J. Jance - Web of Evil

"Maybe not," Hubbard agreed. "And no one else was there at the house when you arrived?"

"No one. Not the cook. Not the gardener."

"What time did you get there?"

"Four or so. I don't remember exactly."

"The nine-one-one call came in at four-fifteen."

"So around four."

"The people who were with you at the time you found Ms. Ragsdale were your mother and this friend, one Dave Holman."

"Yes," Ali said. "That's correct."

"And he's a police officer?"

Ali nodded. "Dave's a homicide detective with the Yavapai County Sheriff's Department in Sedona."

"I've heard about Sedona," Hubbard said. "The crystal place. So he drove all the way over here from there?"

"From Lake Havasu, actually," Ali replied. "He's divorced. He was there visiting his kids."

"When did he arrive?"

Ali was a little puzzled by this segue into questions about Dave Holman. "Early afternoon," she answered. "In time to have lunch."

"And he was with you most of the afternoon?"

"Yes."

All this time, Detective Rosalie Martin had been sitting back and letting her partner do most of the questioning. Now she leaned forward once more.

"You mentioned that you came and went from the hotel via the service elevator?"

"Yes," Ali said.

"Why was that?"

"Because the lobby was full of reporters. I wanted to avoid them if at all possible."

"Couldn't it also be because you didn't want to be observed, period?" Rosalie asked. "Not just by the reporters but by anyone?"

Her not-too-subtle implication was clear and Victor balked. "This interview is over," he announced. "My client has been more than cooperative. She's answered all your questions. If you want to know whether or not she left the hotel in the course of the afternoon, I suggest you avail yourselves of the hotel's security tapes. I'm sure those cover the service elevator as well as the public ones."

The cops left shortly thereafter. Victor turned to Ali. "Has anyone ever told you you're a hell of a lot of trouble?"

"Yes," she answered. "I'm pretty sure several people have mentioned it."

"By the way," Victor said. "My assistant did a LexisNexis search on you. We need to talk about the man you shot last March."

Having already been questioned by the cops for more than an hour, Ali was surprised when Victor began grilling her as well.

"What about him? Ben Witherspoon was a vicious man who broke into my house and attacked me. I shot him, all right, but since he attacked me in my own home, the shooting was ruled self-defense, and I'd do it again in a minute."

"What about the lady who tried to force you off the highway? She's dead, too, isn't she?"

"Yes, but"

"Do you happen to see a pattern here?" Victor asked.

"I do see a pattern," Ali said, her temper rising. "You seem to be giving me hell about all kinds of things that have nothing whatsoever to do with what's going on here. Why? Aren't you supposed to be my attorney?"

"I am your attorney. It's my job to look down the road, see what's coming in our direction, and do what I can to mitigate it. All those reporters down in the lobbythe ones who aren't getting a chance to interview youare doing exactly the same thing I did. They're checking out every available bit of Ali Reynolds's history they can, including every archived posting on cutlooseblog.com. By the time you wake up tomorrow morning, regardless of whether or not you've been officially charged with a crime, you're going to be on trial in the media for everything you've ever said or done. They're going to turn you into this year's big story. You'll be cast as a former media elite who considers herself above the law and is probably getting away with murder."

"All I did was defend myself. Bringing up those old cases isn't fair."

"No, it's not," Victor agreed. "But that's how it's going to play out, especially if charges are brought in either one of these new cases."

"What about innocent until proven guilty?"

"Don't be naive, Ali," Victor said. "You know as well as I do, perception is everything, and the media are the ones who control that. Even if we prove you innocent in a court of law, dodging the criminal charge will only be the start of your problems. Next on the agenda will be a wrongful death suit where the burden of proof will be far less stringent. As Paul Grayson's primary heir, you'll make a very inviting target. Where's your gun, by the way?"

"My Glock? It's in the safe in Mom's and my room, but it's also legal. I have a valid license to carry."

"Valid or not, leave your gun in the safe," Victor advised. "If you end up being questioned again, you'll be way better off if the cops don't find a weapon on your person."

Before Ali could reply, the door opened and Dave Holman ushered April into the room. She looked ghastly. "I think she needs to lie down," Dave said.

As Ali rose to relieve Dave of his charge, Victor gathered his briefcase and stood as well. "I'll be going then," he said. "Hopefully for the last time today."

Ali led April into the other room, where she flopped down onto the bed without even stripping off her clothes. "Are you all right?" Ali asked.

"I'm tired," April said. "My back hurts. I need some sleep."

Ali left her there and returned to the other room, closing the door behind her. She found Dave standing by the window. "I don't think your attorney likes me," Dave said.

"That's fair enough," Ali said, "since I'm not so sure I like him very much at the moment, either. How was it?"

"The hospital?" Dave shook his head. "Not a good scene," he replied. "I felt sorry for April. It's a lot for someone her age to handle."

Ali nodded and looked around the suite, realizing for the first time that Edie hadn't returned with Dave. "What about Mom?" she asked.

"Said she was dead on her feet," Dave replied. "Told me to tell you she was going to bed and not to worry about waking her when you come in. She said she'll take out her hearing aids and won't hear a thing."

"Why wouldn't she be tired?" Ali returned. "I'm sure she got up at the usual time this morning and drove all the way here. Now it's way past her bedtime."

"What about your bedtime?" Dave asked. "And what about dinner? Did you have anything to eat?"

"Not since lunch."

"I'll take you to dinner then."

"What about the reporters?"

Dave grinned. "Don't worry. I'm not stupid. I've learned the drill. You call the bellman, go up and down in the service elevator, and hand over the tip. How do you think I got April in and out without being seen? And then there's my secret transportation device."

"What's that?"

"I'm sure the reporters have spotters keeping an eye on your Cayenne. And I don't doubt there was a huge flap when Victor took off in that enormous Lincoln of his. But it turns out nobody pays the least bit of attention to a beat-out Nissan Sentra. It's right up there with one of Harry Potter's invisibility cloaks."

Ali was genuinely surprised. In the months since she'd stopped working, she had returned to her long-neglected habit of reading for pleasure. She had allowed herself the guilty indulgence of reading the entire Harry Potter series and had enjoyed it far more than she had expected.

"You read Harry Potter?" she asked.

Dave rolled his eyes. "I've got kids, don't I? Now, are you coming to dinner or not?"

"Where are you taking me?"

"Somewhere no one will expect to find you," he said. "Denny's. And don't give me any grief about it. After forking over a fortune in tips this afternoon, it's the best I can do."

"Are you kidding?" Ali asked. "If you're offering a Grand Slam, I'm there."

In the months Ali had been back home in Sedona, she had become reacquainted with the small-town intimacy of the Sugar Loaf Cafe. Now she found herself disappearing in the bustling anonymity of a corporate-run restaurant. The colorful, multipage plastic menus were the same everywhere. So was the food. The meal Ali ordered was good, but it didn't come close to measuring up to one of Bob Larson's.