J. Jance - Left for Dead

“No,” Ali agreed. “I’m definitely not. So who is it? Someone from here in town?”

“Their names are Derek and Elena Hoffman,” Edie said. “Elena was raised in Scottsdale. Her family used to come up here during the summers, and it was always a big treat for them to come to the Sugarloaf for breakfast so Elena could have one of my sweet rolls. Her husband was raised back east somewhere. In Milwaukee, I believe.

“Derek is the chef in the family,” Edie continued. “He and Elena met at culinary school, where they were taking classes. They both dreamed about being able to open their own restaurant. They came out to Arizona last February to visit Elena’s grandparents. Derek has spent his whole life enduring those awful Midwest winters. He thought Scottsdale was splendid, but then Elena brought him to Sedona. He fell in love with Sedona, and he fell in love with my sweet rolls. They came back up last month and made us a generous offer.”

“If they’re just starting out, where’s the money coming from?” Ali asked.

“Elena’s grandfather is bankrolling them. He’ll be a silent partner, but this way they can start in a restaurant that’s already a going concern. For now they’re not planning on changing anything. And they’re cashing us out. The offers we had before always called for our carrying the note. You may not know this, but most new restaurants fail within the first year.”

Ali did know that, and she couldn’t help raising a few objections. “Just because this Derek guy is a chef doesn’t mean he’ll make a great short-order cook.”

Edie smiled. “They’re older than you think. Derek started slinging hash when he was with the marines in Desert Storm, so his initial cooking experience wasn’t so different from that of your very capable Mr. Brooks.”

Leland’s humble culinary beginnings dated from the Korean War, where he’d been a cook in the British marines before immigrating to the U.S. Once here, he served as the man-of-all-work for, first, Anne Marie; and later, Isabella Ashcroft, turning himself into an excellent chef along the way. But knowing about Derek’s military background went a long way toward explaining why Ali’s father would be enthusiastic about having him take over the restaurant.

“Do they have kids?” Ali asked.

Edie nodded. “One-a daughter, Savannah. She’s in kindergarten. That’s always a problem when people move their kids over the summer. They end up not knowing anyone. Derek and Elena want Savannah to have the benefit of the last two months of kindergarten in her new school. That way she’ll have a chance to meet some of her new classmates before summer starts. And I think it’s wonderful that there’ll be another little girl living in your old room.”

“Wait,” Ali said. “You mean they’re buying the house, too?”

“They’re buying the whole thing-lock, stock, and barrel,” Edie said. “The tax rolls consider the restaurant and house to be one property. To sell them separately, we’d have to subdivide, and chances are it wouldn’t be allowed. The city of Sedona would be all over us.”

It was bad enough to think of her parents selling the restaurant, but Ali bridled at the idea that they would no longer be living in the place she had considered home her whole life.

“But you’ll have to move,” Ali objected.

“Yes, we will,” Edie said. “After so many years in one place, that won’t be easy.”

Clearly, the decisions had all been made, and since it seemed unlikely that anything Ali said would make a difference one way or the other, she didn’t voice any more objections.

“That’s great,” she said, hoping she sounded sufficiently enthusiastic. “If anyone deserves to retire, it’s you two.”

“I told you we were selling the restaurant, but who said anything about retiring?” Edie asked. “Your father may have some harebrained idea about hopping in a motor home and taking off cross-country, but I don’t have any intention of making like a turtle and hauling my house around on my back. Cooking meals in a camper doesn’t sound like my idea of a good time, either. I want to go somewhere where someone cooks for me.”

“Where are you going to live, then?” Ali asked.

“That’s one of the little kinks we’re having to work out. The new owners will take over the restaurant on May first, but we’ll have until the end of June to move out of the house. We’re thinking about moving either into a two-bedroom unit or a town house at that new retirement community, Sedona Hills Seniors. They should be ready for occupancy about the time we need to move. Their units come with a full-meal option.”

Ali knew about Sedona Hills Seniors. Touted as “Luxurious Senior Living for Active Adults,” it was being built along the highway just a few blocks west of the Sugarloaf.

“Are you sure you and Dad are ready for such a big change?” Ali asked.

Edie laughed, “More than ready, my dear. The dining room and clubhouse are lovely, and after a lifetime of cooking and serving meals, I’m ready to have someone else serve me for a change. Besides, they do all the upkeep, inside and out. What’s not to like?”

“What about Dad?” Ali asked. “Where’s he going to work on his Blazer?”

“Don’t worry about that. Most of the units come with garages. As long as he has a place to keep his tools, we could go live in a tent for all he cares.”

“Sounds like you’ve thought of everything.”

Edie nodded. “Yes, I think we’re both going to like living there. Best of all, Sedona Hills is inside the city limits.”

“City limits?” Ali echoed. “What does being inside the city limits have to do with anything?”

Edie Larson beamed at her daughter. “I thought you’d never ask,” she said. “I’ve decided to run for mayor. That guy they have now has never been in business a day in his life. He’s been here what? Five years on the outside. I know everyone in town, and I’m hoping you’ll agree to be my campaign manager. I’m also hoping you’ll help me break the news to your father.”

“You mean you haven’t told him?”

“Not yet,” Edie said. “And chances are, he isn’t going to like it.”

6:00 P.M., Saturday, April 10

Tucson, Arizona

In the ICU waiting room, time passed with glacial slowness. Teresa’s mother, Maria Delgado, showed up, dropped off by a neighbor who had driven her from Nogales to Tucson. In the early afternoon, Donnatelle Craig arrived as well, having driven over from Yuma.

Initially, the girls were shy around the tall black stranger, but gradually, Donnatelle won them over. The presence of the other two women in the waiting room made it possible for Teresa to spend five minutes each hour sitting at Jose’s bedside.

Some time in the course of the afternoon, Teresa emerged from Jose’s room and was astonished to find her former mother-in-law, Olga Sanchez, striding into the waiting room carrying two gigantic shopping bags with a pair of immense teddy bears sticking out of the top of one.

Teresa had assumed that Olga Sanchez was out of her life for good. And yet here she was, showing up at the hospital as though she had every right to be there, bringing along a treasure trove of goodies.

“What are you doing here?” Teresa asked.

Thin as a rail, Olga wore her lustrous black, streaked with white, hair pulled back into a complicated chignon. From the neck up, she resembled a prima ballerina, but neck down, she was cowgirl all the way, complete with skintight jeans, a western shirt, and glossy snakeskin boots. Her wide belt sported a massive silver and turquoise buckle worthy of a world cage-fighting champion.

“I just heard about Jose,” Olga said. “I thought I’d come see if there was anything I could do to help, if that’s all right. And I brought along a few things I thought the girls might like. It’s high time I met little Carinda. She’s my granddaughter, after all.”