J. Jance - Web of Evil

Ali strained to hear the other woman's response, but it was totally inaudible.

Then Ali heard her mother's voice again. "Untie me," she said. "Let me go. I'm sure we can sort all this out."

There was a momentary pause followed by a burst of outrage. "We're not going to sort it out. We're not sorting anything. Stop telling me what to do, damn it! Just stop it!"

And now that she heard the voice clearly, Ali knew whose it wasApril's. The voice belonged to April Gaddis. How could that be?

"Please, April," Edie said aloud. "Be reasonable."

But April had evidently moved beyond reason. "Shut up!" she screamed. "Shut the hell up!"

April's shout was followed by the sounds of a brief struggle complete with lots more rustling and a sharp clatter. In her mind's eye, Ali imagined the phone falling out of Edie's bra and skittering across some hard surface. In her ears, the noise was deafening, but Edie's attacker didn't seem to notice. There were other sounds, toothe horrifying thumps of something heavy landing on human flesh. Knowing her mother was most likely bound and helpless, Ali cringed at each one. At last the struggle ended in a terrible groan and a spate of ragged breathing.

"There now," April said very clearly. "Maybe now you'll finally shut the hell up and stay where I put you."

Ali heard a door slam shut followed by an awful silence on the other end of the line. By some miracle the call was still connected.

"Mother?" Ali called. "Are you there? Can you hear me?"

But of course there was no reply. If Edie Larson was even still conscious, she couldn't hear her daughter's voice.

For a moment longer Ali stared at the phone in an agony of indecision. The phone in her hand was her only connection to her mother, but where was she? If Ali dialed 911 on her room phone, what would she say to them? "My mother's been attacked somewhere in L.A. I have no idea where." Or, was it possible there was an emergency operator somewhere who could trace the call between Ali's cell phone and wherever it was her mother was being held, injured, perhaps, or maybe even unconscious? But how long would that take? And even if Ali managed to maintain the connection for a while, could she keep it going long enough? What would happen when Edie's phone ran out of battery power and turned itself off?

Closing her eyes, Ali tried to decide what to do. Wherever April had taken Edie, it had to be a place to which April had ready access. And Edie had mentioned something about a basement. This was California, an area where basements weren't all that common, but Ali knew where there was at least one basementa huge onein the bottom of the house on Robert Lane.

More than half of the space had been and still was devoted to Paul's extensive wine collection, but there had been several other rooms as well, including a decommissioned redwood-lined sauna that Paul had considered turning into a safe room. Thinking about the way the heavy door had slammed shut behind April as she'd left, Ali had the sudden sense that she knew the answer. She wasn't confident enough in her idea that she was willing to place an emergency call based on it, but she did know for sure that there wasn't a moment to lose.

With the call still connected and on speaker, Ali dressed and strapped on her Glock. She paused only long enough to call for her car before grabbing for her purse.

Riding down in the elevator, Ali realized that taking on someone as seemingly deranged as April all by herself was nothing short of stupid. Once more she considered ending the one call and dialing 911. But again, what would she tell them? Let's see. How about: "My mother's been attacked by my dead husband's pregnant fiancee who may or may not be holding her prisoner somewhere in my house on Robert Lane"? Did that sound like a call emergency operators were likely to take seriously? And even if they did, if April had come unhinged, what would she do if a bunch of cop cars came screaming into the yard? With Edie possibly injured and alone in the house with April, that was a risk Ali wasn't prepared to take.

While she was riding down in the elevator, the call ended on its own. Either her mother's phone had run out of power, or Ali's had simply lost the signal. Frustrated, Ali tried calling Dave. He didn't answer, so she left a terse message.

"On my way to the house. I think April's there, but I'm not sure. I also think she's lost it. Wherever she is, I believe she's holding Mom prisoner. Call me as soon as you get this message. Please."

Scrambling into the Cayenne, Ali rammed it into gear. Heading for the house, she was reasonably confident that in a fair fighta one-on-one altercationshe would be able to take April.

And I have no intention of fighting fair, Ali told herself grimly. None whatsoever!

Ali should have been pulled over a dozen times between the hotel and the house. She drove at breakneck speeds, passing like a maniac, going through lights that were already turning red. She almost hoped she could provoke an observant traffic cop into following her. Maybe having cops there was a good idea after all, and that was one way to summon some police presence without having to explain her soap opera existence to some emergency operator. But it didn't happen. When Ali finally sped through the broken gate and pulled to a stop in the paved driveway, she was still on her own. Dave hadn't called her back, and she couldn't take the time to call him again.

It's now or never, she told herself.

Before Ali ever stepped out of the car, she considered drawing her Glock but decided against it. Her plan was to try talking first. The Glock would come into play only as a last resort.

Ali was disappointed to find no sign of April's bright red Volvo there in the driveway, and no sign of Edie Larson's Olds, either. It was possible both cars were parked in the spacious five-car garage. Maybe that was where they had been parked when Ali and Dave had come to the house earlier and decided no one was there. It was also possible, Ali realized, that she was wrong and there was no one at the house now, either.

Hurrying up onto the porch, Ali reached past a tangle of crime scene tape and tried the front door. It was locked. Ali headed for the back of the house, wondering as she went if the alarm system had ever been reengaged. She tried the slider from the pool patio into the family room. No luck. That was locked, too. Finally she tried the door into the kitchen. The knob turned easily in her hand.

"I wondered how long it would take you to get here," April said.

Ali stopped just inside the door. April was across the room, seated on a chair at the kitchen table. A pistol Ali recognized as one of Paul's lay nearby on the tabletop, well within April's reach. Ali knew that had she come into the house with her own weapon drawn, they both might have died in a hail of gunfire.

"What's going on?" Ali demanded. "What have you done to my mother?"

"She kept trying to tell me what to do. I got sick of it. So I decided to show her a thing or two."

"My mother told you what to do so you're holding her prisoner in the basement? Are you nuts?"

"Maybe," April conceded. "Maybe a little."

Ali took a step into the room. As soon as she did, April picked up the gun and pointed it in Ali's direction. "Don't come any closer," she said. "Put your hands behind your head and stay where you are."

"Is my mother hurt?" Ali asked.

"I didn't hit her that hard," April said. "I was tired of listening to her. I just wanted her to shut up."

"I asked you if my mother's all right."

"She's still breathing, if that's what you want to know," April allowed. "I came upstairs to get more duct tape. When I went back down, I found her phone. I heard it ringing. Someone named Bobby calledwhoever that is."