J.A. Jance's Ali Reynolds Mysteries 3-Book Boxed Set, Volume 2: Trial by Fire, Fatal Error, Left for Dead

by Jance, J. A.

  “Dental records?” Sister Anselm asked.

  “I can get those for you with no problem. Her dentist is in Scottsdale. Mimi’s had a couple of implants, but they’re mostly her own teeth.”

  “Could you tell what clothing she might have been wearing?”

  “No. She has three closets full of clothing. No way for me to tell that. But I do know about her jewelry. She had two diamond rings, one on each hand. The big one she called her no-divorce ring, or else her no-promises-kept ring. That’s Mimi’s sense of humor, by the way. That one is a two-carat rock. She was thinking about divorcing her first husband. Before she had a chance to call it quits, he died on her. She told me she made out far better as a widow than she would have as a divorcée. The other one, the smaller one, is the one I gave her a year ago when we got married.”

  Hal broke off. His lips trembled. He cleared his throat and pawed at his eyes with the back of his hand. “A year next Tuesday,” he added. “We got married in San Francisco at a park overlooking the Golden Gate Bridge. With the surgery coming up, I figured we’d take an anniversary trip back there after she’d had a chance to recover.”

  Ali had noticed that in the beginning James’s family members had tuned in and listened avidly to what Hal Cooper had to say. Now, though, losing interest in someone else’s drama, they were back to focusing on their own issues and squabbling among themselves. As Hal paused momentarily to regain control, Ali’s fingers sped over the keyboard, catching up with the last of both Sister Anselm’s questions and Hal’s answers.

  Thank you, Miss Willis, she thought.

  Miss Augusta Willis had been Ali’s typing teacher at Cottonwood’s Mingus Union High, where, during her junior year, Ali had been one of only two students to achieve the coveted seventy-five words per minute that made for an A in Typing II.

  “Where did you say you live?” Sister Anselm asked.

  “Fountain Hills. Northeast of Scottsdale. It’s a very safe neighborhood. At least it’s supposed to be safe. That’s what the Realtor told us when we bought the place.”

  “There was no sign of a break-in?”

  “No,” Hal said. “No forced entry. Nothing like that.”

  “Do you have an alarm?”

  “We have one, but Mimi doesn’t like turning it on. A couple of times the alarm got tripped by accident. That turned into a big hassle.”

  “But if the painting was valuable—” Sister Anselm began.

  “I’m really not worried about the painting,” he interrupted. “It’s a watercolor, but it’s ugly as all get-out. It looks like one of my grandmother’s old patchwork quilts. Donna didn’t know if Mimi had decided to sell it. Or if she knows, she wouldn’t say. For all I know, Serenity may have already located a buyer, not that she’d tell me about it. As far as she’s concerned, her mother’s art collection is none of my business.”

  “I take it you and Mimi’s daughter don’t get along very well,” Sister Anselm concluded.

  “With Serenity? Are you kidding? Except for Donna, her P.A., no one gets along with Serenity. She doesn’t get along with me, not with her brother, and not with her mother, either. Especially not her mother. Her dearly departed daddy could do no wrong, but everyone else comes up short in her book. At the time we got married, Mimi worried that the kids might be a problem. I thought, How bad could it be? Turns out Mimi was right. Serenity has been badmouthing me to anyone who will listen. Despite her name, she specializes in creating discord.”

  So Mimi Cooper’s relatives aren’t that much different from James’s, Ali thought.

  “The name on Serenity’s birth certificate is listed as Sandra Jean,” Hal continued. “With her father’s approval and help, she went to court and changed it on the day she turned eighteen. Why wouldn’t she? Anything that came from her mother, including her name, is automatically suspect. I’ve mostly tried to stay out of her way and not rock the boat. I thought long and hard before I called her to lend a hand while I was gone this last time, but with the surgery coming up and since Mimi’s her mother . . .” He shrugged and sighed. “That’s what I did—I called.”

  “You didn’t call her son?” Sister Anselm asked.

  “There’s no point. For one thing, Winston Junior lives in California. He couldn’t have afforded to come look after his mom. He’s gone through a whole series of sales jobs in the last few years. He’s working again now, but they’re just barely making ends meet. His wife, Amy, is pregnant. The two of them would be out on the street if Mimi hadn’t taken pity on them. They live rent-free in a town house Mimi owns in California. Mimi asked Serenity to put him in charge of the Langley Gallery in Santa Barbara, but Serenity wouldn’t hear of it. Fortunately he found work somewhere else.”

  Suddenly the pieces all came together in Ali’s head as the names finally registered. Winston Langley Galleries. She remembered Winston Langley Sr. as someone whose path she had crossed occasionally during her time in California. Langley had been a strikingly handsome man with a high-flying art gallery empire that included branch galleries in Santa Barbara, Palm Springs, Scottsdale, Santa Fe, and Sedona.

  Hal had already mentioned that Mimi had been estranged from her husband at the time of his death. Ali seemed to recall that Winston Langley had died several years earlier, and that his death had been sudden—from a heart attack, or maybe a stroke. Now it looked to Ali as though, after Winston Senior’s death, his widow had taken up with a much younger man. No wonder her kids were annoyed about Hal Cooper. It seemed likely that he wasn’t much older than his stepchildren.

  Ali also remembered what Sister Anselm had said about the estrangements in families that made showing up in a hospital injured and alone somehow more likely. From the sound of it, the Cooper/Langley entourage was suitably screwed up. If the patient in room 814 did turn out to be Hal’s wife, Sister Anselm would have some relationship healing to do here as well.

  Ali’s phone rang just then. Taking her hands from the keyboard, she checked the readout. Caller ID said it was Holly Mesina returning her call. “I can’t talk right now,” she said abruptly into the phone. “I’ll have to call you back.”

  “But—” Holly began.

  Ali simply ended the call. As she put her phone away, she heard the buzzing sound of Sister Anselm’s alarm—the one that gave her a readout of the patient’s vitals.

  “I’m sorry,” she said, standing up. “I need to tend to my patient. If she’s willing to see you, I’ll come back and get you.”

  “If she’s awake, can’t I see her now?”

  “No,” Sister Anselm said. “Not yet. Not until I check with her. Sorry.”

  As she walked down the hallway toward the room, Hal Cooper turned to Ali. Evidently the sound of her tapping on the keyboard had penetrated his consciousness.

  “You can type like crazy,” he said. “What are you doing, writing a book?”

  Ali was taken aback by his scrutiny. She didn’t want to lie, but she couldn’t very well be honest, either.

  “Something like that,” she said.

  “So you’re here with someone, too?”

  Same person you’re here for, she thought.

  “No,” she said, thinking on her feet. “I’m doing a special project. For the burn unit.”

  If he had asked more questions, Ali wasn’t sure she would have been able to answer, but it turned out Hal Cooper was only interested in his own sad story and not in anyone else’s.

  “I just wish Mimi would have taken my phone calls while I was gone,” Hal said, talking more to himself than to anyone else. “That way I would have known what was going on with her. I know why it happened. Mimi spent thirty-five years being bossed around by her first husband. When I told her not to drive, she went ballistic. In a way I don’t blame her, but what will I do if the last memory I have of the two of us together is of standing in the middle of the kitchen yelling at each other?”

  With that he buried his face in his hands and began to sob. Just then the elevator door ope
ned and Dave Holman stepped into the waiting room. He stood for a second surveying the room. Then, without so much as a glance in Ali’s direction, he stepped up to Hal Cooper and opened his ID wallet.

  “Mr. Cooper?” he asked when Hal finally removed his hands from his face long enough to notice the pair of shoes standing in front of him. “I’m Detective Dave Holman with the Yavapai County Sheriff’s Department. I’m here about your missing persons report. Could I have a word?”

  Hal Cooper looked up at him gratefully. “I’m glad to know that someone else is worried about it, too—that I’m not the only one. Of course you can have a word.”

  Dave looked around the room. Again his eyes passed over Ali with no sign of recognition. The rest of the people in the room had fallen silent as all of them paid attention to this new arrival.

  “Maybe we could go down the hall to someplace a little more private,” Dave suggested.

  Hal immediately nixed that idea. “I’m not leaving here,” he said. “Not until I know for sure if my wife is in that room down the hall.”

  “For privacy’s sake—”

  “I don’t need privacy,” Hal declared. “I need to know that my wife is okay. If you want to talk with me, talk here. Otherwise, go away and leave me alone.”

  Shaking his head, Dave pocketed his ID, then pulled up a chair and sat down.

  She fought her way back through the flames. Even in the dream, she knew if she could get back somehow, the room would be there waiting for her with the odd but reassuring steady beep of all those machines that told her she wasn’t dead.

  She was grateful to know she was still alive, and she hoped that the nun would be there, too. The nun with the magic finger that could press the button and take away the pain, the pain that was even now howling at her. Screaming at her. And she would have been screaming, too, if it hadn’t been for the ventilator. That’s what it was called, she realized. The thing in her throat that made it so she couldn’t speak was a ventilator.

  But where was the nun? The woman with a face that was stern and calm and kind. Maybe this time, Sister Anselm wouldn’t be here. Maybe this time she wasn’t aware that her help was needed, but it was. The pain was roaring back, overwhelming her.

  Just then Sister Anselm’s steadying face reappeared over the bed, filling the patient with a sense of wonder. Was she an answer to a prayer? How did she know she was needed? What made her come into view at just the right time? Maybe she didn’t go away at all. Maybe she was there in the room the whole time, close but somewhere out of sight.

  This time, though, Sister Anselm didn’t push the button, not right away.

  “Does the name Mimi Cooper mean anything to you?” she asked urgently. “Blink once for yes and twice for no.”

  She tried to gather her thoughts. She tried to concentrate on the name. Mimi Cooper. Was that who she was? Was it possible she was that woman? But the name didn’t seem familiar to her. Not at all. There was no part of the name Mimi that resonated in her head. Shouldn’t your name go with you no matter what? Isn’t that the one thing about yourself that you would always know and remember? Well, maybe not if you had that disease, that old people’s disease—what was it called again? She couldn’t remember the name of that, either, even though it was right on the tip of—well, not on the tip of her tongue. Because she couldn’t talk.

  “Blink once for yes and twice for no,” Sister Anselm commanded.

  She blinked twice. The name Mimi meant nothing to her. She couldn’t be a Mimi. That sounded like a silly name. A stupid name. Surely that wasn’t hers.

  Sister Anselm was speaking again. “There’s a man outside,” she said. “A man who thinks he know you. He says his name is Hal Cooper. Do you know him? Blink once for yes. Twice for no.”

  I’m not stupid! she wanted to shout. I know the code. You don’t have to keep telling me over and over.

  “Do you know him?” Sister Anselm insisted.

  I don’t know. Maybe. Maybe that name sounds familiar even if Mimi doesn’t, but I’m not sure. How can I be sure?

  She blinked several times in rapid succession. That was part of the code, too. Many blinks for “I have no idea.”

  “He would like to see you,” Sister Anselm said. “So he can know for sure, but I’ll only allow him to come into your room if you want to see him. You don’t have to. You’re under no obligation.”

  Someone wants to see me? Someone who thinks he knows me? What do I look like? I must look awful. I know I look awful. My hair isn’t combed. Do I even have hair? She would have touched her head to check, but of course she couldn’t move her hands.

  “Blink once for yes, twice for no,” Sister Anselm commanded.

  She thought about that while trying to hold the pain at bay. She wanted to beg the nun to push the button and send her back into oblivion, but another part of her wanted to know.

  If this man knows who I am, if he can give me back my name, I need to know that, too.

  It took an extraordinary effort on her part. She had to battle back at the pain and concentrate long and hard before she was finally able to blink. Once only.

  Once for yes.

  CHAPTER 11

  Dave pulled a waiting room chair close to Hal. Then he removed a tiny tape recorder from his pocket, switched it on, and placed it on a nearby table.

  “I’ll need to ask you a few questions,” he said. “In case the woman down the hall does turn out to be your wife.”

  “Sure,” Hal said. “I’ll answer any questions you want. Whatever you need.”

  The teenagers seated nearby were transfixed by this process, but Ali knew what was going on. As long as Hal hadn’t been identified as an official suspect, Dave was free to ask him anything he wanted without having to read the man his rights. That would change if, at a later time, Hal Cooper was moved onto the list of declared suspects. At that point, he would be read his rights, and any statements made in the course of any “official” interview would be checked for consistency with this first, presumably “unofficial” one.

  Ali understood that was the basic premise behind all interrogations. Crooks lie, and catching them in a small lie often leads to catching them in bigger ones. Damning ones.

  For her part, Ali continued to listen in on the conversation, all the while tapping away on her keyboard, taking notes for her own benefit as well as for Sister Anselm’s.

  Initially, during their first few minutes together, the information Hal Cooper gave Dave was much the same as he had given Sister Anselm earlier. He did, however, add a few embellishments, including the fact that, at age fifty-six, he was fifteen years younger than his wife.

  That detail caught Ali’s attention. He’s as much younger than Mimi as B. is younger than I am, she thought.

  “You want to hear something funny? It’s how Mimi and I met,” Hal admitted. “She bought me at an auction.”

  “Excuse me?” Dave asked.

  “It was a charity bachelor auction to benefit the symphony two years ago last spring,” Hal explained. “It was a big, splashy event. Mimi was one of the cochairs. It was her first big social venture out after her first husband died. She bought me for top dollar, thinking she’d found a foolproof way of fixing her daughter up with somebody nice.”

  “I take it that didn’t work out too well?” Dave asked.

  Hal laughed aloud at that comment. “Are you kidding? Serenity despised me on sight. She told her mother that airline pilots were nothing but a bunch of glorified bus drivers. She also said that I was way too old for her. Mimi told her, ‘Well, he looks pretty good to me. If you won’t go out with him, I will. I paid a lot of money for him, and for a donated dinner at Vincent’s, and I’m not going to waste either one.’ ”

  “So you ended up with the mother instead of the daughter?” Dave asked.

  “Yup,” Hal said. “Mimi and I went out on the charity date, and then we went out again. We had one great time and then another. The rest is history. Next week we’ll be celebrating ou
r first anniversary. It’s great for us, but maybe not so great for her kids, for her son and daughter, Winston Langley Junior and Serenity. They both think I’m far too old for Serenity but much too young for their mother. They think I’m some gigolo type who came sniffing around after Mimi’s money, but that’s not it at all. Never was. I love her.”

  “It’s safe to assume you’re not on good terms with either of Mimi’s kids?”

  “No. Not especially.”

  “How would the children fare as far as their mother’s estate is concerned if Mimi were to predecease you?”

  Hal gave Dave an appraising look. “Before Mimi and I got married, I volunteered to sign a prenup. I’ve been an airline pilot for years. I’m not exactly on poverty row, so I thought a prenup between us might settle some of Serenity’s hash, but Mimi wouldn’t hear of it. She told me, ‘I spent thirty-five years putting up with Winston Langley’s womanizing shenanigans. The kids got their fair share of their father’s estate, but I paid for mine the hard way—by being married to the bastard. I don’t tell them what they should or shouldn’t do with their money, and I’ll be damned if Serenity or Junior is going to tell me what to do with mine.’ Those may not be her exact words, but you get the idea.”

  Dave nodded. “In other words, if your wife dies first, you’d be her primary beneficiary.”

  “Correct,” Hal answered. “The only beneficiary. When I die, whatever’s left after that goes to her kids in equal shares, but you need to know Mimi’s money isn’t what I wanted, and it’s not what I want now. I’m hoping and praying that I’ll be able to get my wife back someday, alive and well.”

  “Of course,” Dave said soothingly. “I understand.”

  Sitting and listening, however, Ali wasn’t convinced Dave was buying Hal’s story, and his next question confirmed that opinion.

  “When did you leave town again?” Dave asked.

  Hal would have to have been dumb as a stump not to realize that he was already under suspicion, stated or not, but he answered readily enough, repeating much of what he had already told Sister Anselm about his being out of town. It seemed to Ali that Hal Cooper was being cooperative and more than forthcoming, but she also realized, as Dave did, that when a wealthy woman became a victim of foul play, most of the time a greedy husband turned out to be the culprit.