sandy Mitchell thought it might. Besides, Crystal appeared to be lost in her music and was paying no attention to anything being said in the front seat.
“It was really wonderful,” Sandy continued wistfully. “When he chased them off like that, I felt like I’d been rescued by a knight in shining armor.”
Sandra Mitchell was sixty-something if she was a day. She’d put on some hard miles. She was a dumpy plain jane, yet Kip Hogan-the very scary Kip Hogan-had made her feel like some latter-day Guinevere. To Ali’s way of thinking, that was nothing short of astonishing.
“I know the kids left the store then, but I don’t know if they left the parking lot. I’m wondering if they didn’t follow Kip when he left the store. I’m betting they waited around until he was alone and then they beat the crap out of him. Three to one isn’t a fair fight.”