J. Jance - Edge of Evil

“Where is it?”

“Down there someplace. In Mexico. Guayamas. Mazatlan. I don’t remember, really. It’s one of those little beach towns.”

“Do you remember the name of the facility?”

“She didn’t go there,” Howie said very slowly and carefully as if explaining a difficult concept Ali was too stupid to understand. “She wasn’t ever going to go there. I told her flat out that we couldn’t afford it, and that was the truth. Besides, the whole thing was a rip-off and a fraud. Why should I remember the name?”

He was starting to sound surly, and Ali decided it was time to try a different approach. “I talked to Andrea Rogers,” she said.

“I did, too,” Howie said. “She’s broken up about this, poor woman, completely broken up.”

“Andrea says she talked to Reenie after her doctor’s appointment on Thursday,” Ali said. “According to her Reenie said she was planning to stop by the bank on her way home. Do you have any idea which one?”

“B of A,” Howie managed. “The detective already asked me all about it. I tried to help. Called the bank to check, but there wasn’t any activity on Thursday afternoon-not on any of our accounts or on any of our credit cards, either. That’s not true. She was at a Hallmark store in Scottsdale, but that was before her appointment not after it. But as far as her doing something in a bank branch? Nada! Nothing! Zippo!”

He smiled wryly and poured himself another drink.

“Tell me about the note,” Ali said. “What was it like?”

“I already told you…”

“I mean what kind of paper was it on?”

“Paper?” Howie asked with a scowl. “Regular computer paper.”

“So it was done on a computer?” Ali asked.

“Didn’t I just say that?” he asked irritably. “Yes, it was written on a computer and printed on ordinary computer paper. They found it folded up and stuck in a crack between the seat and the frame. How it kept from flying out, nobody knows. If it had fallen out into the snow it probably never would have been found because it was white, you see.” He paused and then looked at Ali. “Why do you want to know?”

How long had Reenie and Howie been married? Ali wondered. Ten years at least. So how was it pos sible that he knew so little about his wife? Reenie had been to a Hallmark store that day. She would have found a card, the perfect blank card, and used that to say her good-byes.

“So she must have gone back to the office after all,” Ali murmured. “After Andrea left for the day. Did they find the file on her computer?”

“No, Farris-that’s the detective-said she probably deleted it after she printed it. They’re sending the computer off somewhere. Phoenix, I think. He said something about scanning the hard drive for recently deleted files. But I’m sure that’s why she did it the way she did. To show me. All I can say, though, is, thank God she left the note. If it hadn’t been for that I’d probably be in jail tonight, instead of sitting here at home drinking scotch.”

Ali had never liked Howard Bernard much. She’d tried to get along with him, for Reenie’s sake. For friendship’s sake. But it was hard to endure this rambling and maudlin exercise in self-pity especially since he was clearly far more sorry for himself than he was for Reenie. Or the kids.

A pair of headlights turned into the driveway, an engine switched off, and a car door opened and closed.

“Hey,” Howie said, brightening suddenly. “Looks like somebody’s stopping by after all.”

Clearly pleased, he struggled to rise from the sofa, but before he had time to shamble across the room, a key turned in the lock and the overhead light switched on. To Ali’s amazement, a young dark-haired woman stepped into the room, closing the door behind her as if she owned the place.

“Howie,” she said, meeting him halfway across the room and giving him a kiss that was anything but neighborly. “Sorry I’m late.”

Over Howie’s shoulder, the woman must have caught sight of Ali. “Oh,” she said quickly, extricating herself from Howie’s drunken embrace. “I’m sorry. I had no idea you had company. I should probably go.”

“No problem,” Howie said. “No problemo! This is Ali Reynolds, an old friend of the family come by to pay a condolence visit and buck me up,” His slur was worse now. “And this is Jasmine, Ali. Jasmine Wright. She’s a student of mine-an excellent student, by the way-one of my doctoral candidates.”

Jasmine’s name registered in Ali’s hearing and heart on the exact same frequency as April and Charmaine’s had. And the look on Ali’s face was most likely something close to absolute fury.

A doctoral candidate with her own key to Reenie’s house! Ali thought. How very convenient!

Jasmine Wright-Jasmine Wrong as Ali chose to think of her-was fairly tall and willowy, but curvy in all the right places. She had olive skin, dark eyes, and very white teeth. Her skintight Spandex top ended a good six inches above her equally tight and low-cut jeans. She didn’t look like any history major Ali ever remembered meeting, and as a package she was way more than a balding, paunchy, and married history professor could have expected-or deserved.

“Ali Reynolds,” Ali said. Plastering a phony smile on her face, she stood and extended her hand in greeting. “Reenie and I were friends from high school on.”

Howie launched off into his own unnecessarily expansive explanation. “Ali was Reenie’s best friend,” he enthused. “Can you believe it? She came all the way over from California to help out. The kids are in Cottonwood with Reenie’s folks, and since I didn’t know for sure what was going to happen today-if they were going to let me go or not-Ali was kind enough to take the kids’ cat home with her. Sam, you know Sam, don’t you?”

Jasmine nodded.

Why the hell am I stuck with Sam? Ali wondered suddenly. Surely someone else-somebody with a key to the house, for instance-could easily have stopped by to feed and check on Samantha.

While an oblivious Howie droned on, the two women regarded one another with wary speculation.

“How very nice,” Jasmine said with a careful smile, but in a tone that clearly meant she didn’t think it was nice at all.

“Under the circumstances,” Ali said coolly, “it’s the least I could do.”

“The usual?” Howie asked, turning to Jasmine with an effusive smile. In return, Jasmine allowed him a curt nod. He headed for the kitchen, leaving the two women alone.

Entirely at home, Jasmine seated herself with casual grace on the hassock next to where Howie had been on the couch. The fact that she seemed totally comfortable and at ease in Reenie’s house-in Reenie’s living room, in a place whose every decoration Reenie had personally chosen and installed-sent Ali into a blazing fury.

“All of this has been very hard on him,” Jasmine said.

“It’s hard on everybody,” Ali said pointedly. “Most especially Reenie.”

Howie returned to the living room carrying a glass of white wine, which he handed to Jasmine, slopping the top third of it along the way. Then he sat back down heavily, picked up his own glass, and poured a little more scotch for himself. “There’s chicken in the kitchen,” he said. “Somebody must have brought it. Want some?”

Jasmine shook her head. Ali did a slow burn. Was Howie so drunk he didn’t even remember who had brought the KFC?

“Funeral’s Friday,” he said to Jasmine. “Did I tell you already?”

She nodded. “You told me,” she said.

“Oh,” he muttered. “Sorry. And the kids are in Cottonwood?”

Jasmine nodded again.

She already knew that, too, Ali thought. Long before she unlocked the door and came inside. That’s why she’s here, you dunce, for a quick roll in the hay while the kids are safely out of the way and so’s your wife.