The A List

by Jance, J. A.

  “Why am I telling you about this today? As I’m sure all of you know, my mother was brutally slain a week and a half ago, gunned down by an unknown intruder at her home in Lake Arrowhead. The murder investigation is being headed by Detective Sam Douthit of the San Bernardino Sheriff’s Office. Early on there was some indication that my father, Jake, was being treated as a person of interest in the case. I spoke to Detective Douthit earlier today and was told that is no longer true, something for which I’m eternally grateful, and so is the rest of my family.

  “But here’s the thing: We all need justice for my mom—Dad and Nancy, Kathleen and me, Rory Davis here, as well as Rory’s namesake, my son, Rory Davis Munsey. I want us to be every bit as relentless about tracking down my mom’s killer as she was about tracking down that kidney. The day she died, she was coming home from a book tour that had taken her all over the country. One of you may have been in touch with her somewhere along the way, and you may have learned something that might be helpful to this case.

  “If you’ve seen or heard something, no matter how small or seemingly insignificant, please be in touch with Detective Douthit. We don’t want Mom’s murder to go unsolved. We don’t want her case to be one of those that goes cold. Let’s bring my mom’s killer to justice the same way she brought us together—by piecing all those little details together, the same way she helped us all piece together our DNA.

  “Thank you.”

  And then it was Ali’s turn. Throwing out her prepared eulogy, she decided to try to lighten the mood. “Unlike most of the people in this room, I not related to any of you.” The quip was greeted by nods of approval and a sprinkling of laughter.

  “What I am is a friend of the family,” she continued, “and, more important, Alex and I were friends—not kindergarten friends or high school friends or even college friends. I guess you could say we were kidney-donation friends, because, as with so many of the other people in this room, Alex’s and my friendship dates from her ultimately successful search for Evan’s new kidney in 2003, and it’s a friendship that has endured through thick and thin ever since.

  “And even though that kidney was found and Evan’s life was saved, that wasn’t the end of the story. Alex soon realized that advances in reproductive medicine gave otherwise barren parents the miracle of having children of their own, while at the same time ignoring or trampling on the rights of those very children. She came to realize that, like her own son, many other artificially inseminated children needed to have access to accurate health information concerning the donors who had provided the eggs and sperm that had given them life.

  “They needed to know if there were genetically transmitted diseases lurking in the family trees of their biological parents that might threaten their own well-being or that of their offspring. They needed to know how many other half siblings might be out there in the world or in their neighborhood. And so Alex, along with two other courageous women—Cassie Davis and Jolene Browder—founded the Progeny Project, an organization devoted to using DNA as a tool to help individuals born via artificial insemination to have access to their own biological information.

  “How many people in this room are here today because Alex Munsey’s Progeny Project impacted your lives? Would it be possible to have a show of hands?”

  Ali paused her presentation long enough as hand after hand rose in the air. She counted at least thirty before giving up. While studying the room, however, she caught sight of an older woman, who, although she didn’t raise her hand, was openly weeping. Not only was she sobbing into a hankie, she was also the only woman in the room who was wearing a hat.

  Who is she? Ali wondered. Is she a friend of Alex’s, maybe, or a fan, or a distant relative?

  “So here you all are,” Ali resumed. “Many of you share common strands of DNA, which means that you’re related while not being actual family, not in the traditional sense. What you have instead is a sense of connection and community. That’s a gift Alex Munsey gave all of you, and it’s why so many of you are here today on this Sunday afternoon to honor and celebrate Alex’s memory.

  “Eventually Alex stepped away from motherhood and the Progeny Project in what some would call ‘late middle age’ in favor of pursuing her own life and dreams—including her determination to become a writer. Her first book, A Mother’s Tale—an autobiography of sorts—was also the story of the Progeny Project and its aftermath. Her first novel, The Silver Lining, was published at a time when most people her age were already collecting Social Security checks. That book went on to become a surprise bestseller. When Alex signed my copy of her new book, The Changeling, she wrote these words: ‘Sometimes it pays to be a late bloomer.’ As I stand here, today’s issue of the Sunday L.A. Times tells me that Alex’s The Changeling remains at number five on the New York Times Best Seller list. Late bloomer indeed!

  “I have no idea why such a remarkable woman would be taken from us in what can only be regarded as a horrific act of random violence. Along with Evan I trust that at some time in the future law enforcement will succeed in bringing the culprit or culprits to justice, but that’s a concern for another time and place. Today is a day of remembrance.

  “In closing I’d like to thank the two young women who graced us with their presence earlier and sang that wonderful song. We all came here today with heavy hearts. This is the darkness of midnight. When the service is over, coffee, tea, and light refreshments will be served in a room just off the lobby. You’re all invited. Let’s go there together not to shed tears but to celebrate the life of the wonderful woman we’ve lost—a woman who was a blessing in my life and in many of your lives as well. Perhaps sharing our memories together will be part of the breaking of day.”

  With that, Ali returned to her seat. Reverend Nugent asked if anyone else wished to speak. When no one raised a hand or stepped forward, he ended the service with a benediction. While the organist played “Amazing Grace” in the background, the usher who had escorted Ali into the room reappeared and began directing folks back out. The people in the front two rows filed down the center aisle first, with everyone else following along behind, exiting row by row. Ali left the chapel with the family and then found herself directed to join them as part of the receiving line once they entered the room reserved for the reception.

  Ali supposed that made sense. In a room where so many people were related by blood and DNA, it stood to reason that a near stranger would be treated like a member of the family.

  50

  Sherman Oaks, California, June 2017

  Hannah hadn’t intended to stay for the reception. Her idea had been to leave the moment the service was over, but that was before she’d seen Rory Davis Munsey. She wanted to be close enough to him to hear his voice and maybe even touch his hair. She supposed that might be dangerous. There was always a chance someone might recognize her, although that hadn’t happened so far. Besides, it wouldn’t take long. She’d be in and out again in no time.

  Before she ever left her chair in the chapel, Hannah sent Marco a text asking him to bring the car around and telling him that she’d be outside shortly. When she stepped into the reception room and saw that a receiving line had been organized just inside the door, she almost backed out. Unfortunately, there was a couple directly behind her who made a graceful exit impossible, so Hannah forged onward. It was easy enough to get past the Munseys—the grown-up ones, at least. All she had to do was murmur a few words of condolence and move on. A sprinkling of the words “I’m so sorry for your loss” went a long way, but she wasn’t so sure it would work with Ali Reynolds, who was stationed at the end of the line.

  During the service Hannah had been stunned when Evan had announced that the following speaker would be Ali Reynolds, Eddie’s next target. Hannah’s next target. It hadn’t really occurred to her that Ali would be there. It might have crossed Eddie’s mind or even Gloria’s, but it didn’t seem likely that either one of them would attempt another hit this close to Alex Munsey’s. And so, a
s Hannah finished shaking Kathleen Munsey’s hand, she decided to brazen it out and keep on going.

  “Thank you for that very moving eulogy,” she murmured to Ali, holding out her hand and peering up at Ali from under the brim of her hat, all the while thanking her lucky stars that Grandmother Alberta’s cameo brooch was safely stowed in her pocket rather than pinned at her throat. “You’re a remarkable public speaker.”

  “Thank you,” Ali said. “That’s kind of you to say, but you look somewhat familiar. Do I know you? Are you a relative or a friend of the family?”

  “Neither, I’m afraid,” Hannah said quickly, making it up as she went along. “I was a huge fan of Alex Munsey’s work, starting with A Mother’s Tale and right on through to The Changeling. I’ve already read that one, by the way, and I think it was by far her best work. When I saw the notice in the paper, I decided to come. I live only a few blocks from here. I hope no one’s offended.”

  “I’m certain no one is,” Ali assured her. “The service was open to the public, after all. Please help yourself to the refreshments.”

  Hannah made her way into the room. Stopping by the refreshment table, she declined all offers of tea, coffee, or punch. She had developed a severe essential tremor over the past year or so, and any cup of liquid that was more than half full was liable to end up spilled all over her. Instead she stood there and looked around the room, searching for little Rory, spotting him at last seated alone at a table with his coloring book spread out in front of him.

  Seeing him like that jarred loose a shard of memory. Eddie had been like that when he was little, able to wall himself off from a roomful of people to concentrate on the project at hand—building a model airplane, doing his homework, or reading a book. So if that part of Eddie’s DNA was part of Rory Munsey’s makeup, what about the rest? He might be a cute kid now—polite and well behaved—but would he grow up to be a narcissistic asshole?

  The fact that those last two words had even crossed Hannah’s mind was shocking enough to make her stagger over to a nearby table and sink onto a chair. Maybe the idea of those words had been lurking around the edges of her consciousness at times, but this was the first time she’d come close to allowing them to surface in her brain, let alone consider giving voice to them. But she said them aloud now, whispering them under her breath.

  “That’s what he is—Eddie’s a narcissistic asshole.” And then, in order to stifle an inappropriate hoot of laughter, she pulled out her hankie and covered her face, hoping people would mistakenly think she was still emotionally traumatized by the memorial service.

  When Hannah finally regained control, she got up and made her way over to the table where Rory was sitting. As she approached him, she couldn’t help thinking how irresponsible it was of his parents to leave the boy alone and unsupervised in a room filled with relative strangers.

  “Hello, Rory,” she said, helping herself to a seat at the table.

  “Hello,” he replied. “Did you know Grandma Alex?”

  “No.”

  “Then how do you know my name?”

  “It was in the program.”

  “What’s your name?”

  And somehow, looking at Rory’s deep blue eyes and charmed by that missing front tooth, it was important for Hannah to answer truthfully. “My name is Hannah.” When he said nothing in return, she added, “Do you like coloring?”

  “It’s okay, I guess,” he answered with a shrug. “Mommy said I should color and not bother any of the grown-ups.”

  For some inexplicable reason his simple response caused a new set of tears to spill from Hannah Gilchrist’s eyes. Unable to restrain herself, she reached out and patted the top of Rory’s head, marveling at the fine texture of his hair and all the while remembering Eddie’s.

  “You’re a good boy,” she said, rising to her feet, “and it sounds like you have a very good mommy.”

  A text came in on her phone from Marco Gregory:

  I’m out front.

  Good. I’ll be right there.

  Hustling through the crowded reception room as fast as flowing tears and her cumbersome cane would allow, Hannah made for the door, muttering under her breath. “Damn you, Eddie. If you’d just had brains enough to keep your nose clean and your pants zipped, I could have had a grandson, too—a real grandson just like Rory Munsey.”

  51

  Sherman Oaks, California, June 2017

  Ali circulated around the room with a glass of punch in hand, chatting up a storm. Some of the people she remembered from the sentencing hearing and some she did not. Finally, noticing a somewhat familiar woman in an LAPD uniform, Ali approached her. The name on her badge identified her as Lieutenant Crystal Manning. She had a tall, rangy build like Evan Munsey and Rory Davis. At this point their once-red hair was flecked with gray. Crystal’s hair was a similar shade, but with no gray showing, most likely thanks to some help from a colorist at her local beauty salon. But similarities in hair color and build were where the resemblance to Evan and Rory ended. Crystal’s facial features were entirely different.

  “I believe I remember you from the sentencing hearing,” Ali began, “or rather maybe from the party after the sentencing hearing, but I don’t recall the name.”

  “I was Crystal Lucas back then, and it was quite the celebration,” the woman agreed. “We were all staying over that night, so we gave ourselves permission to let down our hair. By the way, I liked what you said in there about Alex giving us a community. My parents claimed they’d always wanted to have kids, but once I showed up, I must not have been what they’d been expecting, because they never seemed to like me much. They always made me feel like an outsider. It wasn’t until I hooked up with Progeny Project and the rest of these guys that I finally found a place where I felt I actually belonged.”

  “How long have you been with LAPD?”

  “I signed on with LAPD in 2009,” Crystal said. “My plan is to make captain by the time I’m fifty and then bail.”

  On the far side of the room, Ali caught sight of the old woman who had seemingly spent most of the service in tears crossing the room in a purposeful manner. While Ali watched, the woman limped over to the table where Rory Munsey was seated with his Spider-Man coloring book and his box of colored pencils spread out in front of him. The woman paused beside the boy and then, a moment later, sat down across from him. Ali felt a sudden sense of unease. If the woman was nothing more than a fan of Alex’s writing who happened to live in the neighborhood, why had she gone looking for the boy? Because that’s exactly what she’d done—she had sought him out deliberately and was speaking to him with no other adults present.

  As their conversation continued, the boy showed no signs of distress—nonetheless alarm bells were ringing in Ali’s head. She was a grandmother, after all. Rory’s age wasn’t so different from Colin and Colleen’s, and she knew that Athena and Chris had already delivered more than one “stranger danger” lecture to the twins. If the woman were nothing more than one of Alex’s fans, why was she engaging with Rory on his own? Why was she patting him on the head? What was going on?

  At that point Ali quickly excused herself and started across the room. Before she made it, however, the old woman rose from the table and stepped away, leaving Rory exactly as he was. Relieved, Ali allowed herself to be sidetracked by Rory Davis, who wanted to introduce her to his fiancée, Amber. After a short but polite exchange, Ali continued over to the corner.

  “Hey, Rory,” she said, approaching his table. “How’s it going?”

  “Okay, I guess,” he said with an indifferent shrug.

  “Can I get you something? Cookies? Punch?”

  “My mommy will bring me something,” he said. “I’m not allowed to take food from strangers.”

  “Good call,” Ali said. “What about the woman who was here talking with you a little while ago?”

  “The one with the cane and the black hat?”

  “Yes, that’s the one. Is she someone you know?”


  “Nope,” Rory said, putting down his pencil and holding up the book to examine his handiwork.

  “What did she want?”

  “Just to talk to me, I guess. She seemed pretty old, but she has the same name as a girl in my class.”

  “What name is that?” Ali asked.

  “Hannah,” Rory answered. “She said her name was Hannah.”

  Ali felt a sudden chill. “Holy crap!” Ali exclaimed under her breath, turning away from the child. “Shay, did you hear that?”

  “I sure as hell did, and I’m on it. A lady wearing a black hat and walking with a cane is just now coming out of the building. A limo seems to be waiting for her.”

  “Can you stop her?” Ali asked.

  “I’ve got no reason to stop her, but I’ll go get the car,” Shay said. “Maybe we can follow them and see where they’re going.”

  By then Ali had fought her way through the reception crowd, exited the room, and dashed across the lobby. Just outside the front doors, she came to a halt. Looking to the right, she saw a black Lincoln MKT stopped in the exit lane of the parking lot, signaling to turn left. That’s when Crystal Manning caught up with her.

  “I saw you race out of the room,” she said. “You looked upset. Is something wrong?”

  “You see that limo over there?” Ali asked, pointing. “The woman inside—the one with the cane—is Hannah Gilchrist.”