J. Jance - Deadly Stakes

“I’m sorry if it’s inconvenient,” Ali said placatingly. “I was in the neighborhood. I just have a few more questions.”

“All right, all right,” Molly said impatiently. “Come in.”

As Ali stepped into the entryway, she saw a stack of luggage sitting near the front door as if waiting to be loaded into a vehicle. She waited while Molly slammed the door shut, then stomped around the luggage and through the entryway, leading the way into the living room.

“Is someone taking a trip?” Ali asked, pulling out her iPad and opening the lid.

“Not that it’s any of your business,” Molly replied, “but I’m going to drop Mother off in Palm Springs and let her spend a couple of days with Jack and Gloria Manning, some friends of my father’s. All the emotional turmoil with Gemma and Chip is too much for her. As you saw last night, she can’t remember from one moment to another if Gemma’s alive or dead, and it’s too hard on both of us for me to keep telling her what’s what over and over. I’ve decided it’ll be easier if she’s out of town, at least until after the funeral.”

“Wouldn’t participating in a funeral help her?” Ali asked, talking as she typed “Jack and Gloria Manning” and “Palm Springs” into her iPad. “I mean, maybe the formal mourning rituals would help clarify the situation for her.”

“I’ll take care of my mother,” Molly said. “Now what do you want?”

The night before, Ali had come away with the impression that Molly Handraker was close to saintliness as far as her dealings with her ailing mother were concerned. This morning the saintly mask had slipped a little, and Molly’s mean-girl tone and manner were more in line with what Ali might have expected from one of Gemma Ralston’s and Valerie Sloan’s “best friends.”

“I just wanted to clarify one or two things. I understand that you and Gemma had a disagreement of some kind the other night-the night she went missing. I wondered if it might be important.”

Molly seemed to consider her answer before she spoke. “You know that old saw about people who live in glass houses not throwing stones?”

Ali nodded. “What about it?”

“I got tired of being the target of all that stone throwing,” Molly said. “I mean, here’s Gemma busily telling me ‘What you need to do is this’ and ‘What you need to do is that,’ when her own life isn’t exactly a model of perfect relationships. I figured she didn’t have much room to talk, and I told her so. Then I left, came home, and went to bed. That’s all there was to it.”

“Then there was that odd moment when your mother said something about Gemma being asleep in the car.”

“You may have noticed, my mother gets confused on occasion,” Molly said. “Things that happened months ago seem like yesterday to her. You have to know that Gemma was known to have a few too many now and then. A couple of months ago, when she was in no condition to drive, we brought her home from the club and left her in Mother’s car long enough to sleep it off. Once she sobered up, I took her back down to the club to pick up her car so she could drive herself home.

“The whole episode offended Mother’s tender sensibilities and, like everything else to do with Gemma, it’s stuck in her very random access memory. At the time, she thought I should have brought Gemma into the house and put her to bed properly, in one of the guest rooms. Of course, Mama didn’t bother considering the physical impossibility of my being able to get a sleeping drunk up the stairs and through the house single-handed. That was all my problem, not hers. So periodically, Mama goes off on one of those ‘Gemma’s sleeping’ rants, just like she did last night. When that happens, I try to consider the source and ignore it.”

Having heard what Luis had to say about Gemma’s drinking habits, Ali was tempted to accept Molly’s explanation at face value. Still, something about the supposedly plausible answer jarred. It was a little too smooth, too pat-as though it had been rehearsed or delivered before, verbatim.

“What about your mother’s missing necklace?” Ali asked.

That one caught Molly off guard. Her cheeks paled. “What missing necklace?” she asked.

“You know,” Ali said with a careless shrug. “The one Gemma offered to come help find.”

There was a momentary silence. Gradually, color seeped back into Molly’s face. Ali knew something important had just happened, though she wasn’t sure what.

Shaking her head, Molly regrouped. “Oh, that,” she said offhandedly. “Same thing. As I said before, Mother gets confused from time to time. She had told Gemma that morning on the phone that she had lost her favorite necklace, one Daddy gave her for their fiftieth wedding anniversary. Turns out Mama had it put away in an old jewelry box instead of the one she usually uses, so the necklace was never lost in the first place.”

“Where is she, by the way?” Ali asked.

“Mama? I asked her to stay out of the way while we were packing. She’s probably in her room, mooning over that damned photo album from Gemma and Chip’s wedding. She barely lets it out of her sight. Drags it with her everywhere she goes. It drives me nuts.”

The night before, when Ali had seen Doris cradling the wedding album, she had assumed Doris was reliving her own or her daughter’s wedding. Apparently, that assumption had been wrong.

“Your mother’s unrelenting focus on Gemma must be overwhelming at times.”

“You think?” Molly asked with more than a trace of rancor. “Yes, in the wedding sweepstakes, I always come in second best. Actually, I’m so far behind the field that no one even knows I’m there. It’s especially helpful that my mother’s condition makes it possible for her to forget everything about everyone else, but she doesn’t forget a single thing about Gemma. That’s still all there, every bit of it, and Mama never hesitates to rub it in.”

Ali’s iPad dinged, letting her know there was an arriving message, but she had no time to look at it. Somewhere in the back of the house, a door slammed shut, and heavy footsteps came rushing toward the living room. A heavyset man with a fleshy face and coal-black slicked-back hair appeared in the doorway between the dining room and living room.

“If you’re here,” he demanded, “where’s the Jag?”

“What do you mean, where’s the Jag?” Molly returned. “It’s in the garage, where it’s supposed to be.”

“No, it’s not. It was there a few minutes ago, and you were in the shower when I took the Mercedes down to fill up with gas. Now it’s gone.”

Molly looked at him, then wordlessly, she got up and left the room. Moments later, she was back. Once again her face had gone ashen. “She’s gone,” she said.

“Did you give her the medicine?”

Molly nodded.

“Are you sure she took it?”

“It’s gone.”

“Did you up the dose?”

“I gave her the usual amount.”

“Crap,” the man muttered. “How could you be so dumb? I’ve been trying to tell you all along that she might end up developing a tolerance for the stuff. But did you listen? Of course not.”

“I’m sorry,” Molly murmured.

“And today of all days!” he continued to rage. “We’re on a very tight schedule here. We’ve got a plane to catch. Losing track of your mother right now is the last thing we need!”

“I’m sorry,” Molly said again.

“Sorry doesn’t cut it,” he said, ignoring the apology. “How the hell did this happen?”

“I don’t know. When I got out of the shower, I noticed that the dead-bolt key was missing from the entryway table. As far as I knew, Mama was in her room. I thought maybe you had taken the key.”