J. Jance - Hand of Evil

“I seem to remember she had mental problems of some kind. Growing up in a dysfunctional family like that, why wouldn’t she? I believe she was institutionalized for a number of years somewhere up in the Bay Area or maybe in Arizona. I’m not sure which. That’s what prominent families did with troubled children back in those days-they locked them up and threw away the key. I don’t know what became of Arabella once she got out. Or even if she got out. I seem to remember something about a fire at one of those places, but you’ll have to forgive me. I’m not at all clear on the details.”

“You’ve been very clear on the details,” Ali said. “You’ve been a huge help.”

“And what about you, Alison?” Deb Springer asked. “What are you doing with yourself these days?”

It was much the same question Madeline Havens had asked in the lobby of St. Francis Hospital. In terms of elapsed time, an entire day had yet to pass, but it seemed more like years. Ali Reynolds had almost died. So had any number of other people.

“This and that,” Ali said with a laugh. “Trying to stay out of trouble.”

“Don’t,” Deb Springer advised. “Nobody ever accomplished anything worthwhile by staying out of trouble. You need to decide what it is you want to do and then set about doing it.”

Good advice, Ali thought. Remind me to pass it along to Detective Marsh the next time I speak to him. If ever.

The doorbell rang. “I’m sorry, Mrs. Springer,” Ali said. “Someone’s at the door.”

“You go answer it,” Deb said. “But feel free to call me back anytime. It’s fun dredging up all this ancient history. And give me your number. If anything more comes to mind on those appalling Ashcroft boys, I’ll call you back.”

For the second time that day Ali’s robe day was interrupted by the arrival of unexpected visitors. Looking out through the peephole, she saw a young man standing there-an older teenager. Only when he turned his face in her direction did Ali see the family resemblance. The boy looked so much like Dave Holman it was downright spooky. Ali had never met Rich Holman, but this had to be Dave’s son.

Ali opened the inside door. “Richey?” she asked uncertainly through the screen.

He nodded and raised his hand in a halfhearted greeting. “Oh,” he said. “You’re home.” He sounded disappointed to see her.

If you didn’t want me to be home, Ali thought, why are you ringing my bell? “What are you doing here?” she asked.

Rich shuffled his feet uneasily. “It’s my mom,” he murmured. “She’s the one who wants to see you. She’s out in the car. We stopped off down at the Sugarloaf and got directions. Is it okay if she comes in?”

Suddenly Ali understood why Edie Larson had been trying to call so urgently-she must have been hoping to give her daughter a heads-up that Roxanne and Richey were on their way.

“Sure,” Ali said. “Just wait here in the living room. I’ll go get dressed.”

Spooked by the company, Sam beat Ali to the bedroom, but only just. Hurriedly Ali slipped out of the robe, put on a pair of sweats, and smoothed her hair into a slipshod ponytail. Examining herself critically in the mirror, she paused long enough to powder her nose and apply some lipstick.

When Ali returned to the living room, the woman she assumed to be Roxanne Whitman was seated on the couch. Rich was standing in front of the entryway credenza, running an admiring finger over the satiny-smooth wood finish.

“I’m taking a woodworking course,” Richey said to Ali. “This is really a nice piece.”

“Thank you,” Ali said. “A friend refinished it for me.” A friend who’s gone now, she thought.

Richey went to the couch, where he took a seat next to his mother. Although Ali knew of Roxanne Holman Whitman, she had never met the woman in person. Roxie might have been pretty in a garish sort of way, but she was wearing too much makeup, all of it inexpertly applied.

“I’m sorry to barge in on you like this,” Roxie said nervously as her hands fidgeted in her lap. “I hope you don’t mind.”

“It’s fine,” Ali said. “Can I get you something?”

Roxie shook her head. “No, nothing for me. We can’t stay long. Dave would kill me if he knew I was horning into his personal life this way. And he’d really be upset if he knew I’d dragged Richey into it as well, but with everything that’s happened the last few days, I just couldn’t drive myself down here to bring Crystal home and leave town without talking to you first. I wanted to say thank you-thank you for everything you’ve done the last few days, and thank you for saving Crystal’s life last night.”

“You’re welcome,” Ali said. “I was happy to help out. But as far as horning in on Dave’s personal life? I’m not sure what you mean.”

“Of course you do,” Roxanne said, beaming. “Dave seems to think I’m a bit dim, but I understand some things well enough. You never would have done what you did for Crystal-saving her from that killer the way you did-if you and Dave weren’t involved.”

“Mom!” Richey objected, horrified.

“Well, it’s true,” Roxie declared. She was getting into her groove now. Sounding more confident, she was totally undaunted by her son’s squirming embarrassment.

“Since Crystal wants to stay here so much, I thought I should see for myself who the competition is,” Roxie continued. “Dave’s already met Gary, you see. Gary’s my new husband. Fortunately he’s crazy about my kids. It seems only fair, then, that I should meet whoever Dave is lining up to be my kids’ wicked stepmother. That’s a joke. I can see you already care about Crystal a lot, just like my Gary does.”

Ali was dumbfounded. “Excuse me, Mrs. Whitman,” she objected. “You’re mistaken. I’m not being ‘lined up,’ as you say, to be anybody’s stepmother!”

Roxanne was undeterred. “Call me Roxie,” she said with a smile. “Everybody does. Since we’re practically going to be relatives, we should probably be on a first-name basis. And I can certainly see why Crystal liked it here so much. Your place is beautiful, by the way. It doesn’t even look like a mobile home, but then ours is only a single-wide, a fourteen-by-seventy.”

Roxanne’s comment about Ali’s house echoed what Arabella Ashcroft had said earlier, only from the opposite end of the spectrum. While Roxie cast an admiring glance around the room, Richey sat next to her looking as though he hoped a hole would somehow open in the floor and swallow him.

“Mom,” he pleaded. “Can’t we just go?”

“No,” Roxie said. “Since Ali’s such an important part of your father’s life, it’s high time the two of us met.”

“Look,” Ali said forcefully. “I’m afraid you’re mistaken. Dave and I are good friends-we’ve always been friends. He asked me to look after Crystal because it was an emergency situation with work, and he didn’t have anyone else to ask. I was glad to do it, by the way, but believe me, Dave and I are not involved. And the fact that Crystal’s life got saved last night has as much to do with a guy named Bernie Bernstein as it does with me. I can assure you that Bernie isn’t romantically involved with Dave Holman, either.”

For the first time, Roxanne seemed uncertain. “But I know he was over there in California with you a few months ago when there was all that trouble,” she objected. “And from what Crystal said…”

That was true, Ali and Dave had been in California together-when Dave had come to help her. But they hadn’t been staying in the same hotel room. They hadn’t even been in the same hotel.

“What exactly did Crystal say?” Ali asked.