Left for Dead ar-7

by J. A. Jance

  “How’s your day going?” B. asked.

  “Way more eventful than I would have thought,” Ali said. She spent several minutes bringing him up to date. She signed off when Donnatelle returned from the cafeteria with the girls.

  “Have you heard anything?” Donnatelle asked.

  “Nothing,” Ali said. “Teresa’s mother is on her way, but she won’t be here for a while.”

  Donnatelle looked at her watch. “I’m going to have to leave soon.”

  “It’s all right,” Ali said. “I’ll be able to look after the girls until Maria Delgado shows up. If she needs it, I’ll help out after she gets here, too.”

  There was a fifteen-minute period of chaos while the girls adjusted to the idea of being abandoned by one relative stranger, Donnatelle, in favor of a different one, Ali. By the time Donnatelle took off, things were reasonably well in hand. In the past two years, Ali had spent enough time backstopping Chris with the twins that dealing with a two-year-old and a reasonably self-sufficient five-year-old seemed like a piece of cake.

  Keeping an eye on her watch and wondering what was going on in the maternity ward, Ali kept Lucy and Carinda corralled and occupied with the collection of toys, Crayolas, and coloring books that had accumulated in two days. After convincing Carinda that she really did need to take a nap, Ali read to Lucy until she, too, began to fade.

  Both kids had nodded off when Sister Anselm returned to the waiting room with her forehead creased by an unaccustomed frown.

  “What’s wrong now?” Ali asked.

  “I spent an hour working my way up the chain of command. When I connected with the hospital’s head of security, I asked if I could review the security tapes. I told him all I wanted to do was to get a look at the guy who delivered the flowers. He said the only way to get access is to have a search warrant. That’s not gonna happen. But if the guy walks into my patient’s room this afternoon or tonight, I want to know who he is. And it seems to me the hospital would want to know who it is, too.”

  It wasn’t such an outlandish idea. After all, Ali and Sister Anselm had some experience with people who came to hospitals hoping to finish off an inconvenient witness or two. The idea of the head of security insisting that Sister Anselm procure a search warrant in order to scan the security film was particularly irksome.

  “If all you want to do is get a look at the tape,” Ali said, “let me see what I can do.”

  “Thanks,” Sister Anselm said. “Now I’d better go check on my patient.”

  Ali’s relationship with B. Simpson had taught her that people who know all about online security often come at it from a background of online insecurity. High Noon Enterprises was in the business of teaching companies and individuals how to safeguard their computer presence by knowing all there was to know about penetrating the very systems people counted on for protection.

  Carinda had fallen asleep in Ali’s lap. Ali shifted the child to another position, wrestled her cell phone out of her pocket, and speed-dialed High Noon.

  It may have been Sunday afternoon, but Ali wasn’t surprised when Stuart Ramey, B. Simpson’s geeky second-in-command, answered the phone. As far as B. was concerned, Stuart was the perfect employee. When it came to computers, Stuart, like B., was a self-taught genius. He loved his work and had no outside interests. B. said he paid the guy a king’s ransom, and he was worth every penny.

  “Hey, Ali,” Stuart said. “What’s up?”

  “We have a situation. My friend Sister Anselm has a patient here in Tucson at Physicians Medical Center. Somebody delivered some flowers to the patient, and we need to know who it was. I’m sure the guy’s picture is on the hospital’s security tape, but they won’t let us look at it. I was hoping maybe you could-”

  “You’re asking if I could I hack into their security system and lift the photo from their video feed?”

  “Well, yes,” Ali admitted. “That’s pretty much it.”

  “And this is all because someone delivered flowers and didn’t leave their name, address, and phone number?” Stuart asked dubiously. “It’ll probably turn out to be some do-gooder who does this kind of thing all the time and wants to stay anonymous.”

  “Someone tried to murder this girl on Friday,” Ali explained. “She should be dead right now. Sister Anselm is worried that the flower delivery guy may be working for the bad guys and is going to take another crack at her. I’m worried, too. If the flower guy turns back up, it would be a big help to know what he looks like. It’s also possible that the flower delivery was a ruse attempting to nail down the girl’s location inside the hospital for someone else. The third alternative is what you said-the guy is totally harmless-but do we want to take that risk?”

  Stuart sighed. “All right. No doubt the hospital security system is password-protected, but breaking it will probably be a piece of cake. You want me to send the film directly to Sister Anselm’s phone?”

  “No,” Ali said. “Send it to mine.”

  “Okay, so when did this questionable flower delivery happen?”

  “Right around noon,” Ali said. “The guy should be easy to spot. He was wearing jeans, a baseball cap, and a U of A sweatshirt. He was carrying a pot of Easter lilies with yellow foil wrapped around the pot.”

  “Okeydokie,” Stuart said. “I’ll get right on it. Anything else?”

  On the drive down, Ali had been thinking about her parents and their plans to sell the Sugarloaf to a party or parties unknown. What if the purported buyers turned out to be some kind of flimflam outfit? Since one of High Noon’s specialties was doing background checks, it didn’t seem completely out of line to ask.

  “Now that you mention it, there is one more thing,” Ali said casually. “There are some people I’d like you to check out for me.”

  “No problem,” Stuart said. “Who is it?”

  Ali had to think a moment before she could dredge up the names. “Derek and Elena Hoffman,” she said at last. “I’m not sure where they live.”

  “You mean the people from Milwaukee who are buying the Sugarloaf from your folks?” Stuart asked. “I already did a background check on them for your mother. Since she paid for the initial report, I should probably get permission from her before I copy you on it.”

  Chagrined, Ali felt herself blushing. She was surprised to think that it would even occur to her mother to have a background check done on the cafe’s proposed purchasers, but these days there seemed to be any number of things about Edie Larson that set her daughter back on her heels.

  “Never mind,” Ali said quickly, trying to cover her embarrassment. “I didn’t know she had already ordered one. I’ll just get a copy from her.”

  23

  2:00 P.M., Sunday, April 11

  Tucson, Arizona

  Breeze Domingo stirred in the bed. She had no idea where she was or how she had come to be there. She seemed to be in a hospital. It looked like a hospital, but the last thing she remembered was being in a house, a big house and … No, she didn’t want to remember that or the man who was there, the one who had burned her and cut her. She could remember that, but she didn’t want to. What she really wanted to know was where Chico was. Why didn’t he come for her? Why had he abandoned her?

  In the background, someone was talking-a woman. It was a voice rather than a presence. Breeze could hear the woman speaking, but she couldn’t see her. She seemed to remember having heard the voice before, although she wasn’t sure exactly when or why or who the woman was. Is she someone I know?

  For a while-when was that? — the woman had spoken in both English and Spanish. That seemed weird. Why would she do that? Did she think Breeze didn’t understand English? Now she had dropped the Spanish and settled into English, telling a long complicated story.

  At first Breeze thought the woman was speaking about someone else. Finally, though, she realized she was talking about Breeze-about what had happened to her; about her being found in the desert; about her being raped and beaten. She tried to
stop listening. It hurt too much to think about it. Now the woman was talking about what had happened in the hospital. There were surgeries and something to do with blood poisoning and wiring her jaw shut. Breeze didn’t care about what the doctors had done or would do. It was too complicated. Too much information. All she wanted to do was go back to sleep.

  But then the woman said something shocking-her name! Her real name. Not Breeze Domingo but Rose Ventana!

  How did the unseen woman know that? How could she possibly?

  Now she was talking about Breeze’s family, offering to be in touch with them if that was what Rose wanted, to have them come to the hospital to visit her.

  Her family? Her family was so long ago that they might well have lived in another universe. They would be so disappointed in who she was now; in what she had become; in how she had lived all this time. She didn’t want to see them. She was too ashamed. She didn’t want them to know anything at all about her. No. No. No. Especially not her stepfather. Especially not him.

  She tried to say the word aloud: NO! But nothing came out of her mouth. So she shook her head instead.

  “All right,” the woman said comfortingly. “As you wish. I won’t make any effort to contact them until and unless you say so.”

  Breeze wanted to say, Thank you. And who are you? And any number of other things. But that didn’t work, either. With her jaw wired shut, it seemed impossible to speak. She felt the wetness of a single tear rolling down her cheek.

  “Rest now,” the woman murmured gently, wiping the tear away. “We’ve talked quite enough.”

  24

  3:00 P.M., Sunday, April 11

  Tucson, Arizona

  Teresa’s cell phone rang at ten past three. “Ms. Reynolds?” a male voice asked when Ali answered.

  “Yes.”

  “I’m Tomas. Maria’s brother. I drove down to pick her up. We’re almost there. Have you heard anything?”

  Ali was grateful that Teresa’s uncle had a cell phone, even if Maria didn’t. “No,” she said. “I’ve heard nothing. I have a friend who might find out for us, but …”

  “What about Jose? How’s he doing?”

  “He’s stable, as far as I know.”

  “I don’t have a handicapped sticker on my Taurus,” Tomas said. “Maria has a tough time walking any distances at all. If I dropped her at the main entrance, do you think you could meet us and take her where she needs to go?”

  The two girls had been growing steadily more restless and whiny. They were bored. They wanted their mother. They wanted their father. They had exhausted all interest in the collection of stuff Donnatelle and the other grandmother had brought in hopes of keeping them occupied. They wanted to go home.

  “Sure,” Ali said. “We’ll meet you out front.”

  “Are we leaving?” Lucy wanted to know.

  “We’re going to go meet your grandmother,” Ali told them. “Then we’re going to go check on your mom.”

  A hospital wheelchair had been abandoned on the sidewalk outside the front door. Ali appropriated the chair and let both girls sit in it while they waited for Tomas to arrive in an older-model Taurus. When a frail, graying woman slowly stepped out of the passenger seat of the car, the girls went nuts. “Grandma, Grandma, Grandma,” Lucy shouted.

  Ali helped Maria into the wheelchair and deposited Carinda on her grandmother’s lap, then they headed for the maternity unit with Lucy trailing behind.

  Visitors back in the ICU waiting room had seemed trapped in the grip of grim despair. In the waiting room of the maternity wing, it was a different story. Here the very air seemed charged with light and an electric exuberance. Two men, each pacing nervously, were clearly expectant fathers who, for one reason or another, had chosen to await their baby’s arrival outside the delivery room rather than in it. One family group included everyone from the grandparents on down to a toddler who would be the new baby’s older sister.

  Pausing by the nursery window, Ali spotted a bassinet with a hand-lettered card saying BABY REYES. Inside, a tiny, red-faced infant slept peacefully. Donnatelle had told Ali that Teresa had said the baby would be named Carmine. The “Baby Reyes” designation worried Ali and made her wonder if Teresa was okay.

  While Maria Delgado tottered off to find a nurse, Ali held the two excited girls up to the nursery window one at a time so they could glimpse their baby brother. When Maria returned, Lucy raced up to her.

  “Where’s Mommy?” Lucy asked. “Can we go see her?”

  Maria shook her head. “Not right now.” To Ali she said, “There have been some complications. Preclamp something-”

  “Preeclampsia,” said Ali.

  “Yes, that’s it,” Maria said. “They had to do an emergency C-section. She’s in the recovery room.”

  “What’s a C-section?” Lucy parroted.

  “Don’t worry,” Maria told her granddaughter. “It’s nothing.”

  Ali knew it wasn’t nothing. It could, in fact, be very bad.

  Weeks earlier, as part of her reading-the-classics project, Ali had read A Tale of Two Cities from cover to cover, metaphorically speaking, since she had read the book on her iPhone. It occurred to her that for Jose and Teresa Reyes, these were both the best and worst of times. Their son had arrived perfectly formed and in what looked like good health and with a bright future ahead of him. All that was cause for rejoicing. But for the boy’s parents? Not only had Jose’s body been compromised by injuries sustained in the shooting, but his career in law enforcement, as well as his very freedom, might be in jeopardy. As for Teresa? Ali wondered how would she manage to care for three young children by herself in the aftermath of her own major surgery.

  It was clear that Teresa’s mother was more than willing to help out, but Ali could see that Maria Delgado’s physical condition severely limited what she could realistically do. Ali was willing to help out, too, but not indefinitely. She wanted to be back in Sedona soon so she could participate in the garden planting project. She for sure had to be home by the following Sunday. That was when the two new Askins scholarship winners were due to come to their individually scheduled sessions of tea.

  That was when it hit her. Two of her previous Askins winners, the ones from three years ago, were here in Tucson going to school. Haley Marsh, who had finished high school as the single mother of a two-year-old, was a junior honors student in the University of Arizona’s nursing program. A five-year-old of her own qualified her as experienced in looking after little kids. Maybe she’d be willing to pick up some pocket money by helping Teresa. Before Ali could call and ask, however, her phone sent an alert that she had received a text message.

  Ali herded the girls and their grandmother into the maternity waiting room, then stepped back into the hallway to check her phone. By then there were several messages, all of them from Stuart Ramey, all of them featuring photographs of the man the hospital receptionist had described to Sister Anselm-red sweatshirt, baseball cap, carrying the potted plant. Even in the tiny image on Ali’s iPhone, the guy looked furtive, like he was deliberately concealing his face from the security cameras.

  Ali was looking at the last photo when her phone rang with a voice call. This time Stuart was on the phone. “I think you and Sister Anselm could be on to something,” he said. “Your guy looks suspicious as hell to me. He did a pretty good job of keeping his face from showing. He sure could be up to no good.”

  “The images you sent me are the best ones?”

  “Yes.”

  Ali was discouraged. She had hoped that the photos would be a lot clearer. “Other than the clothing which could easily be changed, the photos don’t give us much to go on.”

  “Don’t be so sure,” Stuart said. “I’m working another angle.”

  “What’s that?”

  “I probably shouldn’t do it and for sure shouldn’t talk about it on the phone,” Stuart replied. “If it works, I’ll let you know.”

  With that, he hung up. Ali went back to the waiting ro
om. With Maria worried about Teresa, Ali decided to take the girls with her to Jose’s waiting room. “I have an idea,” she told them. “Why don’t we go see if anybody has told your daddy about your brother?”

  As the girls dashed ahead, Ali pulled out her phone. “Hey,” she said when Haley Marsh answered. “How would you like to earn a few extra bucks doing some fill-in babysitting?” While Ali was talking to Haley, Lucy and Carinda disappeared into the ICU waiting room. They immediately bounded right back out.

  “He’s gone,” Lucy wailed. “He’s not there anymore. They took him away. Daddy’s bed’s gone, too.”

  Worried, Ali quickly ended the call. Fortunately, the charge nurse came hurrying out on the girls’ heels.

  “Don’t worry,” she said. “We moved your daddy to a different room, one where you can go see him. And I’m sure he’d like to see you, too. He was awake the last I saw, and he can talk, but he’s still very sick. You have to promise to use hand sanitizer before you go into his room. Okay?”

  “Okay,” Lucy said. “Can Carrie come, too?”

  “Both of you,” the charge nurse said. “One other thing. You have to be very gentle around your daddy. You can’t get on his bed, and he won’t be able to hold you. He has a big owie on his tummy. Do you think you can remember all that?”

  Lucy nodded. “Can we go right now? Should we bring a Band-Aid for his owie?”

  The charge nurse shook her head. “I’m not sure a Band-Aid will do the trick.”

  Lucy was already on her way out the door, but Ali caught her and dragged her back. “Just a minute,” Ali said. “I need to see Sister Anselm for a moment. You two wait right here.”

  Ali went as far as the doorway to Jane Doe’s room and tapped on the frame. Both patient and attendant seemed to be sleeping. Sister Anselm came to attention and hurried over to the door. She might not have been as spry as usual, but considering she had just done an all-nighter, Ali was impressed.