J. Jance - Edge of Evil

“Yes,” Bob returned sadly. “Yes, she is. She was thrown from the vehicle as it fell. They don’t know for sure yet, but they’re assuming she died instantly. That’s what we’re hoping, anyway. They found the car this morning long before they found her. I talked to Detective Holman at lunchtime. You remember Dave Holman, don’t you? Wasn’t he in your class?”

A vision of a tall scrawny kid passed through Ali’s head. Dave had been a year older than she was, and a big man on campus due to his being smart and an all-around athlete as well, lettering in football, bas ketball, and baseball. She’d been such a nobody by comparison that she doubted they’d ever exchanged so much as a word.

“A year older,” she said impatiently. “But go on. Tell me about Reenie.”

“Her SUV was white, so until some of the snow up there melted this morning, it was impossible to spot. It had also rolled so far and so hard that it’s mostly nothing but a ball of smashed sheet metal. Besides, no one thought to look for her up there. I mean, what the hell was she doing on Schnebly Hill Road in the middle of a snowstorm? What was that girl thinking? The gates on Schnebly Hill were closed at both ends, so she must have opened and closed the upper gate behind her.”

Schnebly Hill Road was a treacherous eleven-mile dirt track, barely one car wide in spots. Narrow and sometimes studded with rocks, the road clung gamely to the cliff face as it threaded its way down from the top of the Mogollon Rim and into Sedona far below. Back in Ali’s day, driving up and down Schnebly Hill had been a required rite of passage for every newly licensed teenaged driver-Ali included-who had managed to survive Mr. Logan Farnsworth’s Driver’s Ed class at Mingus Mountain High.

Ali understood that Schnebly Hill Road was dangerous under the best of circumstances. The idea of Reenie being on it alone in the dark and snow made her shiver. But with an ALS death sentence hanging over her head, it seemed likely that Reenie might not have been particularly concerned about either road conditions or bad weather.

What a terrible, lonely way to die, Ali thought.

“Anyway,” Bob continued, “according to Dave, both the Coconino and Yavapai County sheriff’s departments are investigating. The car was spotted early this morning by a jet flying into the airport. The wreckage was in steep, rough terrain, though. It took hours for a rescue crew to reach it. Then when they realized she’d been thrown free, they had to bring in a couple of search-and teams with dogs. It was one of the dogs that finally found the body a little before noon.”

Unable to respond, Ali digested the terrible news for the better part of a minute.

“Ali,” her father said finally. “Are you still there? Can you hear me?”

“I’m right here,” she answered. “Any word on when the services will be?”

“Not yet. Dave says it’s way too early to even think about things like that. There’ll have to be an autopsy first-toxicology reports and so forth. The body can’t be released for burial until after that.”

How many times as a reporter and anchorwoman had Ali Reynolds discussed countless accident and homicide victims in those cold and oh-so-scientific terms-autopsies, medical examiners, toxicology reports? But this was Reenie, Ali’s own beloved Reenie. It broke her heart to hear her father now applying those very same harsh but journalist-approved words to what had happened to Reenie. For some reason Ali couldn’t understand, she didn’t cry-not a single tear. That surprised her.

“I’ll come home.” Ali made the split-second decision as she spoke the words. “I’ll throw a few things in the car and head out. It won’t take that long. It’s only five hundred miles. I can be there in under eight hours.”

“But I just told you,” Bob objected, “no one has any idea when the services will be. It might be the end of this week or even the first of next.”

“Doesn’t matter,” Ali told him. “I’m not working, remember? I’m free as a bird, and since I have my own place there, I can stay as long as I like. Paul’s out of town anyway. He won’t mind.”

“All right, then,” her father said. “If that’s what you want to do, I’ll go up to your place and check things out-make sure the heat’s on and none of the pipes are frozen. I did that the other morning-checked the pipes-so they should be fine. Do you want me to put a few groceries in the fridge?”

“Thanks, Pop,” she said. “For the pipes and the heat, but don’t worry about food. I’ll probably be spending a lot of time up in Flag. When I’m not there, I’m sure I’ll be able to scrounge enough Sugarloaf grub from you and Mom to keep from starving.”

“Okay,” Bob said dubiously, “but you drive carefully. And call once you get here.”

“It’ll be too late,” Ali objected. “It’ll wake Mom.”

Edie Larson rose every day at four A.M. and walked from their little apartment at the back of the lot to her kitchen in the restaurant that fronted on the highway. That’s what it took to have the sweet rolls up and ready to go when the first early-bird Sugarloaf breakfast customers came through the door at six.

“Call on my cell phone,” he said. “I’ll keep it with me out in the living room. Once Edie turns off her hearing aid, she can’t hear a thing. She’s deaf as a post.”

“All right,” Ali agreed. “I’ll let you know when I get there.”

Just then the back door slammed open and shut. “Mom?” Chris called from the kitchen. “Are you here?”

“Gotta go, Dad,” Ali told her father. “See you tomorrow.” Then to Chris she added, “In here. In the family room.”

He came as far as the doorway, munching on a fistful of Elvira Jimenez’s freshly baked cookies that he’d pilfered off the counter. Chris stopped cold as soon as he caught a glimpse of his mother’s stricken face.

“Reenie’s dead, isn’t she,” Chris said.

Ali nodded wordlessly.

“What happened?”

“She went off Schnebly Hill Road sometime over the weekend. They didn’t find her until a few hours ago. I just got off the phone with Grandpa. I told him I’ll come home to Sedona as soon as I can load things into the car.”

“I’ll go with you,” Chris offered at once. “It’s a long trip. I can help drive.”

“But you have school,” Ali objected.

“Not really,” Chris said. “It’s the end of the quarter. I have one class tomorrow and two on Wednesday. Then I don’t have anything more until finals. The first one isn’t until next Monday. If I talk to my professors and tell them what’s happened, it won’t be a big deal.”

“You’re sure?” Ali asked.

“I’m sure,” Chris said.

She stood up, went over to her son, and allowed herself to sink into the comforting grip of one of his weight-lifting-powered bear hugs.

“Thanks, Chris,” she said. “Thank you so much.”

The tears came then, and she let them. Having someone hold her as she cried made all the difference.

As Ali and Chris finished loading the Cayenne, Chris paused next to the ski rack. “Should I bring ’em?” he asked.

Ali shrugged. “Why not? After that big storm, I’m sure there’s plenty of new snow up at Flagstaff, and you know how much Gramps loves to ski, especially with you.”

“Are you sure? I mean, with Reenie and everything…”

Ali nodded. “Reenie’s my problem, not Dad’s. Besides, remember how he was when Aunt Evie died? Practically useless. We’ll be better off with him skiing than we will be with him under hand and foot twenty-four seven.”

Obligingly, Chris loaded the ski rack and the skis onto the Cayenne’s roof rack. And when they left the house, Chris drove while Ali rode shotgun, managing the MP3 player. Wanting to think about song lyrics instead of what had happened to Reenie, Ali scrolled through the index, selecting one musical after another, songs Chris had culled from Aunt Evie’s personal CD collection and added to the playlist.