Unfinished Business

by J. A. Jance

  “Sounds fair,” Ali said. She reached for the carafe, intent on pouring more coffee, but it was empty. “I’ll go make more,” she said, standing up and starting for the kitchen. “And I’ll find out what’s for breakfast.”

  “You’re welcome to get more coffee, but we’re skipping breakfast today, at least for right now,” B. said. “I spoke to your mom a little while ago. We’re due at Sedona Shadows at eleven to have an early lunch with your folks.”

  Ali sat back down. “We are?” she asked. “At Sedona Shadows? In the dining room?”

  “That’s what I suggested, and your mom agreed.”

  “But…” Ali began.

  “I wanted to check something out,” B. said, “to do an experiment, if you will. I think that when your dad’s around you or Edie, he behaves one way. When he’s around other people—me, for instance—he somehow puts on enough of a game face that we think he’s okay. I suspect that’s one of the reasons we’ve had no idea about how serious all this was becoming. Last year at the Halloween party and over the holidays, we had no clue anything out of the ordinary was going on. I want to see if that’s still the case.”

  “All right, then,” Ali conceded, not without some misgivings. “I’d best go get dressed.”

  “Oh,” B. added as she headed back toward the bedroom. “I told the kids we’ll stop by later on this afternoon, once the interview is over. Everybody else has met that new grandson of ours. I’m ready to make his acquaintance.”

  |CHAPTER 21|

  PHOENIX, ARIZONA

  When the pilot announced they were crossing over the Grand Canyon, Mateo wished he could see out the window, but his view was blocked by the bulky-shouldered man beside him. The flight seemed to last forever. Mateo was tall enough that his knees were crammed against the seat in front of him, and his occasional glimpses of the Emily Tarrant look-alike left him feeling half-sick. By the time the plane finally hit the tarmac in Phoenix, Mateo was a nervous wreck.

  Because he was seated at the back of the plane, getting off took an incredibly long time. He made his way through the airport, following the signs. Cami had sent him an e-mail advising him that Stu would meet him in baggage claim. Since Mateo had already told her that he was traveling with carry-on only, that seemed strange, but he followed her directions to a tee and was relieved when, as the escalator reached ground level, Stu was right there waiting for him. He was older and more well groomed than Mateo remembered but definitely the same guy, with one major exception: When Mateo approached him, Stu reached out and shook his hand. Back in the day, handshaking had never been part of Stuart Ramey’s MO.

  “Come on, then,” Stu urged. “Let’s get going. Your meeting with B. is at three, but Cottonwood’s about two hours from here, and we’ve got to make a stop along the way.”

  Stu led Mateo through first the terminal and then the parking garage, where he used a key fob to unlock the door of a Dodge Ram dual-cab pickup. The earlier version of Stuart Ramey hadn’t owned a vehicle or driven one either. So far the changes in him seemed downright remarkable.

  “Nice truck,” Mateo said as he settled in and fastened his seat belt. As far as conversation went, that was the best he could manage. They exited the airport and had merged onto a freeway before either man spoke again.

  “Have you ever been to Arizona?” Stu asked.

  Of course not, Mateo thought. Until today I’ve never been outside Washington State. He shook his head. “I was hoping to catch a glimpse of the Grand Canyon when we flew over it, but I wasn’t in a window seat.”

  “If you come to work for us, I’ll take you there sometime,” Stu offered. “It’s not all that far from Cottonwood.”

  The only word in Stu’s previous statement that stuck with Mateo was the first one—“if.” What if he didn’t get the job? What if this whole trip was for nothing? What if the only thing in his future was working on that loading dock?

  A few miles farther on, as they prepared to exit the freeway at a street called Camelback, Stu pointed toward a red mountain off to their right. “The street’s named after Camelback Mountain off over there.”

  Looking out the passenger window, Mateo had to agree that the rocky outcropping looming in the distance really did resemble a camel’s back.

  “So where are we going?” he asked.

  “We’ve got to pick up some supplies,” Stu told him. “It’s not the kind of thing that’s readily available in Cottonwood, but it won’t take long. The order should be ready for us. All I have to do is pay for it.”

  They stopped outside a strip mall in front of a store labeled Tech City. Mateo followed Stu inside, where they stopped at the customer-service desk. “I’m here to collect some stuff for Lance Tucker,” Stu announced.

  While the clerk went looking for their order, Mateo wandered off on his own. Eyeing the vast array of exotic electronic equipment on display, he felt like a little kid who had accidentally stumbled into Santa’s workshop.

  Minutes later they left the store with a dozen boxes, each containing what appeared to be a simple yard light. Reading the label on one of them, however, Mateo discovered that in addition to supplying illumination, each separate unit also contained a Wi-Fi-based surveillance camera, all of which operated by means of a solar battery pack. In other words, what would appear to be a simple wire-free yard-lighting system was actually a sophisticated surveillance network as well.

  “What’s all this for?” Mateo asked as he helped Stu load the boxes into the back seat of the truck.

  “Some jerk put beer bottles behind each of the tires on Cami’s car last night, and all of them were shredded when she tried to come to work this morning,” Stu explained. “Lance wanted me to pick these up so he can install them later on today. That way if whoever did it shows up again, you can bet we’ll have the goods on him.”

  “Lance is Cami’s boyfriend?” Mateo asked as they merged back onto I-17 and headed north again.

  “No, Lance Tucker is another guy who works with us. He’s young, but he’s a real brainiac.”

  “How many people work for High Noon altogether?” Mateo asked finally.

  “Right now there are six—B. and his wife, Ali—”

  “Wait, I thought B.’s wife’s name started with a C—Claire, maybe?”

  “Close,” Stu replied. “Clarice was her name, but she’s long gone. Ali Reynolds is B.’s second wife, and she’s great. You’ve already met Cami on the phone. She’s fine as long as you don’t start singing the praises of fast food. She’s a complete nutcase when it comes to healthy eating. Lance just graduated from UCLA. There’s Shirley Malone—the older lady who’s our receptionist—and then there’s me.”

  “Only six?” Mateo asked in amazement. “That’s all? I mean, from what I read, I thought High Noon was a big deal.”

  “High Noon is a big deal,” Stu replied, “an international big deal at that, but in this business you don’t have to have hundreds of employees to be effective.”

  Mateo sat thinking about that for some time, letting the words soak in while observing the changing landscape outside the window of the speeding pickup. There were communities strung here and there along the freeway, but most of what he saw was a vast empty desert, surrounded on all sides by looming mountains. There was desert around Yakima, too, but nothing like this.

  “What are those tall, sticklike things called?” he asked. “They look like giant pitchforks.”

  “Saguaros,” Stu explained, “a kind of cactus. In a few weeks, the tops will all have halos of white flowers on them. Later the flowers turn into fruit that local Native Americans use to make wine, but I’ve never tasted any of that.”

  As the elevation changed around them, moving higher and higher, the landscape changed too. Along the way Stu pointed out the various kinds of plants growing alongside the roadway—prickly pear and cholla with yellow flowers and groves of mesquite. As they traveled, Mateo felt his spirits rise. Being in open country like this made him feel as though he c
ould breathe again. He’d gone straight from his prison cell to the confines of his rented room at Randy’s. With the world literally opening up around him, he felt almost giddy. Was there a chance he could live here? What would it feel like to walk outside under this huge canopy of blue sky every single day and feel the sun all over his body?

  Stu had gone on talking, explaining things about High Noon’s customer base and the kinds of needs they had across the globe, but Mateo was too lost in his surroundings to pay much attention. By the time they turned off the freeway at a place called Camp Verde and headed west, they were in what appeared to be an area that was more grassland than desert.

  Mateo was raised Catholic, but it had been years since he’d attended Mass. Now, as Stu’s Dodge Ram headed toward another looming mountain range, Mateo found himself uttering a silent prayer that maybe this strip of highway really was the road to his future.

  |CHAPTER 22|

  SEDONA, ARIZONA

  “That was certainly interesting,” Ali said as she and B. pulled away from Sedona Shadows once lunch was over. “You were right,” she continued. “Dad was almost like his old self. He really did put on a show, and according to Betsy it’s been weeks since he’s been willing to go to the dining room.”

  “Which is why we have to be there for your mom at every opportunity. This must be an emotional nightmare for her. From one minute to the next, she has no idea if she’ll be sharing her unit with her husband of sixty-some years or with a man who regards her as a complete stranger. We need to help her see her way along the road ahead.”

  “I’m not sure even I want to see that road,” Ali said, brushing away a tear, “not for her or for any of us.”

  B. reached over and took her hand. “I seem to remember someone telling me not so long ago that that’s the cost of loving—knowing that eventually you’ll have to lose.”

  “Not fair,” Ali said.

  “What’s not fair?”

  “Spouting my own words back at me,” she replied.

  “What goes around comes around,” B. replied with a grin.

  They arrived at the office in Cottonwood a whole hour before the scheduled meeting, and both B. and Ali retreated to their separate offices to catch up on things. Sorting through the mail, Ali noticed immediately that there was no sign of a payment of any kind from Harvey McCluskey.

  “Time’s up,” she told herself under her breath. “Monday morning we start eviction proceedings.”

  By 3:00 p.m. B. and Ali were waiting in the break room when Stu ushered Mateo inside, then let himself out, closing the door behind him. B. took the newcomer’s hand and shook it. “Welcome,” he said. “Good to see you again, and this is my wife, Ali Reynolds.”

  As Ali shook hands with Mateo, she tried to assess the man. He was a handsome enough guy—tall, slender, with light brown skin and a hint of gray peeking through the thick black hair at his temples.

  “Glad to meet you,” Mateo murmured.

  It was clear enough for Ali to see that he was nervous and had no idea what to expect. She was grateful when B. charged right ahead with putting Mateo out of his misery.

  “I understand Stu’s been giving you a guided tour.”

  “A short one,” Mateo answered with a nod. “It’s pretty amazing.”

  “Stu also tells us that you’re interested in coming to work here.”

  The man’s whole demeanor brightened. “Absolutely,” he said.

  B. slid a notepad across the table. Ali could tell that there was writing on it. Although she couldn’t make it out, she was reasonably sure of what it said.

  “This is what we’re prepared to offer,” B. said, “but you need to know in advance that there’s some shift work involved because we need to have someone on-site at all times.”

  Mateo pulled the notepad close enough to read it. When he did so, his eyes widened. “You’re offering me a job just like that, and you’re willing to pay me this much?”

  It was clear that he couldn’t quite believe what he was seeing.

  “Just like that,” Ali said, stepping into the discussion. “Your performance on those hack simulations far outstripped everyone else’s. Your work for B. at VGI years ago was entirely satisfactory, and although you’ve had some personal difficulties since then, we’re of the opinion that you deserve a second chance.”

  What no one in the room expected right then was for Mateo Vega to break down in tears, but that’s what he did. Finally, however, he gathered himself.

  “Sorry,” he said, “but I never expected—” He broke off, unable to continue. Then, after taking a deep breath, he added, “How soon would you want me to start?”

  “How soon can you start?” B. asked. “I’m assuming you have things to take care of up in Seattle.”

  “Not really,” Mateo replied. “I’m renting a room on a month-to-month basis. Everything I own came from a thrift store, and my boss knows I’ve been looking for another job for months. The only things I have outstanding are some books that need to be returned to the library, and I’m pretty sure Randy—my landlord—would return those if I ask.”

  “You’re willing to come here with just the clothes you’re wearing and what you have in your backpack?”

  For the first time, Mateo grinned at them. “It’s more than I had a year ago when I got out of prison. Oh, and that’s another thing. You’ll need to let my parole officer know where I’ve gone and why.”

  “I’m pretty sure we can handle that,” B. said. “Just give me a name and address. Other than that? Welcome aboard.”

  “Thank you,” Mateo said. “I can’t wait to get started.”

  |CHAPTER 23|

  COTTONWOOD, ARIZONA

  Once the witch at Caesars Palace had driven Harvey out of his cushy security job, he’d gone to work selling real estate at a time when the housing industry in Vegas had been booming. Eventually he’d come to suspect that his boss, one of the name-brand real-estate agents in town, was playing loosey-goosey with her escrow accounts. Maybe it takes a crook to know one. Harvey had been smart enough to deactivate his real-estate license and get out of Dodge before the whole thing had imploded. Several of his former associates, including his boss, had actually gone to prison.

  He’d landed in Prescott after finding employment at Bucky’s, one of two casinos in town. Unfortunately, he’d arrived with a very real gambling addiction, something that had eventually cost him his job at Bucky’s. Unemployed, he hit on the idea of setting himself up as a home inspector. He fudged his way through an online course and then breezed through the exam, having purchased the answers online for a mere hundred bucks. There were plenty of pricy real-estate transactions going on in Sedona, but he couldn’t afford to live there. That’s how he ended up in Cottonwood. It was less expensive in terms of rental costs. Not only that, it was a short trip, up and over Mingus Mountain, to both Prescott and Bucky’s.

  For months, on the days when he wasn’t working or hanging out at the Cowpoke, he was in Prescott at Bucky’s—as a customer now rather than an employee. For a fairly long time, he’d had good luck playing poker and blackjack. His winning streak had come to an abrupt end at some point. In his subsequent losing streak, he’d dropped even more. Eventually Harvey was evicted from his apartment for not paying rent, and now the same thing was about to happen at his office.

  He still had the Rolex he’d bought back during his salad days in Vegas. He could have sold that and covered his rent arrears with no problem, but he had no intention of doing so. His first plan had been to simply wait out the eviction process, then use the Rolex to bankroll his move to someplace else. He’d expected the process to take months, but if he could no longer sleep in the office, what was the point in hanging around?

  So he spent much of Saturday at his soon-to-be-former office, sorting out what he would take with him. It became apparent there wasn’t much. At the time he got tossed out of his apartment, he’d put everything he owned into a storage unit. Eventually he’d stopped p
aying the rent on that as well, and most of that stuff disappeared, too. The one thing he’d rescued from the storage unit was a banker’s box full of keepsakes. As he picked through its contents, looking for one particular item, Harvey came face-to-face with the fact that at age fifty-two he didn’t have much to show for his time on the planet.

  His high school diploma was there, as was the pocketknife his father had given him during his very brief foray in Cub Scouts. It was the same knife he’d used to slash Rhonda Ward’s bicycle tires all those years earlier. The collection included a worn Little League baseball glove, a pair of high school yearbooks, the first-place wrestling trophy he’d won at the state tournament his senior year at Butte High, and a shoebox holding an odd collection of photographs.

  He’d kept no pictures of his mother, but there were several of his father as a young man and a few with Harvey and his father together. However, the ones taken the night of Harvey’s high school graduation featured the beaming faces of the DeLucas standing in for his parents. There were photos of Harvey from his army days, including several of him proudly wearing his dress uniform, but most of those were faded color snapshots of Harvey and his MP pals hanging out and raising hell in beer gardens all over West Germany. Shuffling through the photos, he spent more time on those beer-garden gatherings than he did on any of the others, because he now numbered the time he’d been in Germany as the best days of his life. Back then he’d still believed he had a future. Now he knew better.

  Underneath the shoebox, he found what he was looking for—an unlabeled file folder containing two very different items. One was the picture of him and Marnie on their wedding day—a part of the standard wedding-chapel package from Caesars Palace. The other was Marnie’s death certificate, dated two days later.

  Marnie Richards was the closest Harvey had ever come to falling in love. She was ten years younger than he was and had turned up in his life when she moved into the same apartment building where he lived, a none-too-classy low-rise on Eastern in Las Vegas. Good-looking and sweet, she was an LPN who worked at Sunrise Hospital and was in the process of divorcing an abusive husband. Her ex had assured her he’d be glad to deliver her furniture and household goods, and she was incredibly grateful for that—right up until he dumped everything she owned out of his truck and into the parking lot.