J. Jance - Hand of Evil

Maybe, Ali thought, I was wrong to be worried about Velma’s financial situation. She continued reading:

When I called to inquire about reservations, it turned out that there was only a single pair of accommodations left on the trip. Since I was a single, I thought that left me out, but then the reservations lady came up with a wonderful idea. It seems there was another person who had inquired about that same trip, another single, who’s a retired schoolteacher from Washington State. So we ended up booking our trip together. Her name is Maddy Watkins. She’s quite a bit younger than I am, but we’ve been e-mailing back and forth, and she sounds delightful.

Thank you for encouraging me not to stand around waiting for life or death to happen. If I die somewhere along the way, my son can damned well pay to have me shipped home. And if I get home and I’m still feeling well enough and have any money left over, I may book a cruise, too.

I miss your blog. I know something bad must have happened, and I know you’re not ready to say what it is. Just know that you’ve made a huge difference in my life and probably in lots of other lives, too.

Love,

VELMA T IN LAGUNA

On a sunny evening in March, Dave Holman came by for dinner. While Athena and Chris laughed and cooked in the kitchen, Ali and Dave sat outside on the front porch on the swing, sipping some of Paul Grayson’s very expensive wine. They were spending more and more time together these days. Ali wasn’t sure where the relationship was going, but for now she was comfortable with it.

“The custody hearing’s next week,” Dave said, draping one arm around her shoulder. “We’ve hammered out an arrangement that seems reasonable, and we’re pretty sure the judge will go along with it. Richey will be a senior next year, and he’ll stay in Vegas to finish high school. After that he’s planning on joining the Marines.”

“Like father like son,” Ali said.

Dave nodded. “And the girls will spend half the summer there, then they’ll come live with me and go to school here. They’re thrilled. Of course, it means I’ll have to find somewhere else to live, but with Roxie paying child support…”

Ali was astonished. “She’s agreed to pay child support?”

“That’s what I said. It’s a reasonable arrangement. And I have to give Gary Whitman credit. He’s the one who came up with the idea and convinced Roxie that it was doable. After what happened to Crystal, I think he wants the girls out of Vegas even more than I do. When Richard Masters agreed to a plea bargain and Crystal no longer faced having to testify, Gary was so relieved that I thought he was going to burst into tears.”

Ali said nothing. After a pause, Dave added, “It really chaps my butt.”

“What does?”

“Gary and I aren’t ever going to be friends,” Dave said. “But he isn’t that bad a guy. Maybe he’s not the best businessman who ever came down the pike, but he’s a better husband to Roxie than I ever was, and she’s happier with him than she was with me. I just have to make sure he’s not a better father.”

Again Ali had nothing to say. She found that happened to her often these days.

“Speaking of fathers,” Dave continued, “I saw yours today. Bob’s worried about you.”

“He is?” Ali asked.

“And so am I,” Dave said. “You’re depressed, Ali. You’re not yourself. You’re not even blogging anymore. You’ve been through a lot. Have you ever heard of post-traumatic stress disorder?”

“Of course, I’ve heard of PTSD,” Ali said dismissively, “but it’s got nothing to do with me.”

“Yes, it does,” Dave argued. “Your father and I have both been around it. We know the signs. You need to see someone. You need help.”

“No, I don’t,” Ali declared, ducking out from beneath Dave’s arm. “All I need is some sleep. You and Dad need to mind your own business. And since I’m not feeling very sociable at the moment, maybe you should just go.”

“No deal, Mom,” Chris said, materializing silently in the open doorway behind them. “Dinner’s on the table, and Athena and I say Dave isn’t leaving.”

The next day, it was all Ali could do to drag herself out of bed. By midafternoon, she was still in her robe and worrying about getting dressed before Chris came home from school when the doorbell rang. When she looked through the peephole, she was surprised to find Leland Brooks standing there in all his rhinestone cowboy glory. He looked tanned and fit and surprisingly chipper. The Rolls, shiny as ever, was parked in the driveway behind him.

At first Ali wasn’t going to open the door. He rang the bell again though, and she opened the door.

“I hope you’ll forgive me for dropping by this way,” he said. “I came over from Prescott to check on the house, and I wanted to see you.”

Grudgingly, Ali invited him inside.

“I’ve had a letter from Miss Arabella,” he said. “Several of them, in fact, all of them asking that I intercede with you on her behalf and beg you to reconsider your decision about purchasing her place.”

“I thought that was all set,” Ali said. “I thought a developer was going to take it and tear it down.”

“He thought so, too,” Brooks said, “but that was before some of the neighbors got together and had it placed on the National Historical Record. The house is considered second-generation Frank Lloyd Wright and all that. Then there was another possible buyer, but his offer fell through. The house failed the inspection-rather miserably, I’m afraid, and his bank wouldn’t approve it.”

“What does any of this have to do with me?”

“Miss Arabella wanted me to let you know that we’ll take less than she told you earlier, although I’m not sure what that amount was. She said that if you’ll make an offer somewhere in that neighborhood, as long as the offer is from you, the real estate agent and I are both directed to accept it. She also said your offer should include the house’s contents. That way, when you refurb it, you’ll be able to use as many of Mrs. Ashcroft’s original furnishings as you wish. You’ll be able to bring the house back to what it once was-what it never was with Miss Arabella living in it.”

Ali was tired-more tired than she’d ever been in her life. “Look,” she said. “I don’t really care what Miss Arabella wants.”

“It’s what I want, too,” Brooks said. “And I’d be more than willing to come help oversee the remodeling project. I know where the original blueprints are, and believe me, I know what’s wrong and what needs fixing. I suppose you could say, in a manner of speaking, that I know where the bodies are buried.”

With his eyes twinkling, Brooks seemed to be waiting for Ali to smile, but that was more than she could muster.

“I’ve spoken to Mr. Holman about this,” he said finally. “He thinks it would be a good idea for you to take on a project.”

More meddling on Dave’s part. Ali was suddenly angrier than she had been in months. “This is none of his business!” she exclaimed. “And it’s none of yours, either.”

“Oh, but it is,” Leland Brooks said. “Has anyone mentioned to you that you look quite dreadful?”

“How kind of you to point that out,” Ali said.

“Here it is, late afternoon, and you’re not even dressed.”

“Excuse me,” Ali said. “This isn’t any of your business, either.”

“Yes,” he said. “I believe it is. Do you know much about the Korean War?”

“No,” Ali said. “Not really.”

“I was in it,” he said. “I was in Forty-one Commando Royal Marines-a cook. So I saw a lot of action but I didn’t do much fighting. I fed the guys who did, but I didn’t think I was worth much. I came home from the war and I was ready to just sit around and do nothing, but then a miracle happened-two of them actually. Someone sent me his Silver Star.”