J. Jance - Deadly Stakes

Lynn had grabbed hers out of her suitcase, and they stood looking back and forth. “What,” he said finally, grinning. “You, too? Looks like we’re a matched set.”

With that, the two of them had collapsed onto the hotel bed, laughing hysterically. Months into the relationship, the masks and machines were an integral part of their lives. Chip bought Lynn an extra machine to leave at his house so she wouldn’t have to carry hers back and forth. Over time they stopped being self-conscious about it. Donning their masks in the aftermath of lovemaking was as automatic as brushing their teeth after dinner. Lynn had adjusted to the comfort of the machine’s white noise, and when she was at Chip’s house, she slept in a welcome, dream-filled slumber that allowed her to awaken after only a few hours fully rested and alert. More than once, Chip had teased her, saying that when she was asleep with her mask on, the house could fall down around her and she wouldn’t notice.

So he could have crept out without her knowledge, but she didn’t mention that to Detective Holman. “No,” she insisted instead. “That’s just not possible.”

“How long have you known Dr. Ralston?”

“I met him over a year ago.”

“While he was still married to his wife?”

“Their marriage was over long before I came into the picture,” Lynn said. “He was my father’s doctor. That’s how I met him. He does primary care for Alzheimer’s patients and provides counseling for families dealing with Alzheimer’s-related issues. You need to understand that Chip didn’t make any inappropriate overtures to me while my father was alive and his patient. His behavior was entirely aboveboard.”

“So you don’t regard yourself as Gemma’s rival?”

“Absolutely not. I told you. Their marriage was over before I came into Chip’s life.”

“When’s the last time you remember using your phone?”

The abrupt change in direction caught Lynn momentarily off guard. “I’m pretty sure the last time I used the phone was when I called Chip that evening to let him know I was on my way to his house. The next time I tried to use it was in the morning after I got back to my mother’s place in Surprise. That’s when I discovered it was gone.”

“What can you tell me about Dr. Ralston’s demeanor the last time you saw him?”

“Nothing out of the ordinary. He was glad to see me. I was glad to see him.”

“He didn’t seem upset or preoccupied?”

“No. Not at all.”

“He didn’t seem angry?”

“No. Everything seemed normal.”

“What if I told you that Gemma Ralston is dead?”

“She’s dead?” Lynn repeated weakly.

And that was when he dropped the bomb-or at least what she thought was the bomb.

“And what if I told you that your phone was found at the scene of Gemma’s murder?”

Stunned, Lynn said nothing.

The detective nodded. “Right next to her body, so here’s the thing. How do you suppose your phone got there? Were you at the crime scene and left it behind without meaning to? Or was it left there by someone else in order to implicate you in the commission of that crime-to share the blame, as it were?”

Lynn’s half-empty coffee mug clattered onto the tabletop, slopping coffee in every direction. “I didn’t do it!” she said. She wanted to add, And neither would he!

“As you said earlier, Dr. Ralston has been under a good deal of financial pressure. People in those kinds of binds can do uncharacteristic things.”

Lynn reached for her new phone. “I need to call him,” she said. “I need to let him know what’s going on.”

“That’s not necessary,” Detective Holman said. “I’m quite sure Dr. Ralston is already aware of the situation.”

“What can I do to help?”

“Just what you’re doing,” he answered. “Talk to me. Give me your take on what’s going on. This has been a completely informal interview, and I really appreciate your help. But I’d like to have a more formal one. That would need to be done in Prescott-at the Sheriff’s Department. That way I’ll be able to record it; have it on the record.”

“You’re saying you want me to drive up to Prescott for an interview?”

“No. I’ll be glad to give you a ride up and a ride back down.”

“A ride. I’m not under arrest, am I?”

“Not at all.”

“All right, then, but what about my car? Shouldn’t I drive it home, and we can leave for Prescott from there?”

“It’s just for a few hours,” he said. “I’m sure it’ll be fine here. Driving all the way out to Surprise and back will add two hours to the trip. I’ll clear it with the restaurant manager before we leave.”

That was how, a few minutes later, Lynn Martinson walked out of Denny’s under her own power and waited patiently while Detective Holman unlocked his vehicle and opened the back door to let her inside. “There’s too much stuff in the front seat,” he explained.

It wasn’t until after she was seated inside with the door locked from the outside that Lynn began to wonder if she’d been lied to again. By yet another man.

Her phone was in her pocket. Detective Holman had strongly suggested that she not try calling Chip; he hadn’t said anything about Lynn not calling her mother. Still, Lynn left the phone where it was. If she hadn’t told her mother about something as simple as losing her phone, how could she explain that she was somehow mixed up in a homicide?

No, Lynn thought as the big sedan eased out of the parking lot. I’ll tell her when this is all over. We’ll laugh like crazy.

Hours later and finding herself under arrest, Lynn Martinson wasn’t laughing, and she had yet to call her mother. Beatrice would find out what had happened the same way Lynn had found out about Lucas’s suicide. Someone else-a cop, most likely-would tell her. Having been on the receiving end of that kind of message, Lynn knew how much it hurt.

Sick at heart, Lynn turned over on her side until she was facing away from the barred door and the lit hallway outside her cell. She tried to be quiet about it, but she cried herself to sleep, wondering if any of it was true. Had Chip really crept out of bed without her knowing, murdered Gemma, and then come back to bed as though nothing at all had happened? Had he taken Lynn’s phone with him and left it there in hopes of pinning the blame on her? If so, that made Chip’s betrayal far worse than anything Richard Lowensdale had done.

It would have been easy to give up right then-to fall asleep and, without the aid of her breathing machine, simply not wake up again. But that wasn’t what happened. The next morning, when the lights came on at six-thirty and the jailers rousted her out of bed, Lynn Martinson sat on the edge of her narrow metal cot and realized for the first time in her life that she was mad as hell and she wasn’t going to take it anymore.

Late in the afternoon, when they had finally placed Lynn under arrest, they had told her that Gemma’s blood had been found in Lynn’s Focus. If that was true, if Gemma’s blood had turned up in Lynn’s vehicle, she sure as hell hadn’t put it there. And if anybody thought they were going to get her to plead guilty to something she hadn’t done, then, as her mother would say, they had another think coming.

Long after B. was snoring up a storm, Ali lay awake thinking about Beatrice Hart and her daughter. When Dave brought up the possible plea bargain with Lynn Martinson’s mother, he evidently assumed that Beatrice would do what she could to help get Lynn agree to the deal. In fact, she had headed out for Prescott determined to do the opposite.

Unable to sleep, Ali crept out of the bedroom and back to the library, where she relit the gas log and pulled her autographed copy of Brenda Riley’s book, Web of Lies: The Life and Death of a Cyberpath, from its spot on the bookshelf.