J. Jance - Hand of Evil

“Arabella, it’s the middle of the night. People are asleep. I can’t be honking the horn.”

Just then the whole discussion became moot when Leland Brooks, lugging another pair of suitcases, entered the garage through the kitchen door. He set them down with the rest of the luggage then straightened slowly and started toward the Rolls.

Ali didn’t know what to do. Should she warn him away? Let him come ahead on and hope that, between the two of them, they could somehow wrestle the loaded weapon from Arabella’s hand? Before Ali could respond one way or the other, Brooks made straight for the back door and opened it. “Good evening, madam,” he said to Arabella. “I’m glad you’re home.”

He reached in and took the briefcase. Without objection, Arabella allowed herself to be helped from the car. “Get all that junk out of the way so she can pull into the garage,” Arabella ordered. “And what on earth are you doing in that god-awful outfit?”

That was the first Ali actually noticed how Brooks was dressed-in a bright blue sequined cowboy shirt, narrow-legged jeans, and cowboy boots.

“Don’t you like it?” he asked.

“Of course I don’t like it,” Arabella said irritably. “You look like you’re about to go out trick-or-treating. And what is all this mess?”

“It’s my luggage,” Brooks replied. “My ride should be here in a while.”

“Ride?” Arabella repeated. “You’re going someplace? You’re taking a trip?”

“Yes, madam,” Brooks said. “I’m afraid I’m leaving.”

“Leaving! You can’t do that. You can’t be serious.”

“I’m entirely serious,” Brooks returned. “I know I promised your mother that I’d look after you, but I’m afraid I can’t do that anymore. You’re far too dangerous-to yourself and others-including Madam Reynolds here. You are all right, aren’t you Ms. Reynolds?”

His manner was as calm and unruffled as if he were inquiring about whether she wanted one lump or two in her tea.

“Yes,” Ali managed with some difficulty. “I’m fine.”

“Good,” he said. “Very good.” Then he turned back to Arabella. “I have reason to believe you’ve somehow managed to get into the safe and remove the guns. I’m sure that must be how you convinced Madam Reynolds to accompany you on this little jaunt tonight. Is that true?”

Arabella stared at him as if he were speaking some incomprehensible foreign language.

“Well?” he prompted. She said nothing and he held out his hand. “Give it to me,” he said. “Give me the gun.”

And to Ali’s utter astonishment, Arabella complied.

“Where’s the other one?” he asked.

“In the briefcase.”

“Very well, then. Let’s go inside. It’s cold out here. I took the liberty of starting a fire in the living room in hopes you’d come to your senses and come home. We can talk there. You’re welcome, too, Ms. Reynolds, if you wish. You might want to phone your family and let them know you’re safe, but if you don’t mind, I’d like to make a call or two first.”

With Arabella leaning on his arm, Leland led her into the house. With him in his cowboy duds and her in her fur-coated finery, the two of them made an incongruous but somehow dignified pair. Seeing them together reminded Ali of pictures of the queen mum being escorted in some royal processional. They went in through the laundry room and kitchen-through parts of the house Ali had never seen before-where appliances that looked as though they should have been genuine antiques consigned to museums seemed to be still functional. They walked through the chilly dining room with its massive polished wood table and matching sideboard.

As promised, a cheerful fire was burning in the living room. Brooks deftly relieved Arabella of her coat and then deposited her in one of the chairs facing the fire.

“I notice your computer is missing,” he said. “I’m assuming it hasn’t been stolen.”

“It’s in the trunk of the Rolls,” she said. “I was going to get rid of it, but then I forgot.”

“Very well, madam,” Brooks said. “I’ll bring it back inside later. Now would you care for something to drink?”

“Oh my, yes. I’d love one of your martinis about now, Mr. Brooks. Wouldn’t you, Ali? As cold as you can make them, of course, but do change out of those ridiculous clothes before you serve us.”

Ali’s head was spinning. By force of sheer willpower Leland Brooks had somehow managed to create a sense of normalcy out of chaos. His steadfast calm in the face of Arabella’s erratic frenzy seemed to have dragged Arabella back into the real world as well. Was this how he had handled her all these years?

“Is that what you would like, Madam Reynolds?” Brooks asked. “A martini?”

“Yes, please,” Ali said. “That would be fine. And a telephone.”

“Very well. Please have a seat here by the fire. I’ll be right back.”

He took the coat and draped it over the back of a nearby chair and then exited the room, taking the briefcase with him. Arabella leaned into her chair, closed her eyes briefly, and sighed with contentment. She seemed happy to be home. Maybe she’s finally running out of steam, Ali thought.

Facedown on the table between the two chairs lay a well-thumbed paperback copy of Louis Lamour’s High Lonesome. Ali picked it up and looked at the cover. The two-dollar price tag printed on the cover probably meant that it had been around for a long time.

Arabella opened her eyes. “That’s Mr. Brooks’s book,” she said. “He likes westerns. He reads to me sometimes when I can’t sleep. Since my memory’s shot a lot of the time, it doesn’t matter if he reads the same story over and over.”

What a good man, Ali thought.

When Brooks returned to the living room, he brought with him a tray laden with shakers and glasses along with a thick stack of papers and a telephone. He put the tray on a side table, then he handed the phone to Ali, and approached Arabella with the collection of papers.

“Before I pour the drinks,” he said, “there are a few items that must be attended to.”

“Like what?” Arabella asked. “And why haven’t you changed clothes?”

“This is a listing agreement,” he replied, ignoring her question. “I finished signing it just a few minutes before you arrived. The real estate agent was more than happy to make an after-hours visit.”

“A listing agreement for what?”

“To sell the house, of course,” he answered. “Since I have your power of attorney, I’ve already signed it, but I wanted you to have an opportunity to review the documents.”

Arabella seemed totally dismayed. “We’re selling the house?” she asked. “But why? Where are we going to live?”

Ali’s first phone call was to the sheriff’s department, where she told the dispatcher what was going on and left a message asking Dave to come get her. Next she dialed her home number.

“Mom,” Chris said anxiously. “Is that you? Thank God. Where are you? Are you all right?”

“I’m fine,” she said. “I’m at Arabella’s house.”

“Athena and I can pick you up.”

“No. I just talked to the sheriff’s department. Dave’s most likely already on his way here. This is going to take time. Dave will be glad to give me a ride home when things are sorted out.”

By the time Ali was off the phone, the martinis were poured, but Arabella was once again in a towering rage. “You can’t do that to me,” she screeched at Leland Brooks. “You can’t sell the house right out from under me. It’s not fair. Why are you doing this?”

“Because you’re going to need the money,” Brooks explained patiently. “We don’t have enough ready cash available to pay for the defense attorney. This is the best way to handle that.”