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.

  Patty was so caught up in her conversations at the window that at first she failed to notice that Phil Tewksbury hadn’t arrived in his usually prompt fashion. At ten, she closed the window long enough for a restroom break. It was only then, when she went back to the loading area, that she was surprised to see his collection of mail-filled cartons stacked where she had left them.

  Before opening the window again, she tried calling Phil’s house. There was no answer. She knew that if Phil were at home and able to reach a phone, he would have called to let her know he wasn’t coming in. As for Christine? Patty knew from things Phil had said that his wife had stopped answering their phone years ago.

  Patty’s first concern and first responsibility was getting the mail delivered. Her next phone call was to Jess Baxter, the guy who occasionally drove the route when Phil was out sick or on vacation. After making arrangements for Jess to pinch-hit the mail delivery and before she reopened the window, she called the café.

  “Has Deputy Carson come in yet this morning?” Patty asked Sally Drummond, the owner of the San Rafael Café.

  “Not so far,” Sally answered. “He usually shows up around eleven. Is something wrong?”

  Patty didn’t want to push any panic buttons. That was one of the reasons she hadn’t dialed 911. Patty was concerned, but she also knew that Phil was a very private man. Having a cop show up at his place with lights flashing and sirens blaring wouldn’t be appreciated.

  “No big deal,” Patty said. “Just have him stop by when he finishes his lunch.”

  It was almost noon when Jimmy Carson presented himself at Patty’s window. She remembered Deputy Carson from back when he was a little kid, missing his two front teeth. The first time he came to the window to buy stamps, he parked his two-wheeler, minus the training wheels, just outside the post office’s front door. Once inside, he had to stand on his tiptoes to reach the window. Because of the missing teeth, the word “stamps” came out with a double lisp—“sthampths.”

  Today he was a hulking brute of a man in a starched, perfectly ironed uniform. His hairline was definitely receding. He wore a sheriff’s department badge pinned to his barrel chest and a firearm on his hip. He still lived with his mother.

  “Morning, Ms. Patton,” he said. “Sally told me you wanted to see me?”

  Patty smiled, noting the difference. Sally Drummond at the café was never referred to as Ms. Drummond. The postmistress was always referred to as Ms. Patton.

  “Phil Tewksbury didn’t come in today, and he never called, either. Would you mind running by his place, just to check on him?”

  Deputy Carson glanced at his watch as if he might not have enough time to drive the several blocks between the post office and Phil’s house. “Sure,” he said. “I suppose I could manage that.”

  “You know about his wife, right?” Patty asked.

  “You mean the Christmas Tree Lady?”

  “Yes,” Patty said. “That’s the one. Be sure you talk to Phil himself. I doubt Christine will even come to the door.”

  34

  10:30 A.M., Monday, April 12

  Tucson, Arizona

  When Ali arrived at the hospital that morning, she was relieved to learn that on the medical front, news for the Reyes family was much improved. For one thing, feeling was beginning to return to Jose’s lower extremities. He could move his toes. According to his doctor, it was possible that lowering his body temperature to prevent permanent spinal cord damage may have worked. As for his damaged intestines? The fact that he had made it through another day with no additional signs of infection was considered remarkable. On the other hand, the stoma situation was dicey. There was no way to tell if it would be temporary or permanent.

  Teresa’s health situation was downright rosy, with doctors predicting that, barring further complications, she and the baby would be sent home the following day, “home” being the operant word. With Jose’s condition improving, that was where Teresa wanted to be—at home, where she had a nursery set up for the baby and where she could provide a little bit of normalcy for her two daughters.

  “Wouldn’t you be better off staying at a hotel?” Ali asked.

  Teresa shook her head. “Being in a hotel room with one child is bad enough. Being there with three kids, including a newborn? Not a a good idea, and not fair to the other guests.”

  “But driving back and forth to the hospital …”

  Teresa was adamant. “As long as we have the minivan, we’ll be fine.”

  “Where’s the minivan?” Ali asked.

  “In Patagonia, along with the infant seat. When Deputy Carson brought us to town, I had no idea how long we’d be here or that the baby would be so early.”

  Before Ali could sort out the logistics of getting the car, a nurse stuck her head in the room. “Your husband’s awake now, if you and the baby want to go see him. I brought along a wheelchair in case you do.”

  A few minutes later, with Teresa and Carmine settled comfortably in the chair, Ali pushed them down one long tiled corridor and up another. She parked the chair next to Jose’s bed and then retreated from the room, closing the door behind her to give them a few moments of privacy. She returned to the waiting room in time to see Maria Delgado sink wearily into a nearby chair. She had managed to make the trip from one wing to another under her own steam, but just barely. She was trembling with effort and out of breath.

  “I don’t know what we would have done if you and Donnatelle hadn’t been here,” Maria said gratefully when she was able to speak again. “There’s no way I could keep up with the girls on my own. But what’s going to happen when Teresa goes back home and Jose gets out of the hospital? How will she take care of him and the baby?”

  Ali already knew those were questions with no easy answers.

  A few minutes later, a raven-haired woman in tight jeans and worn cowboy boots strode purposefully down the hallway and stopped directly in front of Maria Delgado. “I came by to see if I could help out with the granddaughters,” she announced. She paused and looked around. “Where are they?”

  “They’re not here at the moment, Olga,” Maria said coldly. “Teresa had to have an emergency C-section yesterday. We asked a friend to look after them, just to have them out from under hand and foot.”

  “A friend?” Olga repeated. “Why didn’t you call me? I told you yesterday that I’d be happy to help.”

  As far as Ali could tell, Olga’s offer of help sounded more like a declaration of war. Donnatelle had told Ali about the previous day’s firefight between Teresa and her former mother-in-law. This was evidently the beginning of round two, this time with Teresa’s mother, who wasn’t backing down, either. Ali stepped between the two belligerent women, hoping to defuse the situation.

  “My name is Ali Reynolds,” she said, offering her hand. “I’m a friend of Jose and Teresa’s. And you are?”

  “I’m Olga Sanchez. I’m Lucy and Carinda’s grandmother. Their other grandmother,” she added, glaring at Maria.

  “The girls are fine where they are,” Maria said carefully. “As I told you, they are being well looked after.”

  Maria might have been soft-spoken, but her understated antipathy wasn’t lost on anyone, especially Olga Sanchez.

  “I still don’t understand why you didn’t call me.”

  “The girls are actually with a friend of mine, a third-year nursing student at the U of A,” Ali said. “She lives here in town, close by, and has a son about Lucy’s age. They’re better off there than here.”

  “They’d be even better off at my place,” Olga said. “They’d be with a family member rather than a complete stranger.”

  “You’re a stranger, too,” Maria pointed out.

  “Yes, and I’m sorry for that,” Olga said. “I shouldn’t have quarreled with Teresa at the funeral—I was grief-stricken. I’m sorry about what happened yesterday, too—that’s why I’m here now, to apologize and to offer to do whatever I can to help.”

  “I doubt
Teresa is interested—” Maria Delgado began.

  The door to Jose’s room opened. Teresa rolled herself and the baby through the doorway. “Interested in what?” she asked.

  “Olga came by to apologize,” Maria said, her voice dripping with sarcasm. “She says she wants to help.”

  Ali expected that Teresa would follow her mother’s lead and come out swinging. She didn’t.

  “That’s very kind of you, Olga,” Teresa said. “I appreciate the offer, but I think we’re all right for the time being. They won’t be back until late this afternoon.”

  “All right,” Olga said. “I’ll be in and out of town all day today. If you decide you need any help …”

  “I’ll call,” Teresa said. “I promise.”

  Olga looked as though she were going to say something else. Evidently, thinking better of it, she turned and walked away. Watching her go, Maria shook her head. “Are you kidding?” she demanded of her daughter. “The last time you saw her, she was raising all kinds of hell. Now you’re going to let her off the hook with a half-baked apology? I wouldn’t trust that woman any farther than I can throw her.”

  “It’s all right, Mom,” Teresa said. “Olga is the girls’ grandmother, after all. With everything that’s happened in the past few days, I don’t want to fight anymore, not with her and not with anyone else. If she’s willing to be civil, so am I, and if she wants to help, I’ll let her.”

  Maria Delgado shook her head. “I don’t see how you can be so forgiving,” she said. “I know I wouldn’t be. I would have told her to take her help and put it where the sun don’t shine.”

  Teresa looked at her mother and grinned. “Oh yeah?” she asked. “Isn’t that how you and Dad raised me to be—loving and forgiving?”

  “You can take being forgiving too far,” Maria said. “Especially where that woman is concerned.”

  “Don’t worry about Olga Sanchez,” Teresa said. “She’s already lost her only son. If she wants to be a part of the girls’ lives, what can it hurt?”

  “What if she offers you money?” Maria asked. “If you accept it, before you know it, she’ll be running the show the same way she did when you were married to Danny.”

  “But now I’m married to Jose,” Teresa pointed out. “Big difference.”

  “I hope so,” Maria Delgado said. “I certainly hope so.”

  “And not being at war with the girls’ grandmother should be better for everyone,” Teresa said, “especially for the girls.”

  Ali was impressed that Teresa had taken the high road and that she was willing to entertain the possibility of having a less fractious relationship with her former mother-in-law.

  “We’d better get back to my room,” Teresa added. “I can tell Carmine needs a new diaper.”

  It took two full trips with the wheelchair to get everyone back to the maternity wing, one for Teresa and the baby and another for Maria Delgado.

  “We still haven’t solved the problem with the car,” Teresa pointed out.

  “How about this for an idea,” Ali said. “I was already planning to drive down to Nogales today to speak to Sheriff Renteria. I could go there by way of Patagonia. Do you have someone who could ride as far as Patagonia with me and then drive your car back?”

  “My brother—Teresa’s uncle Tomás—has been driving me back and forth,” Maria suggested. “We could ask him. He might not mind.”

  Nodding, Teresa pulled out her cell phone. “I’ll call him and see what he has to say.”

  35

  10:30 A.M., Monday, April 12

  Tucson, Arizona

  Showered and dressed but still groggy from lack of sleep, Sister Anselm hurried out to her Mini and sped back to the hospital. She appreciated Al Gutierrez’s early warning that Rose Ventana’s family was headed to Tucson. Sister Anselm wasn’t at all certain what she should do about it. After all, in their one-sided conversation, the girl had made it painfully clear that, for reasons unknown, she had no desire to be reunited with her family. Now, ready or not, that unwanted reunion was imminent.

  Puzzling over Al Gutierrez’s phone call, Sister Anselm remembered something else he had said—that he had been given the news about Rose’s family by a homicide detective of some kind. What did that mean? Who was dead? Sister Anselm was tempted to call him back and ask, but she didn’t. Instead, she rushed into the ICU and was grateful to see that the waiting room was relatively deserted.

  The monitors indicated that Rose Ventana was sleeping peacefully. After the difficult night they’d had, Sister Anselm hated to awaken her, but she did.

  “Rose,” she said. “Rose. You need to wake up. I need to talk to you.”

  The girl’s eyes blinked open briefly and then closed again.

  “I understand that your parents are coming to see you. I’m not sure how they heard you were even alive, to say nothing of here, but they did. They’re driving down from Phoenix. When they get here, do you want to see them?”

  With her jaw wired shut, speaking was difficult. Rather than make the effort, Rose shook her head vigorously, even though it clearly pained her.

  “I’m sure they love you,” Sister Anselm said. “You’ve been gone for three years. They’ve probably missed you terribly. I’ll abide by your wishes, of course. If you’re adamant about not seeing them, I’ll tell them that your condition precludes visitors. But you must understand. After all these years of believing the worst and thinking you were dead, they’re probably overjoyed to find you’re alive. Are you sure you don’t want to see them?”

  Rose shook her head again.

  “Why?” Sister Anselm said. “Is it because of what you’ve done between then and now? Is it because you’re ashamed?”

  The question was followed by a long wait. Sister Anselm let it hang there in the room. Finally, Rose nodded—the tiniest of nods.

  Sister Anselm took Rose’s hand again, holding it carefully so as not to disturb the scabs that had started forming on the cuts and burn marks.

  “It couldn’t have been easy to make it on your own once you left home. You were what, fourteen?”

  Rose nodded.

  “At that age, job opportunities are limited. I’m guessing you turned to prostitution. Is that how you survived?”

  Another nod.

  “There’s a lot of that in the world,” Sister Anselm said. “That’s what happened to my sister after our parents died. It was after the end of World War Two. Rebecca and I were taken in by the nuns in a convent in France. Becka ran away and lived on the streets. She was only seventeen when she died, but do you know what would have happened if she had come home?”

  A headshake—a small one.

  “I would have forgiven her for leaving and welcomed her home. The nuns would have done the same thing. Your family will welcome you, too. They’re going to be so thrilled just to see you alive that nothing else will matter. I’m hoping you’ll give them a chance.”

  Rose Ventana shook her head. Her answer was still no.

  “All right,” Sister Anselm said. “You might change your mind. You go back to sleep now. When they get here, I’ll come let you know.”

  Sister Anselm went out and closed the door behind her. She moved a chair next to the entrance so she was partially blocking the way into the room. Al Gutierrez’s pot of Easter lilies, returned from its banishment to the reception desk, sat on a table beside her. Despite her assurances to Rose, Sister Anselm wasn’t at all sure the family would welcome back their wayward daughter. The parable of the prodigal son was just that, and when the stray was welcomed home with joy and feasting, the son who hadn’t run away wasn’t exactly a happy camper. Even if it turned out that Rose’s parents were thrilled to have their daughter back, there was no way to tell how their other daughters, Rose’s two younger sisters, would react.

  The other thing Sister Anselm worried about was the media. The family had made every effort to keep their daughter’s disappearance in the public eye. What if they did the same thing with h
er return? Considering Rose’s opinion about being reunited with her loved ones, having it happen in front of cameras would make a bad situation that much worse.

  The entire Fox family—James and Connie and Rose’s younger sisters—burst into the ICU waiting room half an hour later. Recognizing them from photos on the websites she had accessed and grateful that there was no accompanying media, the nun hurried to meet them. “I’m Sister Anselm, your daughter’s patient advocate. You’re Mr. and Mrs. Fox?”

  “James and Connie,” James Fox answered. “We were told our daughter was being treated here in the ICU, but they didn’t have her name at the front desk.”

  “She’s listed on our records as Jane Doe. When she was admitted, we had no way of knowing who she was,” Sister Anselm told them. “But yes, at this point, I believe Jane Doe is your daughter.” She turned to the younger girls. “And these are her sisters?” She asked the question, though she didn’t really need to. The family resemblance between these girls and Rose’s shattered visage was striking.

  “Yes,” Connie said. “Lily and Jasmine. But what can you tell us about Rose? Is she going to be all right? When can we see her?”

  “Not right now,” Sister Anselm explained, directing them into chairs. “Without her express permission, I can’t provide any details about the extent of her injuries or her course of treatment, but you need to understand that she was seriously injured before she was brought here, and those injuries are likely to impact her health for some time. If you do see her, you need to prepare yourselves for the idea that she won’t look like the person you remember.”